Chapter 15: On Shape Transformation X Maha the Food Guardian
When the world speaks of the Zoldycks, two names come to mind: Zeno and Silva. They are the public faces of the world's number one family of assassins, two top-tier masters of Nen known for their cold, ruthless efficiency. Their legendary track record has solidified the family's motto: there is no target the Zoldycks cannot kill. If a contract fails, it only means the client didn't pay enough.
But the true insiders—the old guard of the Hunter Association, veterans like Chairman Netero—they knew the truth. The Zoldyck family's unparalleled status in the underworld was not built by two men. It was built by one.
The patriarch. The founder. The cornerstone of the entire dynasty.
Maha Zoldyck.
He was the family's deepest secret and its true, unshakeable foundation.
The old man seemed to materialize from thin air. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, the skin hanging loosely from his bones. He looked ancient, mummified, a withered husk that could crumble to dust at any moment.
But as Roy stood and bowed, there was not a trace of disrespect in his heart. He knew better than anyone that the frailty was a facade. The man's true age was a mystery, and his power was absolute. If he were ever to truly lose his temper, neither Silva nor even Isaac Netero himself could be confident of walking away unscathed.
His own grandfather, Zeno, had once said it himself: "Of all the people who have fought my grandfather and lived, Chairman Netero is the only one."
That single statement spoke volumes about the man's legendary power.
Maha moved like a ghost. He drifted to the table and sat down, his eyes seeing nothing and no one. His chopsticks became a blur of motion. He ate with a slow, deliberate pace, yet his hands moved so fast they left after-images. Seeing his hard-won meal disappearing at an impossible rate, Roy scrambled back to his chair and joined the fray. By the time he sat down, half the food was already gone.
That speed...
A jolt went through the boy. He quickly grabbed a piece of eggplant. By the time he'd swallowed it, three-quarters of the food had vanished. He took a hasty bite of rice, and with a clatter, two empty plates were dropped onto the table. All that remained were a few lonely slices of tomato.
Apparently, they were too tough for the old man's teeth.
"Great-Grandfather..." Roy's hand, chopsticks still poised, froze in mid-air.
The old man let out a satisfied burp, completely ignoring Roy's mournful gaze. He was gone as quickly as he had appeared, his voice echoing faintly down the corridor. "Ah, to be old... my teeth aren't what they used to be... I'll leave these tomatoes for my good grandson... for the vitamins..."
Roy and Gotoh were left in stunned silence. They looked at each other, speechless.
The young butler finally cleared his throat. "Young Master," he said tentatively. "Perhaps... some cream of mushroom soup for dinner?"
Roy felt his stomach churn at the thought and waved the suggestion away. He took Snow-Walker from Gotoh and walked back towards his bedroom.
Tonight, the moon was a sliver, mirroring Roy's own mixed feelings. He was disappointed he didn't get to eat his own cooking, but his great-grandfather's reaction was undeniable proof of one thing: his skills hadn't faded. With a little practice, he could get them back. It would be more than enough to impress Takeo and Shigeru, at least.
Feeling a bit more confident, Roy entered his bedroom. As he went to place Snow-Walker on the sword-rack Gotoh had prepared, his eyes swept the room and locked onto something new.
A book he had never seen before was lying on his desk. Its pages, stirred by the night breeze coming through the open window, fluttered softly.
Roy frowned. He knew for a fact it wasn't his. He walked over, and in the pale moonlight, he saw that the book was old, its pages yellowed with age. The title on the cover was faded and barely legible, but he could just make out the words:
On the Shape Transformation of Nen.
Shape Transformation...
Is this... a technical manual? A thought struck him. He quickly left his room and hurried down the hall to the small bedroom he passed every day. The room was always dimly lit, the sound of cartoons playing 24/7. Peeking through the window, he saw the same withered old man, fast asleep in his rocking chair.
Roy stood by the window for a long moment, clutching the book in his hand. He then bowed deeply in gratitude.
The old man stirred, as if his body had gone numb from sleeping in one position for too long. He turned over, presenting a small, hunched back to the window.
Only after Roy had left did he crack open an eye. He sighed softly and spoke to a dark corner of the room. "You can come out now."
The shadows seemed to warp and twist, and a figure emerged. He had silver hair and a silver beard, with a metal ring around his neck. His robes were emblazoned with eight stark characters: A Kill a Day / Active for Life.
"Good evening, Grandfather," Zeno said, bowing respectfully.
The old man didn't bother to reply, the rocking chair creaking rhythmically. Zeno didn't seem to mind. He came here every day, a routine check-in. He walked behind the chair and began to gently massage Maha's shoulders. An assassin's hands, which could take a life in an instant, were also masters of the human body's every pressure point.
"Grandfather," Zeno said conversationally as he worked. "Why were you willing to part with Father's notes?" He paused. "If I'd known a single meal could make you this happy, I would have learned to cook myself."
"You?" Maha snorted. "If you cooked it, I wouldn't dare eat it. A bunch of fools who only know how to kill. Just like your dead father. All of you, arrogant to the bone."
Zeno fell silent. His father, Zzigg, was a forbidden topic in the family. It was Zzigg who had accompanied Netero to the Dark Continent. It was Zzigg who had brought back a Magical Beast from that voyage. And it was Zzigg who, on his deathbed, had repeatedly warned them to beware of the "curse."
The beast was still kept on the mountain. The curse, however, had yet to manifest. Zeno's daily visits were a precaution, a way to monitor his grandfather's health, terrified that some unknown affliction from that dark place might one day claim him.
But for now, Maha seemed stable. Today, he'd even had a good appetite. It was a positive sign.
"I'm surprised," Zeno remarked. "Roy's talent may be lacking, but it seems he has a gift for cooking. I'll have to try it myself sometime."
"He is my grandson!" Maha's eyes snapped open, his gaze sharp and fierce as he glared at Zeno. "From now on, only I get to try it!"
Zeno was silent.