Remember: everything ใ€Œ โ›“๏ธ ใ€๐Š๐”๐‘๐€๐๐ˆ๐Š๐€ โ˜… says is made up.

Kurapika had reached his breaking point. Exhausted from an entire day and night of tirelessly sifting through a mountainous heap of books on his desk, he yearned for the solace of a few drinks to soothe his weary mind. Little did he know, those drinks would be more than he bargained for. Sinking into his chair, Kurapika slouched against its plush cushion. His appearance told the tale of his intoxicated stateโ€” unkempt hair, loosened necktie, unbuttoned shirt cascading over his belt, and sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. "Fuck..." he groaned, clutching an empty bottle absentmindedly. His foggy mind compelled his hand to search the desk for another bottle. In his search, he inadvertently pressed a button that summoned a specific assistant who was patrolling the corridors of the Nostrade mansion.