"Dong…"
A wooden pendulum clock leaning in the corner struck—just a few seconds shy of 4:00 a.m.
Roy opened his sleepy eyes and met Tsubone's anxious stare. He froze for two seconds, then turned his head toward the window.
Outside, the night still hadn't faded, but on the horizon a thin seam of light was already pushing up beneath the dark, restless and eager. He inhaled—deep—drawing in the fresh air blown down from the peak of Kukuroo Mountain, then rolled out of bed and sat up.
Today was auspicious: good for birth, ill for funerals. A day of new life.
He looked back. Tsubone already had his clothes ready in her hands. Roy took them, dressed, washed up quickly—this time he didn't go for his usual morning run.
Instead, his body blurred into light, slipped straight through the wall, and in the young butler's stunned gaze re-formed in the timeworn corridor outside.
"Let's go," Roy said.
"Yes, sir." Tsubone adjusted his glasses, came back to himself, and watched Roy go before heading down to prepare breakfast.
Master and servant moved through the interlaced darkness and dawn in two different directions. Maidservants hurried; birds murmured low. Roy walked toward the spacious master bedroom on the second floor.
"Tap… tap…"
Footsteps appeared beside him.
"Killua's going to be born," Illumi said.
He was wearing a green vest and dark blue martial trousers, double-breasted buttons like nails across his chest. Hands in his pockets, he looked over with the same hollow, dead-eyed expression as always and asked, "Do you want him to have black hair, or…"
"Silver," Illumi said before Roy could answer.
Silver was the Zoldyck heir color.
Some people claimed they didn't care—but when the moment arrived, their hearts still rose and sank. Illumi's face stayed blank, yet his question betrayed the turbulence underneath.
Roy didn't look at him. His eyes stayed forward. "Either is fine."
But his thoughts drifted—back to what Great-Grandfather had once told him: if you walk the path of faith, you must define your road clearly. Not for one household, but for the countless little households that become a nation when they gather behind you.
Bloodline inheritance belonged to "family."
But that wasn't Roy's road anymore—nor the road he intended to walk in the future.
"You know," Illumi started, "whether he's black-haired or silver-haired, I—"
A sharp glance from Roy cut him off like a blade.
"You can stop talking."
"Don't say the rest."
Illumi: "Okay."
Roy sighed silently.
People didn't change easily. He wasn't going to "fix" his hopeless little brother overnight. So he let it go—and as they rounded a corner, he called out to Milluki.
It was so early that Milluki had never been awake at this hour in his life. Luke had hauled him out of bed and carried him piggyback down the hall. At the sound of Roy's voice, Luke stopped, turned, and bowed to Roy and Illumi.
"Master… wake up. It's the eldest young master and… Young Master Illumi…"
"Emmm…" The fat boy was still half-asleep when he heard Roy's name, refusing to open his eyes—but the instant he heard Illumi's name, he jolted like he'd been electrocuted. He snapped awake and slid off Luke's back.
"Big brother," Milluki said, then looked at the other man and added, "Illumi."
Illumi's gaze sharpened. "What did you call me?"
Milluki's body already carried the beginnings of his future "rich" shape, but he narrowed his long eyes and a cold gleam flashed underneath. He lifted his chin and glared back at Illumi—silent.
The corridor atmosphere froze solid.
Luke wiped sweat, unsure whether he was tired from carrying Milluki or chilled by the sudden pressure, and quietly retreated to the side.
Roy stood there with his hands behind his back, watching with amused interest. When Illumi's hand began to slide out of his pocket—clearly about to start something—Roy grabbed both of them by the wrists like he was leading Shisui and Itachi, and walked forward calmly.
"No fighting."
"Hmph!" Milluki twisted his head away in a sulk, refusing to look at Illumi.
Illumi felt heat in his palm and visibly blanked for a moment. He lowered his head, said nothing, and followed Roy's stride—rarely quiet, rarely peaceful.
"Tap… tap…"
Three of them, plus Luke, took up half the hall.
They passed the dim yellow room, and Roy led his brothers in a quick bow toward it.
"Creak…"
The door opened. A sliver of cartoon audio leaked out—and then Maha and Zeno stepped out together.
"Great-Grandfather / Grandpa…"
"Mm. Everyone's here. Let's go," Maha said.
One set off first. Midway it became three. Then two more joined. Five in all.
Except for Silva, who was already inside the second-floor bedroom with Kikyo.
Maha—bald except for one stubborn strand that refused to die—stretched his back by a window. The others found their places and waited in silence.
A wind came through, carrying away the last bite of spring chill and bringing early summer heat. The pale seam of dawn finally tore a wider opening under the dark, revealing a wash of fish-belly white.
"Looks like the weather will be nice today," Zeno murmured.
The sun hadn't even risen yet, but the red clouds were already tearing the night open.
Zeno leaned beside Roy at the window, watching sunrise with him. His hawk-sharp eyes were dimmer than they used to be—fatigue from traveling through the night.
"Grandpa."
"Mm."
"Was the job… smooth?"
"Smooth and not smooth," Zeno said. "I killed the target, but… it wasn't the real one."
"A substitute doll?" Roy's brows drew together.
Guzmán's "death" in Meteor City was still vivid. Not long ago, Tsubone had passed on the intel: the cult called Truth was spreading like wildfire across multiple continents, drawing serious attention from the V5, Kakin, and the Hunter Association. They were brazen—acting like the world was beneath them.
Roy's eyes flickered. He suddenly realized he'd forgotten something.
He glanced at Zeno. "Grandpa… who hired you?"
Lots of people wanted Guzmán dead. But someone who knew him well enough—and had the channels to feed Zeno live information—was rare.
Zeno's eyes narrowed. He chuckled. "A very interesting kid."
"He asked me to kill Guzmán—draw attention—so he could get a clean one-on-one opportunity. Let me think… his name was…"
"…Hisoka Morow."
Truth's "archbishop" Hisoka: ✗
Pervert duel-addict Hisoka Morow: ✓
In canon he joined the Phantom Troupe purely to get a shot at fighting Chrollo. Now he'd joined the "Truth" church purely to get a shot at "truthing" other archbishops.
Honestly, not much difference.
"Sounds like him," Roy said.
Zeno looked sideways. "You know him?"
"We've met once," Roy replied. "I pinned him into a wall."
Zeno patted Roy's shoulder. "If I know that kid, you're probably on his list too."
Roy shrugged. "Let him come. If he doesn't, he lives. If he does, he dies. Simple."
He glanced at his panel: his "evaluation" had already shifted from "green apple sapling" to "fruiting apple tree." Whether he was the apple or the farmer… that was still undecided.
A wind stirred, lifting Roy's black hair.
Illumi, leaning against the wall, was slowly rubbing the wooden nail in his palm and silently memorizing every word.
Truth cult… Hisoka Morow…
If they had hostile intent toward Nii-san, then—
I will kill them all.
His black hair was even longer than Roy's, ink-dark down to his waist. A faint gleam pulsed on his palm—the light of Ken, which he'd only recently learned from Maha.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe perverts simply recognized each other. Maybe it was the "law of clustering extraordinary malice."
In this dawn—before the sun rose, but with the red clouds already tearing the dark open—
Kikyo's screams tore through the bedroom door.
A baby's wail answered.
"Waaah—!"
Roy, Zeno, Illumi, Silva, Maha—and Milluki, who yawned like he'd just woken from death—looked up together.
"Creak…"
The door opened.
Pink twin ponytails appeared first—Tsubone—carrying a tiny newborn bundled in her arms.
"Master, he's born—silver hair!" Tsubone said, voice shaking with excitement.
Silva stepped forward and took Killua from her carefully. He lowered his head to look, eyes softening in a way they almost never did.
"Good work."
He even smiled—barely, but unmistakably.
He nodded once to Tsubone, then looked toward Maha.
"Great-Grandfather—"
A gust of "Maha" crossed the room. Before Silva could finish the sentence, Killua was already in Maha's arms.
Maha didn't even look at him. "Go check on your wife."
His face changed instantly as he looked down at the baby—grinning so hard it was absurd.
Roy and Zeno traded a glance, both of them speechless.
"When I was born, I didn't see him this happy," Zeno muttered, the "A Kill A Day, Never Retire" motto on his chest fluttering with the breeze. He shook his head at Roy. "Only you back then could compete with… Killua."
Then Zeno drifted over too, hands behind his back. "Everyone likes you. Your father. Your great-grandfather. Even your brothers."
Roy leaned by the window. Behind him, dawn's light finally broke through in full—ribbons of red and gold.
He reached out and pinched a strand of sunlight between his fingers.
He smiled.
Who could deny it?
The mediocre "me" was me. The slightly-grown "me" was also me.
Only when the tide came in did he understand—I am me.
A faint heartbeat—thump—came from the tiny baby in Maha's arms.
Roy touched his own chest. His heart answered with a heavy thud, like a bell.
It resonated with Killua's. With Illumi's quiet presence. With Milluki's curious looming.
A strange, undeniable feeling—blood and bond.
Roy lifted his gaze.
In the blur of light and shadow, it felt as if a great curtain—an era's curtain—was slowly beginning to rise.
…
Far away, in the northeastern sea of the Yorknew continent…
On Greed Island's shore.
A man and a woman stood with a baby between them.
The man wore a hood and held a two-month-old infant bundled like a rice dumpling—only his eyes visible, a pacifier plugging his mouth. His expression was ugly with reluctance.
"Do you really have to go?"
Ging Freecss looked rougher than he had before—either from exhaustion or worry. He stared at the woman in front of him like he could will her to stay.
Vivian's face was cold as stone. Only when she looked at the baby—Gon—did a sliver of warmth appear.
She shook her head slowly, firmly.
"You've repaid your debt. We agreed—after Gon is born, I leave. You don't stop me."
Ging frowned. "Is the Dark Continent really that good?"
Vivian didn't answer. Her hair whipped in the sea wind, strands sticking to her cheek, but her eyes stayed fixed on the ocean beyond—toward the continent across the Mobius Lake.
"It isn't good," she said quietly. "But it's my home."
"I came from there. I should return there."
"What about Gon?" Ging's grip tightened. "What about Gon?"
"I can wait—wait until I get a permit. I'll take you home myself. You know I like adventure too. My ancestor went there. Sooner or later… I'll go."
"I believe you."
Vivian leaned down and kissed Gon's cheek.
Then, as if afraid she'd break if she looked any longer, she didn't look at Ging or Gon again.
She turned her face toward the sea.
"I can't wait that long."
Her skin began to petrify—starting from her feet, crawling upward—until she became an ordinary stone.
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 50 Chapters Ahead of Others!