Chapter 1: Rebirth × Roy Zoldyck
The summer in the Republic of Padokea was hotter than usual.
Even before five in the morning, a faint thread of light had already crept over the horizon.
Taking advantage of the brief coolness before the day's heat rose, Roy woke early, slipped into a vest and shorts, and began his morning run around Kukuroo Mountain.
From the family's ancient castle deep in the mountains, past the steward's villa halfway up, down to the security post at the foot, and back again—nearly ten kilometers in total. By the time he returned, he was drenched in sweat, as though hauled from a river. Yet beneath the exhaustion, there lingered a refreshing sense of relief.
Science proves that running stimulates the release of endorphins, giving people a natural high. But after catching his breath a few times, Roy found none of that promised joy. Instead, his brows knitted in frustration.
The reason was simple.
Roy, eldest son of the world's most feared family of assassins—the Zoldyck Family—was also a transmigrant from Earth. And lately, he had noticed something troubling: the pace of his physical growth was slowing.
Plateaus in training were normal for adults. At first, gains in muscle or fat loss come quickly, then taper off until they stabilize. But Roy was only eight years old, still in the middle of rapid growth. His progress shouldn't have stalled.
After all, he was a Zoldyck. His blood alone guaranteed physical superiority over ordinary humans.
The only flaw: his jet-black hair. He had not perfectly inherited the family's trademark silver-haired bloodline.
Even so, living by the creed "slow is fast, and fast is slow," Roy wasn't one to panic. After a shower, he changed into fresh training clothes and sat down for breakfast.
At six o'clock sharp, the old wooden wall clock chimed. As always, Gotoh wheeled in a cart and carefully laid out a lavish meal.
Creamy mushroom soup.
Bacon sandwiches.
A salad of freshly picked mountain greens and eggs with a drizzle of rice vinegar.
And a glass of milk.
Perfectly nutritious—though utterly bland.
Roy dipped his sandwich into the soup, bit down, and listened absentmindedly to Gotoh's report on the day's training. At the same time, he secretly opened his personal status panel:
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[Name]: Roy Zoldyck
[Bone Age]: 7 years, 11 months
[Constitution]: 10 → 10.001 (Note: average human = 1)
[Nen Ability]: Aura nodes unopened – yet to awaken
[Combat Experience]: Lv.2 (15/100)
[Techniques]:
Silent Step — Proficient (78/100)
Limb Bend — Proficient (64/100)
Serpent Flow — Beginner (83/100)
[Title]: Uninitiated rookie — "Tender Grass," fragile and likely to wither early
---
"Tender grass, huh? They sure don't hold back…"
Roy took another vicious bite of his sandwich, venting his irritation.
Gotoh cleared his throat gently.
"Young master, the Madam hasn't been in the best mood lately. It would be wise to be cautious."
The "Madam" referred to Kikyo, Roy's mother. After three straight children with black hair and no silver, she was under pressure. In the Zoldyck household, it was like a family desperate for sons ending up with only daughters—tantamount to a crime.
Her anxiety and irritability were understandable. Thankfully, her next child—Killua—would not disappoint.
"Milluki isn't so bad," Roy said offhandedly, finishing his sandwich. "Aside from being fat, ugly, squinty-eyed, and farting too much, he doesn't really have any flaws. Mother dislikes him, but I don't mind."
Gotoh fell into silence. He couldn't tell if the young master was defending Milluki or deliberately mocking him. Considering Roy's usual disdain for Illumi—whom he described as cold, hollow-eyed, ghostlike—it was safer to pretend he hadn't heard.
Instead, he shifted the subject.
"Young master, the Master has decided. Tonight, he will open your aura nodes."
The young steward, still too fresh-faced to grow a beard, adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose and spoke with solemn weight.
"The time is set for eight o'clock this evening. He will be waiting for you in the training hall."
Roy paused, then calmly resumed. He dabbed his lips with a napkin, his face composed, though his heart rippled beneath the surface.
The bad news: after years of observation, from Silva to Zeno, the entire Zoldyck family had concluded he was merely an ordinary prodigy. With early training, he might become a competent assassin, but heir to the Family? That was his own fantasy.
The good news: if his aura nodes were opened and he successfully awakened as an Enhancement-type Nen user, it might become the key to overcoming his so-called "weak constitution."
Either way, the matter was settled.
Tonight at eight, whether Roy wished it or not, he would step into the world of Nen.
This would be the most important step of his nearly eight years since reincarnation into the Zoldyck family.
Deep within his pupils, a flash of ambition flickered before fading away. He quickly finished his breakfast, preparing for the night to come.
At Silva's instruction, Roy was excused from training for the day—a rare occurrence. Instead, he spent the hours in meditation, regulating his breathing and centering his mind, sharpening his state to its absolute peak as night quietly descended.
When the moon finally climbed into the sky, its pale light spilling through the windows, Roy rose to his feet. With the flickering glow of wall lamps guiding him, he left his bedroom and walked down the long, silent corridor until he reached the training hall.
Knock, knock, knock…
The sound of his knuckles against the heavy door echoed.
"Enter."
The reply was a voice—deep, commanding, and brimming with force.
The massive door creaked open, revealing a sliver of the room.
Inside stood a tall man, his back turned to the entrance. His legs were spread in a horse stance, feet planted atop two enormous stone blocks. A cascade of silver hair flowed down his back like a waterfall, and from his body emanated an aura so overwhelming that it crushed the very air, leaving one breathless.
This was Silva Zoldyck—a top-class assassin of the world. The man who once slew a Phantom Troupe member single-handedly and walked away unscathed. The man who, during the Chimera Ant crisis, descended from the sky and obliterated a Squadron Leader with a single punch.
Every time Roy faced him, he could feel it—the suffocating weight of power, a primal danger that radiated from his father like heat from a forge.
This was not the bond of father and son. It was more like a higher-dimensional being imposing its existence on something infinitely lower.
Roy steadied his breath, forcing calm into his heart.
"…Father."
Bang!
The heavy door slammed shut behind him.
Silva turned, his eyes sharp as blades.
"Come."
Roy stepped forward silently—
—only to be struck head-on by a palm the size of a fan, swift as lightning and delivered with deceptive casualness against his chest.
Crack!
The force of condensed Nen tore through Roy's body, blasting past him without losing an ounce of momentum. It slammed into the wall behind him with a thunderous boom.
Before his very eyes, the solid stone wall split apart in a spiderweb of fractures—
—and within his own body, a hidden shackle shattered in an instant!