Chapter 89: Kastro's Challenge × The Zoldyck Brothers Cannot Escape
"Imagine pulling and stretching your Nen, bending it into a fishhook shape. Break through the water's resistance, trace the fish's movements, and actively hook onto it. The key lies in 'injecting imagination' into this process."
Hunter Association calendar year 1986, December 27th, winter. Less than ten days remained until the 274th Hunter Exam. Deep within Kukuroo Mountain, at a water pond, Roy sat cross-legged on a moss-covered rock, draped in a thick cotton overcoat. Grandfather Zigg's notebook rested on his lap, and in his hand he held a "half-finished" fishing rod, attempting to catch fish.
It was called "half-finished" because it lacked any accessories—not even a hook or line. It was simply a bamboo pole from which he'd stripped the branches.
Having determined he needed to improve his Nen quality to withstand the Sun's consumption, Roy adopted Grandfather Zigg's training method during these final days before departure: "hookless fishing." This exercise sharpened his Nen threads and deepened his understanding of the fundamentals of Nen's shape transformation.
Just as Hisoka injected imagination into his Nen to mimic paper, stretching out thin sheets of "Nen skin" to construct "the illusion of lightness."
Roy used Ten to envelop the bamboo pole, imagining his Nen extending outward. At the pole's tip, his aura sprouted a small thread, gradually developing a tendency to drip downward.
"Young Master, the luggage is packed. We can depart whenever you're ready." Behind him, Gotoh stood quietly, two large suitcases at his side.
He'd been there for some time. Noticing Roy deep in concentration, he'd wisely refrained from interrupting. Only when the bamboo pole's tip finally formed a faint Nen thread—which then snapped with a soft "pop" because Roy pulled too quickly and lost control—did Gotoh speak up.
The young man silently regretted the mistake but didn't let frustration show. He put away the fishing rod, stood, and said, "Let's go."
Taking the lead, he walked down the mountain path toward the base. Gotoh hefted the luggage and followed. As they drew near, they could vaguely make out the mountain's guardian butler standing at the trailhead entrance, gripping a cane and standing motionless as a stone statue.
He possessed neat, short white hair, and while not particularly tall, his build looked somehow familiar. Looking closer, Roy recognized him—Kastro.
Just days ago, Gotoh had mentioned opening Kastro's aura nodes. The very same day, the young man had issued a challenge and received a thorough beating for his trouble, settling down afterward. "Unfortunately, he tested as an Enhancer. If we want to cultivate him toward Transmutation, it'll take some time." Gotoh periodically checked Kastro's training progress, determined to mold him into a tool surpassing even Tsubone.
Roy didn't particularly care. Transmutation at least borders Enhancement—far better than blindly training and ending up with a Conjuration-type clone.
"Young Master."
Footsteps echoed along the mountain path.
Kastro heard the approach, opened his eyes, turned back, and, upon recognizing Roy, bowed respectfully.
The young man's face still resembled a pig's head; the swelling had not entirely subsided. Roy glanced at Gotoh, half-suspecting the butler was jealous of Kastro's good looks and had deliberately aimed every strike at his face. The kid was beaten so badly that he whistled when he talked.
Gotoh, carrying the luggage, tilted his head back to gaze at the sky. Not my problem.
Roy shot him a look, then nodded at Kastro and brushed past his shoulder.
Hearing the footsteps gradually fade, the young man straightened his back and suddenly called out, "Young Master! If I defeat that guy, can I become your personal butler?"
Roy's steps halted. He suddenly sensed a tremendous surge of killing intent shooting skyward. Looking up, Gotoh whirled around, dropped the luggage, pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, and narrowed his eyes at Kastro. "Are you serious?!"
Kastro stiffened his neck, showing no fear. "I wasn't talking to you. I'm asking the Young Master."
Gotoh shoved both hands into his pockets, gripping several coins. He turned his head toward Roy. "Young Master, we really should just kill him."
Veins bulged visibly across his forehead—he was clearly on the edge of losing control. One word from Roy, and he'd dismember Kastro into eight pieces on the spot.
Roy watched this scene with interest, reaching out to pat Gotoh's shoulder. "Let's go."
He responded to neither Gotoh nor Kastro, simply lifting his foot and walking out of the mountain path. Gotoh shot Kastro a look that said, "watch yourself," suppressed his rage, and followed. Only the young man remained at the trailhead, watching the two depart, his fists clenched tightly.
At this moment, less than a hundred meters from the mountain gate, Roy walked ahead, and Gotoh walked behind. Silence stretched between master and servant. Just as Zebro removed his hat and bowed to Roy in greeting, Gotoh drew a breath and said heavily, "Young Master, I want to become stronger."
Roy's steps didn't slow.
Gotoh continued, "I must become stronger."
The young butler had never been more serious. "I cannot accept losing you, Young Master."
"And then?" Roy stopped before the mountain gate, turned, and looked at Gotoh. "You'll kill yourself?"
"Yes." Gotoh pressed his right hand to his chest. "That is my vow. It will also be my glory."
With that, he dropped to one knee and lowered his head.
Vows and Limitations?
A cold wind blew past, lifting the hem of Roy's coat. He recalled what Gotoh had said that night and stood before him in silence. "Don't worry."
"Even if you want to die someday, you can't do it without my permission."
"Yes."
Zebro reminded them, "Young Master, it's 11:30. The car is waiting outside."
Flexing his arms, Zebro opened the mountain gate with a resounding boom. Sunlight poured through, dispelling some of the cold.
He watched Roy and Gotoh board the car one after the other, pretending not to have seen the earlier exchange. Clutching a thermos in his hands, he looked up at the sun and felt warmth spread through his chest. "What a fine day," he thought contentedly.
The black sedan roared forward, wheels spinning against pavement as the driver gunned the engine.
The mountain gate closed heavily, severing a line of sight.
At 11:31 AM, a phone call reached Illumi: "Young Master, the eldest young master has departed."
"I know."
The call ended. Behind Illumi sat luggage he'd packed in advance. He sat beside his desk, staring absently at his reflection in the mirror. At some point, he'd changed his face to Roy's again.
"Who says he left? He's clearly been here with me all along."
Illumi touched his chest, unwilling to tear his eyes from the mirror. His form flickered, and the door creaked open with a squeak, swinging with the wind.
Across the hallway in a small room, a certain old man heard the noise. His enlarged ear shrank back. Whether he'd been listening to the cartoon or something else entirely—certainly not eavesdropping—he rocked in his chair with contentment, his eyes crinkling in a smile.
"Ah, youth is wonderful. He chases, he runs, with wings he still cannot escape."
"Finally starting to act like brothers."