Phantom Troupe Holiday: The Leader and Machi's Complicated Love Affair - The Other Side of the Spider's Web

The hand holding the document stopped for a moment. The Phantom Troupe's hideout was a converted abandoned factory on the outskirts of Yorknew City. In the strategy room beneath it, the only sound was the night wind striking the walls, echoing unnaturally loud in that cold place. Chrollo Lucilfer sat deep in an old chair, a single document in hand. His arm, sleeve of his white shirt rolled up, was lit by the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Legs crossed in black slacks, dark hair falling over his brow, deep brown eyes tracing the words on the page. The piercings lining his ear caught the light faintly. (...Internal strife within the Ten Dons, is it.) The document listed the names of influential figures caught up in the internal conflict of the Ten Dons—the supreme council of the mafia that ruled Yorknew City's underworld. The job: raid the Yorknew Grand Auction in September. On the surface, a high-class auction in the "Sky Room" of Skyline Tower; behind it, the underground auction was the true target. Fifty billion jenny on success. A sum rivaling the Troupe's annual budget. Chrollo's lips moved, just barely. "...Not bad." He murmured it calmly. Already, his mind had begun analyzing the security setup and selecting escape routes. The structure of Skyline Tower, the number of Nen-using guards the Ten Dons employed, the entry conditions for the underground auction venue. His fingertips unconsciously traced the spine of the worn book on the desk—"Bandit's Secret," which sealed the Nen abilities he stole. But. In a corner of his mind, like bubbles rising, another thought was swirling. (I can do the reconnaissance alone with Machi.) The hand holding the document stopped. His heart beat in a strange rhythm. Chrollo frowned and steadied his breathing. Unbecoming agitation, for a leader. He told himself so. And yet the image of pink hair swaying surfaced behind his eyelids and would not fade. "...Hah." The sigh dissolved into the quiet room. —Meteor City. A lawless zone of roughly two hundred square kilometers, unmarked on any map. A waste processing site where the world's garbage gathered, where eight million people lived without citizenship. Unrecognized by any nation, without legal rights. Its residents reused discarded goods, defended themselves by force, and survived under the law of the strong devouring the weak. Every member of the Phantom Troupe had been born and raised in this city. When Chrollo was still a boy. That day, running through mountains of rubble, there was a girl who fell. Her pink hair stood out vividly against the gray debris. The boy Chrollo said nothing and held out his hand. The girl's purple, slightly upturned eyes widened for an instant—then, hesitantly, she took it. There were no words. But that warmth, he felt, still lingered at his fingertips even now. "Leader, everyone's here." The strategy room door opened and Nobunaga Hazama poked his head in. His long black hair tied back, his narrow, ill-tempered dark eyes swept the room. His tall frame—over six feet—didn't quite fit in the doorway. His beloved sword hung at his hip. "Ah. Coming now." Chrollo set the document on the desk and stood. He hid the cold gaze that betrayed no emotion beneath his lids, as always. In the meeting room, the Troupe had gathered. Before the spider tattoo painted on the wall, Chrollo laid out the job in a flat tone. Internal strife among the Ten Dons. The Yorknew Grand Auction. The raid on the underground auction. Fifty billion in payment. Everyone listened in silence. Among them was Machi. Her long pink hair pulled into a ponytail, her slightly upturned purple eyes fixed on Chrollo. Her small frame—barely five feet—was wrapped in a black tank top and short skirt, the spider tattoo showing on her bare shoulder. At her fingertips, as always, a faint thread of Nen coiled. (...She's beautiful today, too.) Chrollo thought it only inside his heart. Of course, he let nothing show on his face. "I'll do the reconnaissance with Machi. The rest of you stand by." The instant Chrollo said it, the air changed. "Oh—I'll go too!" Nobunaga raised his hand cheerfully. A man with a catastrophic ability to read the room. A loyal, caring big-brother figure—but every single time, he smashed apart the atmosphere that might have left Chrollo and Machi alone. And he did it out of pure goodwill, believing that acting together with your comrades was what the Troupe was about—which only made it worse. Chrollo's temple twitched. "...No. Nobunaga, you take the support role." He checked him with a voice that feigned calm. But the muscles of his face were slightly taut. "Why not?! I can do reconnaissance too!" Nobunaga pressed. "You stand by for when things go wrong. Two people are enough for reconnaissance." "But come on..." "Nobunaga." Chrollo's voice dropped, just slightly. A pressure that said: no more. Nobunaga closed his mouth, dissatisfied. "If reconnaissance is needed, I'll go." Machi said it in a cool voice. An even, unreadable tone. Chrollo turned to her and said briefly, "Yes. I'll go with Machi. Just the two of us." "...Understood." Machi gave a small nod. In that instant, something leaped in the depths of Chrollo's chest. Just the two of them. The words echoed in his head. But what left his mouth was something entirely different. "...Don't get in my way." Cold, pushing her away. Machi's purple eyes widened for just a moment. Then they narrowed, as if in annoyance. She turned sharply aside. "I know that without you telling me." Her voice held unmistakable anger. (...No. That's not it.) Chrollo screamed it inside his heart. No. What he'd really wanted to say was something else entirely. That he was glad to go with her. That he was happy to do the reconnaissance alone with her. But such words—the mask of the leader got in the way, and he simply couldn't say them. "...That's all. Everyone, proceed with preparations." With that, Chrollo closed the meeting. When it ended, Chrollo stayed behind alone in the strategy room. Beyond the window spread the nightscape of Yorknew City. The lights of the high-rises glittered like scattered jewels. This city, thriving on the surface as an economic hub, became—one step into its back alleys—a dark underworld ruled by the Ten Dons. A crucible of money and desire. Chrollo opened the desk drawer. From inside, he took out a single photograph. It was a photo of Machi. Someone must have taken it during Troupe activity. Her pink hair swayed in the wind, and she was gazing somewhere far off. Chrollo stared at her profile. "...Ah." A small sigh escaped him. (I am the leader.) His position demanded the Troupe's survival above all. No time for romance. Confessing his feelings to Machi was unthinkable. And yet his heart, every time he saw her, ran wild on its own. Chrollo put the photo back in the drawer at once. As if to seal a lid over his own emotions. Around that time, Machi was in her room. Sitting on the bed, she unconsciously manipulated the Nen threads extending from her fingertips. The threads tangled around a small piece of wood hanging from the ceiling, drew intricate patterns, and came undone. (...In your way, is it.) Chrollo's cold words repeated in her head. "...I know that without you telling me." She tried saying it aloud again. But deep in her chest, something pricked with pain. (The leader has no interest in someone like me.) Machi told herself so. The other party was Chrollo. Leader of the Phantom Troupe. A charismatic figure commanding one of the world's strongest criminal organizations. Not someone she should fall for. Even thinking so— The fingers manipulating the threads trembled faintly. (...Behind that coldness, I feel like there's kindness.) Just as she began to notice it, Machi shook her head. "...It's just my imagination." She murmured it to no one. Outside the window, the night wind stirred the curtains. At dinner. The Troupe's mess hall smelled of warm soup. Members sat as they pleased along the long table. Chrollo, as always, ate quietly a little apart from the rest. "Machi, should I come along on tomorrow's reconnaissance after all?" Nobunaga sat down beside Machi and spoke amiably. "...The leader said two people are enough." Machi answered while bringing soup to her lips. "No, no—three's safer, right? You never know what'll happen." "With you along, I feel like it'd be more dangerous." "That's harsh! I'm saying it out of worry!" Nobunaga shrugged theatrically, and Machi gave a small laugh. Chrollo's chopsticks stopped without his meaning them to. (...Nobunaga, of all people.) A dark emotion swirled in his heart. Machi was talking happily with Nobunaga. Just that, and the depths of his chest filled with something murky. "Hey, Machi, maybe I really should come along?" Nobunaga pressed again. "Nobunaga." Chrollo's voice rang through the mess hall. A sharp voice. "You take the support role. Don't make me say it again." "...Yeah, yeah. Understood." Nobunaga withdrew, reluctant. Machi didn't notice the reason for Chrollo's ill humor. "Nobunaga, you've got your own things to do, don't you?" "Sure, sure. You be careful too, Machi." "I know." The two laughed together. Chrollo caught the scene at the edge of his vision, then rose silently from his seat. Back in his room, Chrollo sat on the bed and spread out his papers to do a final check for tomorrow's reconnaissance. Skyline Tower's security setup. The entry route to the underground auction venue. The placement of the Ten Dons' Nen-using guards. ...None of it went in. The letters looked like nothing but rows of symbols. (Alone with Machi.) Only that filled his mind. Chrollo took Machi's photo from the drawer again. Pink hair. Purple eyes. (...Beautiful.) He thought it inside his heart. The encounter of their childhood revived. That day in the ruins of Meteor City, when he held out his hand to the fallen girl. The warmth he'd surely felt then. Years had passed since. And yet this feeling hadn't changed at all since those days. Chrollo laid the photo on his chest and looked up at the ceiling. "...I am the leader." He said it aloud, telling himself. The Troupe's survival. The code. His comrades. There were so many things he had to protect. And yet—why was this heartbeat so loud? Chrollo closed his eyes. He gripped the photo tight. Tomorrow, he'd go with Machi, just the two of them, on reconnaissance. Just that made his chest pound so—and he felt pathetic for it, and yet, just a little, glad. "...Goodnight." Murmuring it to no one, Chrollo drifted into sleep. Outside the window, the nightscape of Yorknew City shone on quietly until morning.

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Episode 1

Name: Phantom Troupe Holiday: The Leader and Machi's Complicated Love Affair
Author: Novelia

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