"Imagine stretching your Nen, bending it into the shape of a fishhook, cutting through the water's drag, tracking the fish, and hooking it yourself… the key is to pour imagination into it."
Hunter Year 1986, winter, December 27—less than ten days before the 274th Hunter Exam. Deep in Kukuroo's hills, beside a mountain pool, Roy sat cross-legged on a green stone in a thick cotton coat, Zigg's notebook on his lap, a "half-finished" fishing rod in hand, practicing.
"Half-finished," because it had no fittings—no hook, no line—just a bamboo switch whittled bare.
Having decided he needed to improve the quality of his Nen to withstand the sun's consumption, Roy spent these last days before departure using Zigg's method—hookless fishing—to harden his "Nen line" and deepen his grasp of morphology.
Like Hisoka, who injects imagination into his Nen—stretching it thin like paper to spin "lightweight illusions."
Roy used Ten to sheath the bamboo and imagined his Nen reaching out… at the tip, aura beaded, then began to sag downward.
"Young master, the luggage is packed. We can leave." Behind him, Gotoh stood quietly with two large suitcases.
He'd been there a while, noticed Roy training, and had the tact not to interrupt—until a thin "Nen line" began to form at the rod's tip… which, pulled too hard, snapped with a pop. Only then did he speak up.
Roy clicked his tongue at the miss, but didn't get discouraged. He packed the rod, stood, and said, "Let's go."
He led down the mountain path; Gotoh followed with the bags. Ahead, the gate guard stood with a cane, carved like a statue—white, neat hair, not tall—and familiar… A second look: Kastro.
Gotoh had mentioned a few days back: they had just opened his Nen. Same day he issued a challenge, got thrashed, and went honest…
"Shame he tested Enhancer. Pushing him toward Transmutation will take time," Gotoh said. He kept tabs on the boy's progress—still bent on raising him into a tool on par with Tsubone.
Roy didn't mind. Transmutation at least leans on Enhancer—better than training blind and ending up with a "Conjuration" clone.
"Young master."
Footsteps echoed on stone.
Kastro, hearing them, opened his eyes, turned, and seeing Roy, bowed.
The boy still had a pig-face—the swelling hadn't fully subsided. Roy glanced at Gotoh, half suspecting jealousy over the kid's looks—he'd certainly worked the face over; every word whistled through his teeth…
Gotoh, clutching bags, looked skyward: not my doing.
Roy shot him a look, nodded to Kastro, and walked on.
Hearing them pass, Kastro straightened and suddenly called, "Young master—if I beat that guy, will you let me be your valet?"
Roy halted—an immense killing intent surged up behind him. He looked—
Gotoh had wheeled around, dropped the bags, shoved up his gold rims, and was glowering. "Are you serious?!"
Kastro lifted his chin, unflinching. "I wasn't talking to you. I asked the young master."
Hands in pockets, Gotoh pinched a few coins and tilted his head toward Roy. "Young master, we should just kill him."
Veins stood on his forehead—one word from Roy and Kastro would be eight neat pieces.
Roy watched, amused, and patted his shoulder. "Come on."
He answered neither of them and stepped off. Gotoh shot Kastro a "watch yourself" look, swallowed his anger, and followed. The boy stood alone at the gate, watching them go, fists clenched.
Less than a hundred meters from the mountain gate, Roy walked in front; Gotoh trailed behind. Silence filled the space between master and servant as Zebro doffed his cap. Gotoh drew a breath. "Young master, I want to get stronger."
Roy didn't slow.
"I want to be stronger." His voice was more serious than ever. "I can't accept losing you."
"And then?" Roy stopped at the gate and turned. "You'd… kill yourself?"
"Yes." Gotoh pressed his palm to his chest. "That is my vow—and my honor."
He dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
Vow & Condition, is it?
A cold wind lifted his collar. Roy remembered the words from that night and stood over him. "Relax…
"Even if one day you want to die—not without my say so."
"…Yes."
11:30 a.m.—the car was waiting outside.
"Young master—the gate," Zebro reminded.
Roy set both hands, and with a boom the gate swung open. Sunlight spilled in, easing the cold.
He watched Roy and Gotoh climb in, feigned ignorance of what he'd just seen, took a sip from his thermos, looked up at the sun, and felt warm. "A fine day," he murmured.
Vroom— The black sedan shot away under the driver's foot.
The gate shut, severing a gaze.
11:31 a.m.—a call rang through to Illumi. "Young master, the eldest has departed."
"Got it."
He hung up. A suitcase stood ready behind him. He sat at his desk, dazed before the mirror—wearing Roy's face again.
"Who says he left? He's been here with me the whole time…"
He touched his chest—couldn't tear his eyes from the glass—then flashed into the hall. Cre-eak—a door opened—and somewhere down the corridor the old man's oversized ears shrank back. Whether he listened to cartoons or something else, it wasn't the walls; he rocked and grinned to himself—
"Ah, youth… he chases, he flees—he'll never escape…
"At last, looks a little like brothers."
~~~
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