Late at night, beneath the moonlight.
Jeno walked through a long corridor lined with age-old stone and shadows of time, until he reached the door to Killua's room.
The door wasn't fully closed. A sliver of warm light escaped the gap, casting a faint glow on Jeno's aged face.
He squinted. Faint sounds came from inside—irregular thuds, sharp breaths.
"…Still awake?" Jeno muttered in surprise. That wasn't like Killua at all.
As the century-born genius of the Zoldyck family, Killua always completed his rigorous training by sunset. Efficient, sharp, flawless.
But tonight was different.
"Is he… training extra?" Jeno stroked his beard, puzzled.
With a soft cough, he pushed open the door and stepped in.
"Ahem~ Training too late will only wear down your body," Jeno chided gently. "Not everything can be solved with effort."
But as soon as he stepped inside, he frowned deeply.
Killua's arms and legs were strapped with sandbags—far heavier than usual—and he was drenched in sweat, hunched over, panting like a cornered animal. His lake-blue eyes were dulled from fatigue, but filled with unrelenting resolve.
This wasn't simple training. This was punishment.
"…This kind of overload… for a twelve-year-old—it'll ruin your growth," Jeno muttered, disturbed.
"Huff… huff…" Killua looked up at him, too breathless to respond.
He knew Jeno was right. He knew overtraining would hurt him. But right now, he didn't care.
Only by getting stronger—fast—could he punch that smug bastard Roy in the face.
Even if his body broke.
Jeno's face hardened.
"Take off the sandbags," he ordered.
"No." Killua's voice was hoarse, but his tone unwavering. "Not unless you can teach me how to beat Roy."
"…."
Jeno's eyelid twitched violently.
Roy again?!
He heard that brat's name all day from Zeno. Now from Killua too?
Did the Zoldyck family take a vote and decide to torment him with that boy's name today?
Suppressing the urge to curse out loud, Jeno exhaled heavily.
"…Why are you so obsessed with defeating him?"
"You are you. He's he. You're brothers. Friends, even. Isn't that enough?"
"Just answer me," Killua growled, straightening up, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Can you teach me or not?"
Jeno's jaw clenched.
Of course he couldn't.
If he could teach Killua how to beat Roy, he would've done it already.
That boy… Roy was a monster.
His aura control surpassed even experienced assassins. His strength randomly surged during combat, and every few weeks he showed up even more terrifying than before.
Even he couldn't gauge Roy's ceiling.
How the hell was he supposed to teach someone to defeat that?
But seeing Killua training so seriously for once, Jeno couldn't bear to stop him either.
Still, he muttered under his breath: "If I knew how to beat that freak, I'd be the one in the protagonist seat."
Killua, meanwhile, tapped his foot impatiently.
"What, Grandpa? Can't do it?"
Jeno's eye twitched. "What do you mean can't?! Your whole generation can't!"
He inhaled sharply and forced a strained smile.
"I'm your grandfather. Of course I'll help you. I just… don't want to see a wall built between you two brothers."
Killua rolled his eyes. "Then just say no."
"Ha?!" Jeno's veins popped.
This brat really had the nerve!
"…Fine," he said darkly. "If you're so determined…"
"Let's see what your so-called training has achieved."
"Try and land a hit on Grandpa."
"Dragon Head Xi Hua!"
BOOM.
"Ah—!!!"
Early the next morning.
The door creaked open, and Roy stepped outside, yawning and stretching lazily.
Then he froze.
"…What the hell?"
Lying sprawled in front of his door was Killua, face swollen like a steamed bun, arms limp, bun-top hairdo tilted to one side. He had fainted in a comically tragic position, limbs twitching slightly.
Killua's eyelids fluttered open just enough to whisper:
"…Hungry. Food. Money… pocket…"
Then he passed out completely.
Roy blinked at him in silence.
"…Damn. Smelly little brother living the high life, huh?"
He clicked his tongue, reached into Killua's pocket, and pulled out a few thick bills.
Without ceremony, he tossed them onto Killua's chest and dragged him onto the nearby rocking chair.
"Cheh… What kind of heir gets beat up before breakfast?" he muttered.
Roy wasn't doing it out of kindness. He just didn't want Kikyo raising a ruckus again. The last thing he needed was her going full psycho at dawn.