Morelss didn't have "friends."
The "friends" from her student days in the "real world" turned out to be mere "playmates" of that specific period. Once that phase passed, they had nothing left to discuss, drifted apart, and became estranged.
What exactly is a "friend"?
Those you can have fun with are called "playmates."
Those who can offer "help" are considered "connections."
Those who offer "trust" and "companionship" are rare. Furthermore, the human heart is unfathomable; it's better to raise pets.
Morelss's imagined true "friends" might better be described by another term, such as "confidants."
"A true friend is hard to find, like the rarest of treasures in life."
Morelss had long given up hope on the concept of "friends," much like "love." They were beautiful things that might perhaps exist in the world, but they were irrelevant to her.
Having spent so many years with herself, Morelss knew her every flaw and darkness. If there were a gender-swapped version of herself in the world, neither would want to associate with the other. The thought alone made her scalp tingle and even feel nauseous.
Therefore, not having "friends" was normal. But her mother didn't understand, always saying it was abnormal.
Abnormal, yes.
No, it's normal.
Normal? Abnormal? It didn't seem to matter much anymore. Her mother was dead, and no one could point fingers at Morelss's shortcomings. It was a relief that the Zoldyck family didn't require "making friends."
It was a bit disheartening, but when Morelss was executing an important plan, "Illumi Zoldyck" was the "only" collaborator she could "barely trust."
Rather ironic, wasn't it?
Of course, other Zoldycks were more trustworthy than Illumi, but this plan was rather special. Morelss wasn't sure if they would agree because they believed her mind was problematic, which is why they performed brain surgery on her. In that regard, Illumi was the most likely person to support her plan.
Because Illumi was also abnormal.
He dared to do anything. Unless a Zoldyck elder was present, no, even with a Zoldyck elder present, he likely wouldn't hesitate to make plans. In the original story, he even intended to turn the Zoldyck's beloved pet and future heir, Killua, into a puppet to satisfy his desire for power.
In other words, he didn't truly care about "family" as much as other Zoldycks did, considering he could turn his own most cherished younger brother into a puppet.
Therefore, he would agree to assist in this experiment, as long as the price was right.
As expected, when Morelss stated the terms of the transaction, he readily agreed, without questioning the absurdity of Morelss's idea.
"This is it," Morelss led Illumi to the vicinity of a hidden research institute.
Months ago, she had discovered this place, where the familiar face she wanted to see resided.
Mr. Fran. The administrator of Meteor City's Sector 5 over a decade ago. He wasn't originally from Meteor City but stayed there for various reasons. Now, he had moved on to a better position, heading an illegal research institute outside Meteor City, continuing his old trade—human experimentation—with his original intention unchanged.
Morelss believed his technical skills were more refined than a decade ago, but she couldn't trust his character.
Undergoing surgery alone carried risks. The Zoldyck physique wasn't truly immune to all poisons. No matter how strong their poison resistance was, they were still human, and there were limits. One could easily end up becoming material for this institute, unable to live or die.
Technical personnel often overlooked the enhancement of combat capabilities.
Fran, once a formidable beginner village boss, was now insignificant—high-level players enjoyed visiting beginner villages.
"Long time no see, Mr. Fran. I'm here to discuss a collaboration," Morelss said, standing before Fran's desk. The institute's guards remained oblivious to Morelss and Illumi's intrusion. "It's a subject that interests you."
"You..." Fran glanced at Illumi, who was guarding the door. Before Morelss could introduce them, he recognized the siblings he had seen in Meteor City years ago. He believed their past interactions hadn't created enmity; after all, he had helped them, and it was only natural for them to work off their debt. "What do you need me to do?"
"The same as you," Morelss pointed to Fran's blue eye. His other eye was green, but it wasn't a natural heterochromia; the blue one was a transplant. "I want to exchange a pair of eyes. Rather special eyes. Have you heard of the 'Kurta eyes'?"
"Really?!" Fran exclaimed, jumping up. His chair with wheels was abruptly pushed away, only stopping after hitting the wall.
"No, no, no," Fran braced himself on the desk, adjusting his half-rimmed glasses. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before looking back at Morelss. "I must state beforehand that those specimens preserved in formalin are unusable. I need fresh, intact ones—not just the eyeballs, but the entire structure connected to the eyeballs..."
"I have a whole head, very fresh, still warm," Morelss interrupted him. "Can I?"
"Yes! Of course, yes!" Fran was ecstatic. "This is wonderful! Where is the item?! Don't waste any time; every second is a waste! I'll arrange it immediately!"
"Mr. Fran," Morelss waved away his outstretched hand. "This collaboration must be kept confidential."
"No problem! We'll use the underground passage; only my pass works there." Fran paused mid-action as he reached for his desk drawer. "We can't start now anyway. When can you bring the item?"
"I have it with me," Morelss said. "Lead the way."
It probably had something to do with Nen. Fran didn't doubt Morelss's statement. He pocketed the pass and led them through the underground passage.
Fran's peculiar taste hadn't changed. As they ventured deeper underground, the corridor walls displayed various bizarre experimental subjects, resembling a science fiction film set.
After passing through multiple security checkpoints—passes, passwords, and fingerprints—they finally arrived at one of the operating rooms.
Morelss didn't know how many experiments had been conducted in this operating room. The disinfectant couldn't mask the lingering scent of blood. Fran, seemingly accustomed to it, didn't seem to notice and walked briskly, entering the operating room as happily as if he were returning home.
"Quite the facility, isn't it!" Fran said obsequiously, following Morelss's gaze. "The operating table is meticulously cleaned every time, spotless, practically brand new! And these restraints are extremely secure; they haven't failed so far. You can use them with confidence."
"Why are there restraints?" Morelss asked.
"Naturally, to prevent the surgical subject from moving around."
"Moving? Isn't there anesthesia?"
"Anesthesia is so dangerous! Improper dosage, concentration, injection speed, or the subject's own physical condition can lead to many severe adverse reactions," Fran stated matter-of-factly. "Not using anesthesia is safer."
It was easy for him to say. Fran had a congenital insensitivity to pain; he had never experienced it and couldn't empathize at all.
This person seemed even more insane than a decade ago. Morelss couldn't help but doubt if handing herself over to this madman for surgery was a good idea.
Eyes were different from internal organs and limbs; they were sensory organs. Precisely transmitting visual signals to the brain through nerves required incredibly intricate work. Connecting and repairing the optic nerve with surrounding microvasculature was a world-class challenge. The hundreds of millions of imperceptible nerve fibers within the optic nerve each had a complex point-to-point relationship. Even in the "real world," related technology had not yet been achieved.
This wasn't a scene from "Naruto" where eyeballs could be plugged in like USB drives. As far as Morelss knew, in this world, only this madman had successfully completed eye transplant surgery.
And that was over ten years ago!
Wait, Morelss hadn't personally witnessed the successful eye transplant surgery; she had only seen Fran's heterochromia as the result. Perhaps he had always had heterochromia?!
"Mr. Fran," Morelss said directly, "I haven't seen you perform an eye transplant surgery, and I'd also like to know about any post-operative complications."
"My transplant surgery had no post..." Fran began to protest.
A bloody head appeared in Morelss's hand. She had just[retrieved] it from her "game inventory." Due to the "preservation" effect of the "game inventory," it looked like it had been freshly severed.
"This... this..." Fran reached out to cup the head with its blood-red eyes but missed. "This is..."
Morelss had already put the head back into her "game inventory."
"This will be for your experiment," Morelss said. "Let me see if your skills are truly as reputed."
"Are they reputed? Haha... Hahaha..." Fran brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, threw his head back, and laughed heartily. He quickly moved to a corner of the operating room. "I'll show you right now if I'm reputed."
"There are indeed post-operative complications, a minor issue. I wouldn't have needed glasses otherwise. However, the vision degradation problem has been resolved." He pulled out an organ preservation container from a freezer. "The only post-operative complication is that eyeballs cannot be transplanted a second time."
"I can perform one more eye transplant," he said, opening the cold preservation box, his eyes gleaming. "If I succeed, you must give me the remaining pair of Kurta eyes."
Madness and genius were separated by a fine line.
There was no more convincing way than him being willing to experiment on himself.
Morelss approached him and placed the head she had shown him into the preservation box. "Alright, I promise."
Meanwhile, the Spiders had found a rare spot with water, electricity, and internet to use as a base, as Phinks needed internet and a computer to investigate. For the other Spiders, the downtime while waiting for the Troupe's activities was just another opportunity to pass the time, simply in a different location. They were never picky.
Thick curtains allowed only a thin sliver of sunlight to enter. Kurapika stayed alone in a darkened room, with rows of glass jars displayed before him. In each cylindrical jar, a Kurta eye was preserved. Anger, sorrow, pain, despair—all emotions condensed into that crimson hue, a splendor that no paint could replicate, truly one of the seven great beauties.
When inventorying his spoils, he discarded any Kurta eyes of inferior quality on the spot.
In terms of the quality and quantity of his Kurta eye collection, no collector in the world could match him. How many body collectors must have been envious, eager to acquire them and flaunt them.
Kurapika showed no joy on his face. Instead, he leaned back on the sofa in annoyance, muttering softly, "Sigh, I still really want to know if there are any more beautiful ones among the remaining six pairs of Kurta eyes."
An undeniable hunger wafted from the corner.
If Morelss's answer couldn't offset the patience he had endured during this period, he would have to seriously consider whether to label her as a traitor to the Troupe.
With that thought, Kurapika, who hadn't closed his eyes in a long time, finally drifted off to sleep.
Seeing Phinks stretch as he emerged from the room, Machi asked, "How's it going?"
"Not good," Phinks replied, rubbing his stiff shoulders after sitting for so long. "I can never find her, and the Boss just increased my workload."
Finally having someone to complain to, Phinks pushed the door open wider, letting Machi see the overwhelming number of pop-up windows accumulated on his computer screen. The program he wrote was constantly collecting and filtering data from the internet, but its capabilities were limited. It was impossible to rely entirely on the computer; Phinks would still need to process it manually later.
"Initially, we thought the breakthrough point would be the child she was with. That child is key to the matter. Pakunoda has already transmitted the images she saw (using Nen) to me, so I'm very clear about the child's physical characteristics." Phinks held up two index fingers. "Logically, she would either choose to keep the child with her—a group objective of two or more people, which could serve as a screening condition. Or she would choose to hide the child temporarily, in which case she would have to consider the child's independent living situation, how to choose a location or contact person—which could also serve as a screening condition."
"Although I think it's reasonable that Morelss is hard to find, she actually changes phones frequently. Since she replaces them with the same model, it's not apparent on the surface. If I could secretly install something on her phone..." Seemingly letting slip a piece of information, Phinks covered his abrupt halt with a smile. "In short, she's 'professional.' Unless she makes a mistake, we really can't do anything about her."
"Today is the last day," Machi said.
According to the Boss's orders, if they couldn't contact Morelss within three days, the entire Troupe would have to mobilize.
"Yes, that's why the Boss mentioned a third possibility today," Phinks said, crossing his arms. "Perhaps our breakthrough point was completely wrong. Is it true that Morelss's Nen ability cannot 'contain' living targets? Or can it be done if certain restrictive conditions are met? If we consider this, then all the initially set screening conditions are likely invalid."
"It has indeed become very difficult."
"Doesn't Machi's intuition say anything?" Science had reached its limit; it was better to seek help from the metaphysical.
"...Don't ask me." Machi waved her hand and turned to leave. "I really don't know."
"But Machi, isn't your intuition super accurate?!" Phinks lamented. "Including the Boss, we all trust your intuition!"
"..." Machi felt considerable pressure from being consistently valued by the Troupe members without reason. She always believed logic was more reliable than intuition. "Speaking of the Boss. I feel like the Boss is extremely concerned about the Kurta eyes she took. Let's find her soon."
"We don't need intuition for this matter anymore." The entire Troupe knew this well.
"...Is that so?" Standing by the door, Machi paused for a moment, but her intuition still failed to appear. "Then, good luck."
The door closed. Phinks glanced at the computer screen and decided to lie down and play with his phone for a bit.
He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep. Unless it was a special venue, the soundproofing of ordinary residences wasn't much better than abandoned buildings. Phinks was used to the various noises of the Troupe members and slept soundly. He was only jolted awake when Feitan kicked the door open.
"Phinks, you're actually sleeping?!" Feitan, having knocked with no response, thought Phinks was in trouble and thus kicked the door open. "At your age and stage, how can you sleep?!"
"Why can't I sleep?" Phinks mumbled, still sleepy. "I didn't sleep at all for the past two days."
"I trusted you so much!" Feitan looked disappointed, as if he were lamenting a lost opportunity. "Now I've lost the bet."
"Oh, the time has passed already," Phinks said, unsurprised. "I already warned you. Feitan, you know how easy it is to lose when betting on low-probability events."
"That's where the fun lies!" Feitan declared.
"Phinks, let's sort out the known intelligence first," the Spider's leader said, arriving a moment later.
The Spiders, their waiting period over, gathered again, poised for the next hunt.
Meanwhile, Morelss was confirming the surgical results. Fran covered his blue eye and looked at the vision chart taped to the wall using only the transplanted Kurta eye, followed by a color differentiation test.
The results were extremely successful.
"Come on! Let's start quickly!" From the beginning of the surgery, through its completion, then a day of recovery waiting, and finally the removal of the eye bandages, Fran's smile never faded; he was in a constant state of excitement. "My condition is better than ever! The operating room is ready! I can't wait to perform the next one!"
Could a doctor in this state be competent? Morelss glanced at Illumi. After meeting with Morelss, he had stayed quietly by her side, fulfilling only the terms of their transaction and showing no intention of interfering with Morelss's words or actions.
...Including advice. Illumi chose when to be didactic.
His not doing anything extra was probably a good thing.
Come to think of it, dying on the operating table was a painless death Morelss had once dreamed of in the "real world."
Vaguely anticipating some unexpected possibility, Morelss[retrieved] a whole bottle of anesthetic from her "game inventory" and instructed Fran, "Normal anesthetics don't work on me. Use continuous intravenous injection."
"If there's a problem with the anesthesia, I won't take responsibility," Fran grumbled.
"I won't trouble you."
If someone was accompanying her, wouldn't it be convenient to cause trouble? Fran thought. I'm being watched every step of the way. Regardless of whether the surgery is successful, I need to be vigilant and always have a backup plan.
Before surgery, personnel entering the operating room must change their attire and wear masks as required. Patients also need to wash their hair and shower to ensure cleanliness. During this time, Illumi would have to keep an eye on Fran to prevent him from making any underhanded moves.
It wasn't that she was worried about Fran deliberately causing the surgery to fail, but rather that this surgery would leave no record, and Fran and this institute would be erased—thus, information about the "Kurta eyes" would not leak.
Discarding the tool after its use, eliminating all traces.
The hospital gowns in this institute were similar to those in regular hospitals, choosing a cool-toned blue that had a calming visual effect. The blue was lighter, making stains easier to spot and clean. The gowns reached the knees and featured side openings with ties, saving the patient the trouble of getting dressed, which was convenient for routine check-ups and dressing changes.
After getting ready, they passed through the buffer zone and entered the operating room.
Fran and Illumi were already waiting by the operating table.
Upon confirming that everything was in order, Morelss lay down on the operating table. For ease of communication, she had been[wearing] a voice transmission device. "Begin."
The needle slowly pierced the vein in the crook of her elbow. The process was identical to hospitals in the "real world."
She felt a sense of detachment, followed by actual detachment.
The anesthetic was starting to take effect.
It felt very much like falling asleep, Morelss thought, her senses gradually fading.
Once consciousness was lost, the perception of time also vanished. When she regained consciousness, it felt as though only a few seconds had passed.
Her eyes were tightly bandaged, allowing no light to penetrate. The bloody smell of the surgery constantly filled her nostrils.
According to Fran, she wouldn't be able to see anything immediately after the surgery. It would require at least a day of recovery waiting until her eyes regained light sensitivity, after which the bandages could be removed.
The anesthetic's effects were waning. Morelss could feel a dull ache in her eyes, the hardness of the operating table, and an unignorable foreign sensation.
Her limbs failed to respond. Morelss's consciousness was still somewhat hazy. The sounds she made were muffled, like murmurs, "...Illumi?"
She might not have expected an answer, but the person she named responded immediately.
"I'm here." The voice wasn't far away, perhaps within a meter.
Time was a peculiar thing; the more critical the moment, the slower it seemed to pass.
From the moment Morelss woke up, only 2 seconds had actually passed.
Give her a few more seconds, and she might have been clearer-headed, not asking such an obvious and foolish question, "...What are you doing?"
"You." This time, the answer was close to her ear.
Morelss had never had "friends."
She only had "accomplices," "accomplices," "partners," and "enemies."