Chapter 3: Wanna See a Magic Trick?

The dim light of a flickering neon sign cast an eerie glow over the cracked mirror in front of him. Hisoka ran a hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair, golden eyes narrowing.

"This isn't me."

The face staring back at him was close, but not quite right. The tattoos were missing, the hair was dark instead of his signature purple, and his body—while still lithe and powerful—felt off. Not weak, but different.

He sighed, turning away from the mirror.

A small box of hair dye sat on the counter beside him. He had lifted it off one of the gangsters he had dismantled earlier—a cheap brand, but it would do.

Thirty minutes later, Hisoka stepped out of the grimy bathroom, his signature purple hair restored. He turned his head side to side, watching the way it caught the dim city lights.

"Mmm~ much better," he mused, running a hand through it.

"I'll get my tats later."

But aesthetics were only a small part of the puzzle. His real concern lay elsewhere.

Perched atop a rusted rooftop, Hisoka sat cross-legged, eyes closed, listening to the heartbeat of Gotham.

Gunfire. Screams. The occasional maniacal laughter echoing through the alleys.

The city was alive, pulsing with chaos, but inside him? Silence.

Hisoka frowned. Where was his aura?

Nen was like a muscle, something that persisted even after death—so why did he feel so disconnected from it?

He inhaled deeply, recreating his first awakening, just as he had done years ago.

He focused inward, searching for the raw energy that once wrapped around his every move.

He imagined his aura leaking from his pores, stretching, flowing.

He reached for the elastic, sticky texture of Bungee Gum.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then—

A spark.

A thin wisp of aura curled around his fingers, barely visible, but it was there. Weak, but present.

Hisoka's lips curled into a slow, pleased smile.

"Ah~ there it is."

It would take time. This reincarnation had dulled his power, but not erased it.

And Gotham? Gotham would help him grow stronger than ever.

Hisoka cracked his neck, stretching his arms as he peered over the edge of the rooftop. He had no interest in waiting for power to return—he would sharpen himself through experience.

Below, a group of Penguin's men loitered outside a shady warehouse, laughing, sharing cigarettes.

"Boss says to keep an eye out."

"Yeah? For who?"

"Some freak's been picking off our guys. You see anyone, you shoot first."

Hisoka grinned.

How interesting.

He dropped down silently, landing just behind them. Before they could react, he leaned in and whispered:

"Wanna see a magic trick?"

The thugs turned, confused—then laughed.

"Oh great, another Ace Chemicals nutjob."

"I swear, the freaks in this city keep getting weirder."

Hisoka tilted his head, producing a playing card between his fingers.

Cadistry—a simple trick.

A flick of his wrist—

The card whipped through the air, slicing across a thug's neck. A thin red line appeared—then blood spurted violently as the man clutched his throat, gurgling.

The laughter stopped.

Hisoka moved.

One thug reached for his gun—but Hisoka was already there, grabbing his wrist and twisting until bone snapped.

A scream.

A flick.

Another card lodged itself into an eye socket.

The last remaining thug trembled, his hands raised.

"P-please—"

Hisoka sighed. "No fun at all."

He grabbed him by the collar, dragging him along the ground.

"Now, now~ be a good boy and tell me where your boss is hiding."

The Warehouse Massacre

The Penguin's warehouse reeked of rotting fish and cheap cigars. Hisoka strolled inside, dragging his last survivor by the collar.

Dozens of armed men turned toward him, their eyes wide with confusion.

"What the hell—?"

"Who is this guy?"

"He took out the night shift!"

The thug in Hisoka's grip coughed, barely able to speak.

"H-he's a freak… took out the boys like it was nothing—"

BANG!

A bullet ripped through the man's head, splattering blood across Hisoka's cheek.

The shooter—a grizzled lieutenant—lowered his smoking pistol.

"He was dead weight."

His voice was cold. "Unlike us."

Hisoka licked the blood off his lips.

"Oh~ now this looks fun."

The warehouse erupted into chaos.

Gunfire roared as bullets flew toward Hisoka. He weaved between them, using the chaotic movements of his acrobatics to close the gap.

A knife-wielding thug lunged—Hisoka caught the blade between his fingers, twisted it, and drove it into the man's throat.

A heavyset brawler swung a metal pipe—Hisoka bent backward unnaturally, dodging, before kicking out with brutal force, shattering the man's ribs.

The lieutenant fired again—but Hisoka was already on him, gripping his arm and snapping it like a twig.

Screams filled the air.

Within minutes, the floor was littered with bodies.

Hisoka crouched over the last surviving man, the lieutenant, who was bleeding out, struggling to breathe.

"Now, now~ be honest. Wasn't that thrilling?"

The man gurgled, his body convulsing before going still.

Hisoka exhaled, rolling his shoulders. A decent warm-up.

He stepped over the corpses, exiting into the cool night air.

His Nen was slowly returning, and his playground was just beginning to unfold.

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, the footage replayed on the screen.

A blur of movement. The way Hisoka toyed with the thugs, dancing between them like an artist painting with violence.

Bruce leaned forward, watching frame by frame.

"This one isn't normal."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Then...Shall I prepare another file for your collection of psychopaths?"

Bruce didn't answer. His gaze stayed locked on the screen, watching Hisoka dispatch five armed men with ease.

"Keep an eye on him."

Something about this one was different.

This wasn't just another Gotham lunatic.

Now back to the warehouse, someone just as flashy and colorful as Hisoka decided to drop by after hearing about the Penguin evacuating.

With a creepy maniacal grin, The Joker strolled through the wreckage of the hideout, humming a cheerful tune, his purple coat swishing with every step.

Then—Joker stopped.

His wild eyes landed on a single playing card, half-buried in a pool of blood.

His grip tightened, And said in anger.

"Oh-ho-ho… would you look at that!"

Harley, though… she just stared at it.

Her chest felt tight.

Her stomach fluttered.

It didn't make sense.

And yet—

She couldn't shake the feeling that this is... this might be destiny.