Roy could indeed feel Nen leaking from Illumi.
That aura was "damp" and "clammy," an uncomfortable chill—like a viper lurking in a gutter, tonguing the air, ready to strike the prey it had fixed on.
"Congratulations." Roy didn't slow, tossed the words over his shoulder, and jogged back uphill toward the summit.
Illumi watched him in silence…
Most of his body hid in shadow; the guardroom's dim light cut a slanted strip across his figure and dragged out a long, skewed shadow. He said nothing. Not until Roy's back was gone did he raise a foot and follow, expression blank.
As for… congratulations?
He'd sensed no such feeling from Roy's aura.
The "color" of a Nen user's aura isn't a fixed "milky white"—it shifts with one's emotion in the moment.
Red for "anger"…
Black for "malice" toward another…
Green for balance and calm…
And when neither liking nor disliking—habitually distant, aloof—it shows as a fine "gray"…
What Illumi saw on Roy was gray—
Meaning Roy's placement for him was "a familiar stranger" to be kept at arm's length.
And yes—opening the pores truly changes a person.
Roy wasn't happy, wasn't sad; not curious, not surprised. Hearing that news felt to him like hearing about the day's weather—no ripple inside.
Still, the way Illumi drew his leaked aura back into his body in short order meant that—like Roy—he had learned and grasped Ten in the few minutes after opening his pores.
Ten: the technique of keeping aura from leaking out—controlling the opening and closing of the aura pores to decide what is released and what is retained.
For example, the "Water-Walking" trick in Zigg's notes works by closing all pores and opening only those on the soles, so aura vents solely from that outlet.
In the original tale, it took Zushi three months to learn Ten—a run-of-the-mill genius.
Gon and Killua did it in minutes—a one-in-a-million genius.
Tserriednich Hui Guo Rou did it in a second—a one-in-a-hundred-million genius.
For Roy and Illumi, thanks to Zoldyck blood, picking up Ten within minutes of opening the pores wasn't remarkable.
Dong… 4:30 a.m.
Roy finished his run, took a quick shower, and sat at the table on the dot.
Wutong, pushing the cart as always, knocked and revealed breakfast.
Beef burger, salad, and a tall glass of milk—the "set." The only thing that drew a second glance was the stir-fry: minced pork with eggplant.
"The chef saw you working in the kitchen the other day and copied your dish. He asks for your critique," Wutong explained when he caught Roy's look. "If it's bad, I'll fire him."
The Zoldycks don't fret over money. A mere chef could be dismissed on a whim; Roy was numb to talk like that. He picked up his chopsticks, ready to taste and toss out a decent remark to keep the man employed—
Only for a familiar "old wind" to gust through…
Someone beat Roy to it, snatched a bite, and chewed, appraising.
"Hmmm… too salty, too sweet; the eggplant's under-soft—needs more braise. Keep practicing…"
Maha, eyes closed, smacked his lips, then opened them, tossed the chopsticks, and vanished.
Roy and Wutong traded looks—speechless. Anyone would think the old man had dashed out for a midnight pee; he was gone that fast.
"You heard him. Too much salt and sugar; the eggplant wasn't blanched; the finish was too hot. It needed a few minutes of low simmer to get the eggplant melting before thickening the sauce."
"Understood. I'll fire him when I get back."
"…"
'Is firing people the only thing you know?' Roy shot him a glare. "Even if you rehire, you might not get one better than him. I'll write a recipe. Have someone buy a good iron wok. Settled."
"Yes, sir." Wutong served while reporting recent household matters…
"Madam Kikyo was vomiting for days—thought she was pregnant. A quick Nen check showed food poisoning. She had the steward in charge of produce strung up and beaten, then shipped to Meteor City…"
Roy knew Kikyo hailed from Meteor City. He took a bite of the burger—no comment. His mother was desperate to have Killua; even so, she'd have to wait three or four years…
"And… Young Master Illumi—his eighty-win streak got snapped."
Wutong nudged his gold frames up his nose. "The opponent was an Emission-type Nen user who studied Illumi's fights and came down specifically to counter him. They exchanged for nearly an hour before a precise Nen bullet knocked him out of the ring."
The burger was on the rare side—maybe medium. Chewy. Roy washed it down with milk, face unreadable.
Wutong peeked at him and continued, "You haven't been to Heavens Arena for a while, sir. I suspect Young Master Illumi aimed to break your eighty-one-win mark—and paid for it… I also hear he had Master Silva open his pores yesterday. He'll likely seek that Nen user for revenge soon!"
Revenge? More like a kill.
Roy finished, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and said, "Cut the chatter. Today's training plan?"
Yukizō sat on the rack, tempered all night in moonlight and itching to be drawn—just like Roy, eager for evening to come, to sleep and seek Sakonji Urokodaki.
He pushed back his chair and stood, leaving the mess for Wutong. The young butler reported, "No morning training today, sir. Master Silva ordered Nen-type diagnostics for you and Young Master Illumi. After that, they'll set training plans based on your types."
Finally remembered he has another son?
Roy scooped up Yukizō and, without turning, left Wutong a line:
"I'm not going. If Father asks, tell him—
No assassin is fool enough to lay his hole cards bare.
He taught me that."