Fifty Aptitude X Duel X Zoldyck Brothers

In truth, the match list that old man Netero arranged did not differ much from the original story. Aside from the addition of Kurama and Chrollo, everyone else remained in nearly the same positions. As for these two new variables, Chrollo, surprisingly, was not targeted or disadvantaged; instead, he was given a rather high placement—he would face Bodoro, with the loser going on to battle the one defeated in the Kurapika versus Hisoka match. As for the other, Kurama, the chairman gave him considerable recognition for his qualities as a Hunter; his opponent was the hat-wearing youth Pokkle, with the loser set to fight the loser of the Gon versus Hanzo match.

The examinees’ surprise at the rankings was much the same as in the original—after all, the chairman’s match order was highly subjective, so a little astonishment and discussion among the candidates was to be expected. The only ones truly surprised by the order were Kurama and Chrollo themselves. Kurama was astonished that the chairman held him in such high regard—he had never understood what exactly constituted “Hunter material,” but he’d always assumed he had little advantage in that regard. Chrollo, on the other hand, was surprised by the chairman’s fairness toward him. He’d long known the old man was capricious, even eccentric, but to grant such a high evaluation to an S-class fugitive—was this really acceptable?

As he watched the composed, white-bearded elder amidst the crowd, the leader’s lips quirked into a slight smile, a contemplative gleam passing through his eyes. Regardless of the examinees’ feelings toward the match order, what was decided would not change, so the next phase began: the eleven candidates facing off in pairs as scheduled.

The first round pitted Kurapika against Hisoka. The process and the result unfolded almost identically to the original, with one notable difference: when Kurapika heard the name of the Phantom Troupe from Hisoka’s lips, Kurama used a Phantom Spore attached to Kurapika’s clothes to temporarily disguise the change in his eyes—otherwise, the boy was sure to expose himself in front of Chrollo.

After that scene, the second match, between Kurama and Pokkle, began. The fox spirit scarcely exerted himself; apart from forgoing the transformation of his Rose Whip from a rose blossom—he had already activated and wrapped it around his wrist, not wishing to reveal his powers—his breathtaking grace in battle left everyone present dumbfounded. Hisoka, especially, couldn’t stop laughing, covering his face, which utterly ruined Kurama’s mood after his victory. If not for retrieving Mokona from Illumi, whose arms had served as a temporary haven for the little creature—who now snuggled and congratulated him in its soft voice—Kurama doubted he could have regained his spirits so quickly.

With that match over, Kurama was free to relax and spectate the rest of the proceedings—such as when Gon tormented Hanzo to the point of exhaustion, refusing to surrender or let his opponent yield, until the frustrated, vein-popping ninja finally punched him flying; or when Hanzo easily defeated Pokkle, who had been utterly bested by Kurama. Meanwhile, Chrollo, whom everyone cautiously regarded, yet whose appearance was that of an ordinary (or not?) pretty boy, dispatched the formidable martial artist Bodoro with ease. Then, perhaps out of jealousy that Chrollo got to fight such an opponent—or perhaps, fueled by the battle lust Kurama’s performance ignited—Hisoka, showing no mercy for the aged, promptly beat the martial artist half to death.

Because of this, Leorio and Bodoro’s match was postponed, making way for Killua versus Pokkle. The silver-haired boy declared he had no interest in fighting such a boring opponent. “Whipped so badly—what fun could I possibly have with someone like that?” With biting sarcasm, the silver-haired child ignored his opponent’s reddened face, waved a hand, and casually conceded.

Kurama, holding Mokona, stood quietly beside Illumi, observing. Sensing the faint, nearly imperceptible anger emanating from his friend, Kurama bowed his head in sympathy for the poor boy—he finally understood why, in the original, Illumi resorted to such extreme measures to “discipline” Killua. It wasn’t just that this twisted elder brother was unwilling to see his sibling befriend someone as “useless” as Gon (though perhaps that was the obsession of an overprotective brother), but Illumi was also displeased by Killua’s attitude during the final exam.

It wasn’t that Illumi minded Killua conceding out of preference; what truly infuriated him was Killua’s way of abandoning a fight simply because it was “boring.” He and Silva had always taught Killua to put his own life above all else. Under that principle, the less dangerous, the less threatening an option, the more Killua should prefer it. Yet now, his little brother showed a value system completely contrary to what he and their father had instilled. Even if Illumi’s real face wasn’t revealed, it was obvious to anyone with sense: compared to the slender, battered Pokkle, Illumi was clearly the more dangerous one. Yet Killua chose to forfeit to Pokkle and thus face Illumi. This drove the elder brother to the peak of anger.

With his fury suppressed to its lowest point, Illumi stepped into the arena. “Killua, it seems…you truly haven’t recognized me.” Meeting the silver-haired boy’s mischievous, provocative gaze, Illumi spoke slowly, a hint of helplessness and evident affection in his tone.

Then, under the amazed stares of all who watched, he began removing the needles from his face, one by one, speaking as he did so: “Although I’ve never shown you this face before, the fact that you truly never sensed my presence…it really saddens me.” At last, the final needle left Illumi’s cheek, and his distorted features began to writhe, shifting into another face—one so stunningly beautiful that all around widened their eyes in awe.

“Killua.” The black-haired, cat-eyed beauty called softly.

The silver-haired boy across from him went rigid. His face bore unmistakable terror; his lips quivered, and only with the greatest effort did he manage to stammer out, “…Big Brother…”

The entire testing hall erupted in gasps.

If Illumi’s unmasking and the revelation of his fraternal bond with Killua merely astonished examiners and examinees alike, then the ensuing conversation between these brothers was nothing short of chilling for these “ordinary” people. Killua, simply to avoid interference, had injured his own mother and second brother, yet their mother, weeping with emotion for Illumi, was not saddened but proud—“That child’s eyes, in that moment… Ah, so cold, so full of killing intent! As if he’d bare his claws at Kalluto and me at any moment… Illumi, Killua has grown up!”

What kind of bizarre family could produce a mother and sons like these? The onlookers, typified by Leorio and his “ordinary” sensibilities, felt themselves overwhelmed.

Soon the conversation took a sharp turn, ranging from Killua’s original intention for taking the Hunter Exam to the present, where Gon had been sent to the guest room and lay unconscious. On the subject of “friends,” Illumi delivered his classic, hypnotic, and brainwashing line—“You are an assassin; you don’t need friends, nor do you deserve them”—sending chills through everyone present. He then threatened to kill Gon unless Killua conceded and returned home to be punished, never again speaking of “friends.” This provoked Leorio—usually quite bold, if a bit of a hothead—to jump up in outrage.

As Killua’s eyes dimmed, all their light fading until he was like a puppet, the strings all in Illumi’s hands, unable to refuse any demand, Leorio and Kurapika watched in anxious despair, powerless to intervene as Killua’s will was stripped away by Illumi’s control.

Then—“Pfft. Got you.” Suddenly, the previously expressionless beauty gave a tiny laugh and beamed with a brilliant smile.

Everyone froze in bewilderment.

—What a dramatic shift! Was this beautiful person really all right?

Of all, Killua reacted most intensely. He jerked his head up, staring in disbelief at his radiant elder brother. His expression was scarcely less unsettled than when he’d been filled with terror.

“B-Big Brother?” he called uncertainly.

Was this really the same person—who suppressed him with killing intent, who quashed every retort with a single, merciless phrase, who, though he often brought him sweet treats, never seemed affectionate but cold as a heartless, emotionless machine, making Killua feel frozen and paralyzed in his presence? Was this truly his brother?

Killua simply could not convince himself to believe it.

So, as Illumi approached him with that bright smile, Killua—who had never before dodged, or rather, who had always been paralyzed by killing intent—instinctively stepped back two paces, then stopped abruptly. He remembered that every time he tried to retreat, Illumi’s anger—and the suffocating killing intent—would only grow more intense.

But this time, the familiar, suffocating pressure never came.

Instead, what came was a warm, slender hand, gently resting on his head, softly ruffling his hair.

“Sorry, Killua, the joke went…a little too far,” that familiar voice said, in a tone gentler than ever before. “Maybe I’ve been too strict with you—that’s a mistake your brother and father made.” Like something out of a dream, the soft voice continued, “So after this exam, come home with me, all right? Let’s talk, you, me, and Dad. We need to understand what you really want.”

Such gentle, heartfelt care—something even his dreams had never conjured.

Killua looked up sharply and, by chance or perhaps not, met a pair of dark eyes, familiar yet strange. In those eyes, for the first time (or perhaps not), he saw—real, undeniable—deep helplessness, and…affection.