Old man's so confident?
Netero narrowed his eyes at Maha. Not to mention—the thought of taking 10 billion off this fossil sounded delightful.
"…President, don't fall for it~" Beans leaned in, voice low but anxious. Maha looked too sure of himself. If Netero actually gambled, he might lose!
Beans opened his mouth to warn him again—
Flick!
"Little bean, when adults are talking, don't interrupt."
A chip snapped through the air with frightening precision. Maha's knotted finger had flicked it like a bullet. The crisp landed squarely against Beans' lips, sealing them shut.
"—Mmph!" Beans' eyes bulged. He froze, a bead of sweat dripping down. Right. He'd almost forgotten who this old man was.
He lowered his head quickly, trying to disappear.
The old man really does pretend I don't exist, Beans thought bitterly.
Netero cast him a reassuring glance, then turned a cold smile toward Maha.
"People who get too confident tend to fall the hardest."
"Ten billion, huh? The old man can afford it." Netero steepled his fingers.
"I'll take your bet."
"Hmm~" Maha's legs, crossed and shaking, suddenly stilled. He straightened his back with a creak of joints and smirked.
"Kids these days… too reckless." He sighed with mock sadness.
"Oh well, I really didn't want to take your money, old man… but if you're handing it over—don't blame me for collecting."
"Opening champagne at halftime?" Netero's half-smile deepened. "Careful not to choke before the toast."
"Oh?" Maha chewed his last cucumber chip, washed it down with tea, then spoke slowly:
"Because I'm a killer. And my grandson is also a killer."
"What do you think a killer looks like? Someone who fights to the death for a contract?" Maha scoffed, placing the teacup down with a boom on the coffee table.
"Wrong. In the Zoldyck family, we put our own safety first—always. No mission is worth your life. Can't complete the job? Kill the employer instead."
Netero's eyes narrowed. "So you think Ilmi won't strike because it's too dangerous?"
"It's not about danger." Maha's voice turned grave. "It's about living or dying. If Roy were truly a threat, and Ilmi missteps once—he dies."
Netero exhaled softly. Sure enough… cold-blooded to the core.
He thought of Killua and felt a rare flicker of warmth. At least that boy hasn't been completely poisoned by this family's way of thinking.
"Let's watch and see." Netero lifted his tea, turning to the TV.
In the Exam Corridor
The mass of candidates halted as Satotsu stopped, offering them all a rare breather. The long, dim corridor echoed with footsteps and shallow breathing.
Killua kicked his skateboard up and tucked it under his arm.
He turned back—Roy was still standing on Ilmi's shoulders, face to face with his "rescuer."
Killua clenched his fists tightly, heart pounding.
Come on… knock him down brother, ! Take him down!
Almost as if Ilmi caught his younger brother's unspoken encouragement, his dull fish-eyes flashed with a chilling resolve.
Should I stay a horse? Or throw this blind man off and take back control?
Without hesitation, Ilmi crossed his arms, gripping two long black nails, and plunged them into his own shoulders.
PUFF!
The sharp metal sank deep, and under the horrified eyes of every candidate—
Ilmi ripped out two neat chunks of his own flesh.
The sound was wet and sickening. Blood welled up instantly, running down his pale skin, dripping onto the stone floor.
Not a single twitch of pain crossed his expression.
"He… he's insane…" someone whispered, voice shaking.
"Just to get free… he's cutting himself open?"
"Monsters. They're all monsters."
A cold hush spread through the corridor. Even the brash ones—Babu the Snake, Greta the Lion Hunter, the Amory brothers—fell silent.
People who are cruel to themselves will always be crueler to others. Gon's simple words pierced everyone's heart:
"This guy… is really scary."
Kurapika and Leorio's faces tightened. Hanzo's usual smirk vanished. Even Hisoka raised his chin, inhaling the metallic scent of blood with a look of pure ecstasy.
"Ohhh~ Ilmi, you surprise me. I didn't think you'd go this far…" Hisoka licked his lips, almost trembling.
Roy's Response
Roy's blind eyes stayed calm. No fear. No surprise.
The thin threads snaked back to him, snapping loose as Ilmi severed them.
Roy lightly hopped down from Ilmi's shoulders, landing on the cold stone with a thud, stick-and-sheath clattering against the ground.
The atmosphere froze.
The mad dog has slipped its collar. So what will you do now, my good brother?
Roy raised his head slightly, face impassive, almost bored. The faintest curl of a smile touched his lips—as if he had already measured Ilmi's heart.
In the chairman's office, Maha gave a triumphant laugh and nudged Netero.
"See? I told you, Ilmi is too smart. He'd rather maim himself than pick a fight he can't win."
"You still don't believe me?" Maha tapped the table smugly. "Now, go ahead and transfer the money."
"Why so eager?" Netero smiled faintly.
His sharp eyes were fixed on the TV. From the corner of the screen, a black nail glinted and shot forward like a bullet—straight at Roy's face!
The camera caught everything. The sound was sharp and cutting:
Fffsssshhhhh!
The candidates gasped in unison.
Even the four "customers" who had paid Roy 300 million shrank back.
Ilmi's killing intent was ice-cold, his movements lightning-fast. This wasn't a threat—this was an assassination strike.