Ceratonia | kurokura time travel family AU | chrollo x kurapika

Chapter 1

Kuroro has had enough of people pursuing vendettas against him.

He doesn't startle when the gunshot tears through the passageway, the bullet slamming into the wall instead of the back of his skull. He doesn't falter when he turns to meet the eyes of his assailant, full of vengeance for a familiar cause, one where he never wanted to see Kuroro dead so much. If it were Hisoka who greeted him, his throat would have been crushed in the name of retribution, his head decapitated, his body swallowed by gore.

But it's his own face that stares back at him—not exact, but familiar enough for his impeccable calm to waver. Even his companions recognize this, because they suspend their movements in anticipation of further direction.

"Should we kill him?"

Nobunaga waits for his cue, but Kuroro has no response. The edge of his blade presses beneath the young man's chin, digging against the flesh of his throat and promising the spill of blood. Machi's Nen threads bind his arms behind his back, shimmering with the overhead light of the hallway. Both of his Spiders force him to his knees on the floor, awaiting Kuroro's judgment.

"Kill me," the man sneers, "and you'll lose every chance of getting off this boat alive."

His arrogance is trying, but Kuroro can tell that his voice holds no pretense of bravado. There's something underneath it all—an underlying threat and an implication of knowledge that no one else possesses.

Kuroro lowers himself on one knee in front of him, picking up the gun on the floor and turning over the cool metal in his hands. He looks up, and unsuppressed fury burns through the man's eyes. It's the kind of rage that tells Kuroro his world has shattered and he's the only one left—and he will stop at nothing until he burns down the rest of the world for those responsible.

It's nothing like how Kuroro buries his sentiments deep within him, his eyes conveying nothing to those who appraise him.

"Only one bullet, though it's a shame you missed," Kuroro says, his voice lacking the edge of provocation. It was no ordinary bullet, but a Nen-infused one, judging by its profound impact on the wall. "Are you that eager to die here?"

Confronting Kuroro like this is a choice; therefore, dying by his hand is a choice. But the man doesn't struggle against the threads binding him and remains entirely composed in his presence.

"I'm not the one dying today," comes his answer, his voice filled with a conviction that borders on recklessness.

So Kuroro presses the mouth of the gun against his forehead, between his brows.

He doesn't lower his gaze. He doesn't even blink.

It's as though he dares Kuroro to pull the trigger, but there's no satisfaction in this. Not when Kuroro has yet to catch up with Hisoka and destroy him as much as he's capable of. His interest lies elsewhere—in the hatred in the man's eyes, the black hair parting over his forehead, the indignance coiled tight in his frame, the inexplicable part of Kuroro's soul that recognizes this man as some part of himself.

The man's face is honest—honest in a way that Kuroro never remembers being. His skin is pale, but poverty has never marked this face, sickness has never weakened this flesh. His eyes are bright, but not naive. Kuroro's forefinger lingers on the trigger, but no violence pulls at his hands—so he lowers the gun.

Machi speaks up after regarding them both. "He looks... familiar."

"An impersonator?" Nobunaga asks, casting a dubious glance towards Kuroro for confirmation. "Or a long lost brother?"

Kuroro has heard of followers and fanatics of the Genei Ryodan rising in the underworld in recent years. Some even claim to be members, bearing imitations of their tattoos. But one thing is for certain—he knows nothing of a family aside from his Spiders.

"A son," the man snaps. "Your Danchou here is a shitty excuse for a father."

Kuroro is twenty-eight. If he has to guess, the man looks ten years younger than him and far too old to be his illegitimate child—and yet, he doesn't look like a stranger either.

Nobunaga says under his breath, "Crazy."

Kuroro agrees with him, neither his face nor voice betraying much.

"Do I look crazy to you?"

"Yes," Machi answers for them all.

The man bites his lip, as if to keep from retorting.

"Two years ago, on the night of September 2nd, you lose Uvogin to the chain user and never find his body. On September 5th, Pakunoda breaks the conditions of the chain and loses her life as well." Nobunaga's expression hardens, his blade both a threat and a promise, but he continues speaking his unpleasant truths. "Only two months ago are Shalnark and Kortopi killed, and you replace Uvogin with Illumi Zoldyck for the purpose of finding their murderer on this boat. Am I wrong?"

A stunned silence falls around them.

After a moment, Kuroro raises his hand to signal his Spiders to release him. They share a look, flickering with something like confusion and disbelief, but Kuroro is more than enough to handle him. There's also three of them present and if there's any further threat from the man, he has yet to show it.

With a sweep of his blade, Nobunaga sheathes his weapon. Following him, Machi's Nen threads fall loose from the man's body.

"What's your name?" Kuroro asks.

"Sol," he answers, although Kuroro never expected him to.

His name is sol like the sun, like the promise of something brighter.

And it makes absolutely no sense. There should be no reason an outsider would know of the Spiders' history or why he should resemble Kuroro so much but if Kuroro's going to entertain his delusions, then he's going to see it all the way through.

"Who's your mother?"

He makes a sound in his throat, suddenly too tight for words. "I don't have a mother."

Kuroro feels an eyebrow arch. He watches as the resentment in his eyes shifts into something world-weary, eclipsing all of the anger he held towards Kuroro earlier.

"Dad—Kurapika—dies because of you," Sol reveals, voice worn with the depths of loss and grief and love, "and I'm here to make sure that never happens again."