The first sound of the morning was not a bell, or a door, or a voice.
It was breath.
Mine.
Steady. Thin. Quiet enough to be mistaken for the cold wind slipping off the mountain pines.
The corridor floors of Kukuroo Mountain were lacquered blackwood, polished so smooth that any heel pressure would whisper across them. I pressed my weight through my toes instead, letting the ball of my foot glide forward, meeting the floor with only the hint of touch.
"Float. Don't press. Be where the sound isn't."
The house responded to silence.
It always had.
Gotoh waited at the end of the hall, kneeling beside a low lacquered box. His posture was perfect—straight back, lowered eyes, hands still. But his presence was not empty. He watched me the way a hawk watches wind.
"Young Master Nagisa," he said quietly. "Your steps were clean. One misalignment on the third landing board."
I paused.
"Left foot?" I asked.
"Right."
"Noted."
Gotoh opened the box.
Inside:
Claw training tips (for finger pressure drills)
Wrist whip, coiled and oiled
Silent-step ankle weights, thin as cloth but heavy as stone
Black cotton gi, soft and breathable
He wrapped the weights around my ankles with practiced, gentle precision.
"How heavy?" he asked.
"Heavier than yesterday."
He tightened them one more notch. The weights settled like truth.
"Claw drills first," Gotoh said.
"No," I said. "Phantom step today."
Gotoh bowed his head, not in obedience but in recognition that I had made a decision and would stand by the outcome.
We moved to the east courtyard. The sky was the gray-blue of a blade cooled in water. A breeze chased frost across the stone.
Zeno was already there.Of course he was.
He stood with his hands behind his back, relaxed, watching the world like it had just told him a joke.
"Morning, boy," he said.
"Morning, Grandfather."
Zeno pointed to a ring of stones arranged in a pattern only the family used—tight curves, deceptive spacing, angles that punished hesitation.
"Walk it."
I stepped into the ring.
Phantom step was not about being invisible.
It was about being unremarkable.
The eye should slide past.
The ear should forget.
Heel slightly lifted.
Weight distributed through the outer arch.
Breath steady, not empty.
I moved.
The world did not notice me.
I felt that, and kept going.
Zeno's voice drifted like a lazy arrow.
"Better. You're not trying to be quiet. You're just not interesting."
"Good," I thought. "Quiet can be forced. Uninteresting is earned."
A small, sleepy shape shuffled into the courtyard. White hair. Blanket. Bare feet.
Killua.
He rubbed one eye, stared at me.
"Nagi… sa… are you floating?" he asked, face squinting in scandal.
I stepped out of the ring and rested a hand briefly on his fluffy head.
"Just walking," I said.
Killua leaned heavily into my hand. He did not realize he was doing it.Gotoh's mouth almost twitched upward.
Breakfast smelled like steamed rice, grilled river fish, and vinegar greens.
Kikyo sat poised and immaculate, veil shining faintly in the morning light.
Illumi sat closest to Silva. He was already awake inside his eyes.
Milluki sat across from me, posture collapsing like a dying cat. Kikyo lightly tapped the back of his chair without looking; Milluki straightened instantly, face red.
Killua climbed onto his seat, feet swinging. He stabbed his rice like it was a battlefield.
No one corrected him.
Silva set his chopsticks down and looked at me.
"Your phantom steps are beginning to stabilize."
His tone was calm, low, certain.
"Yes, Father," I said.
"You will refine air-hold next," Silva continued. "Your weight still settles too soon."
"I understand."
Zeno smirked behind his teacup. "He almost does," he said.
Silva did not argue. That was praise.
Milluki swallowed a bite of fish too fast and coughed.
Kikyo did not move, but her presence leaned toward him for exactly one breath—concern disguised as posture.
Killua pointed at the claw caps that still lay beside my plate.
"Can I wear those?"
"No," I said.
"When?"
"When your bones stop growing."
Killua accepted this without complaint. Just nodded, determined.
Illumi watched Killua for a moment. Something thoughtful flickered across his face.
But only for a moment.
Training resumed in the south courtyard.
This time, Silva instructed.
He placed three wooden posts at uneven heights. The tops were wrapped in cloth.
"Claw grip," he said. "But no tearing."
I stepped forward.
Raised my hand.
Curled fingers.
Placed my weight through the tendons.
Not a grab.
Not a scratch.
A claim.
Cloth didn't so much as wrinkle.
Silva's head dipped. Approval.
"Now the whip."
I uncoiled the wrist whip. The metal tip gleamed, small but certain.
Whip strikes were not about power.
They were about control.
The wrist must snap without tension.
I drew a circle in the air.
The chain traced the path smoothly.
The tip stopped dead.
No tremor.
No wasted sound.
Killua clapped.
Everyone ignored him.
Except me.
I flicked my eyes his way just enough to say, I saw that, and I liked that.
He beamed.
Milluki pretended not to watch.
He was watching intensely.
Illumi practiced needle precision beside me. The two of us moved in parallel, silent, aligned, different but familiar.
"We are built from the same steel," I thought.
"Shaped differently, but forged here, together."
The afternoon brought the silent trail.
Gotoh led me to the pine forest at the back of the estate. Bells were suspended by hair-thin threads, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.
"You remember," Gotoh said.
I nodded.
"Sound is permission," I recited quietly. "Silence is survival."
I stepped into the forest.
The ground shifted unevenly beneath pine needles.
I let my breath flatten.
Let my body become suggestion, not presence.
One step.
No sound.
Two steps.
No sound.
Three steps—
A twig waited beneath the fourth.
My heel hovered.
"Weight follows thought. Let the thought go."
I redirected mid-air, placed my foot on moss instead.
No bell rang.
From behind me, Gotoh exhaled—not relief, but respect.
I completed the trail.
Turned.
Bowed.
Gotoh bowed back.
No words were needed.
Evening.
Lanterns flickered gold against stone.
I returned alone to the courtyard to repeat phantom step.
The air cooled. The light thinned.
A presence settled behind me.
Ancient.
Quiet.
Heavy without weight.
Maha.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
I performed phantom step again—this time slower.
More true.
No shadow forced.
No silence faked.
Just disappearance.
Maha watched.
Then—
He spoke.
Only one word.
"Unseen."
I bowed deeply.
Killua peeked from the corridor, holding his blanket, watching us both silently.
Milluki watched Killua, pretending not to care.
Illumi watched me from the doorway with an expression that held no envy—only a quiet understanding.
Silva passed by once, hands behind his back.
He didn't stop.
But he did look.
Kikyo watched from the inner screen, veil catching lantern light.
Zeno sat on the roof beams, drinking tea, smiling like he had seen this scene decades before it happened.
And I—
I just breathed.
"I belong here," I thought.
"And I am becoming something."
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
The night wrapped around us all like a familiar cloak.
And the mountain listened.
End of Chapter 1
(Chapter 2 — Heaven's Arena begins next: memory return + Nen awakening.)