There are two kinds of evil: the kind born into your genes, and the kind trained into you later.
Moritonio was the former. He chose stage magic because he loved the audience's looks of astonishment. But every show ends; astonishment fades; only a void remains. To fill it, Moritonio chased bigger shocks—until the day he could wring nothing at all from his own family's "surprised" faces.
He knew he'd grown numb. So he killed his sister—harvesting one last hit of pleasure from her disbelieving stare.
He remembered that day clearly—his body shaking with excitement like he'd discovered a new continent. With the disguise of "repaired reality" and the magnetic pressure of "Blood Magnet," he drifted through the dark, gorging on the terror and despair just before death—onto a road with no return.
"I often feel empty after a show,"
"so I keep seeking stronger stimuli, inventing more tricks."
That was what he told Hisoka after one show. And now, the girl didn't matter; even Hisoka didn't matter. Moritonio's eyes were fixed on Roy—the same way he'd fixed on his sister that day—trembling with that soul-deep thrill once more—
A genius! A young genius! A genius ready to "harvest" without the raising! What could be more intoxicating than killing him?
"Heh-heh-heh… the boss seems excited, huh? ♡"
"Looks like the curtain's just gone up. Perfect timing…"
Tap… tap…
Two pointed clown shoes appeared on a wall. Hisoka perched there, forearms across knees, scanning the scene. Gotoh soothed the girl and edged toward Roy, alert.
"Forget him." The cane blade strained, tip lunging—but the boy stroked the hilt and it quieted.
"A swordsman's blade is everything. While the blade lives, I live; when the blade breaks, I die." That was Urokodaki's first lesson when Roy touched a sword.
Roy had always been a good student.
Shing— The cane blade sang—furious at being controlled—and urged Roy to cut.
His mouth quirked. With no wasted motion, he flashed—Mastered Silent Gait—and glued himself to Moritonio. The thrust rose from the hips:
Sun Breathing: Sunflower Thrust!
The point sparked fire from the air. Heat washed over Moritonio—he jolted and pushed Ren into Hatsu—compressing magnetized aura into plates of "steel," layering shields in front of him.
Crack… crack… crack… One shattered, then two, then three—exposing the sadist beneath. Roy's point stabbed the shoulder socket.
"What a fast blade◇…" Hisoka's eyes narrowed.
"What vicious sword-work!" Moritonio's shoulder rippled—he shed a layer of "Nen skin," slipped the cane blade, and the thrust sank into the wall behind—leaving a neat hole.
Gotoh's brow knotted—the handkerchief-thin "Nen skin" was clear. "An illusion?"
The young master had aimed at the throat—no way he missed by that much…
"Not only that… magnetism…" Hisoka had long noticed—when the "Sky Swimming" ran, metal necklaces in the front row drifted toward Moritonio, like iron to a lodestone.
"The blade veered under magnetic pressure," and he spread his arms in praise. "That's the boss—attract or repel, hardened Nen keeps steel out. ♡"
"Hisoka-kun… I should've killed you earlier…" Moritonio flicked a magnetic line to a streetlight, swung up, and opened the distance.
Intelligence, spilled this easily, puts a Nen veteran on the back foot. Lesson learned by many a failed Hunter examinee.
In that year only one passed—a name now known worldwide: Botobai Gigante.
"Moritonio, you're strong. Shame you met me." Back then, blunt Dragon—the straight shooter—summed up a former rival. He even said if Moritonio had stuck it out and re-sat the Exam, he would have won the next.
But… "I came for thrills, not humiliation." He couldn't stand a show ending in failure, left the Association, went on world tour—and picked up a Hisoka.
The old magician clutched his severed arm and stood atop the lamp.
No hesitation—he slashed his hand. Blood Magnet flared; dozens of spikes coalesced midair and lunged for Roy.
It was the perfect chance to flee, to slip the net.
"Heh… he's running," Hisoka stood up, laziness gone. Gum tucked into his palm, itching to play.
Gotoh cut him a glance. "No need."
Roy didn't look his way—he lifted the blade and ran. One slash, one spike—effortless. He kicked up the wall and soared like a great bird. Second to move, first to arrive—above Moritonio. Then a burning ring of steel:
Truth of Scorch: Sun Breathing: Fire Wheel!
The blade flared—the cut glowed red and scythed through space. Moritonio's pupils pinpricked. "Magnetize!"
Vmm— Magnetic pressure dropped to stall the boy—if he could hold him even a second, he could escape. What he didn't expect—the blade carried not only "flame form" but "flame property." The pressure sizzled into steam before it reached him—burned to nothing.
Moritonio's eyes bulged. He froze—then pain slammed his chest—from shoulder to waist, he was cut clean through.
Thud… thud… Blood rained; the body hit the ground—like his favorite Hamburg steak—two neat halves and a heap of meat in the middle.
"Wao~" Hisoka pursed his lips and tucked his gum away.
Above, Roy drifted in moonlight, a full moon at his back, two suns in his eyes. He touched down on the breeze, tip slanted to the killer's throat.
"Cough… Bungee… Gum… curtain falls…" Moritonio spat blood and looked up weakly. "A pity… so few… in the audience… just a few kids…"
Roy didn't let him finish. The blade pierced his throat.
"If you're going to die, do it fast. Cut the chatter."
"I… you…" The tip twisted, shredding his larynx. The murderer's head lolled—and the world blurred into a rotating lantern…
"Brother."
~~~
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