POV: Sullivan Prentiss Morteuxe (Age 11)
The final stage of the Hunter Exam—the interview process—was a formality. Sullivan, with Kaelin providing quiet, strategic support, had navigated the previous deadly phases using pure cunning. He hadn't relied on brute force once.
During the interviews, the Chairman of the Hunter Association, a whimsical, terrifying old man named Netero, asked Sullivan a single question: "Which applicant did you find the most intriguing, and why?"
Sullivan didn't hesitate. "Applicant 44, Hisoka. He introduces chaos as a variable and uses his vast personal power to control the outcome. He is a genius of the moment. However, his power is external. I find that deeply inefficient."
Netero simply laughed, a high, reedy sound, and approved his application.
The Special Assignment
Two weeks after the exam, Sullivan, now a fully licensed, if entirely untrained, professional Hunter, received his official assignment. It was a single, cryptic envelope delivered to the Morteuxe estate.
Inside was a handwritten note from the Hunter Association's Mentorship Division:
> Sullivan Prentiss Morteuxe. Hunter License #28731.
> Your unique profile requires specific tutelage. You have been assigned to Grandmaster Theron, a Specialist Hunter.
> Your training location is The Obsidian Coast. Begin immediately. The lesson will be waiting.
>
There was no address, only a set of geographical coordinates pointing to a desolate, rarely traversed segment of coastline far south of the Cinder Basin.
His father, Julian, read the note and nodded, a rare flicker of approval in his cold eyes. "Theron. Excellent. He will not indulge your intellect. He will exploit it."
Sullivan traveled alone, finding the Obsidian Coast exactly where the coordinates dictated: a stretch of black, volcanic sand where the ocean waves crashed with deafening, rhythmic power.
He found the "lesson" waiting: a simple, weathered wooden cabin and a man who looked less like a fearsome Hunter and more like an aged, cynical fisherman.
Grandmaster Theron was rail-thin, with a long, braided beard and eyes that seemed permanently fixed on a distant horizon. He wore a patched, sea-stained tunic and sat mending a fishing net with methodical patience.
"You're late," Theron stated, not looking up.
"By three minutes and forty-two seconds," Sullivan replied, checking his timepiece. "A tolerable deviation given the volatility of the sea-routes."
Theron finally looked up. His eyes were not cold like Julian's, nor chaotic like Hisoka's, but possessed a dispassionate, immense depth—like staring into the bottom of the ocean.
"You're arrogant, Morteuxe," Theron stated. "And you think too much. I've read your profile. A genius of calculation, reliant on reactive analysis. An Egoist."
The Unveiling of Nen
Theron tossed the net aside and stood. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries. Your father taught you Zetsu and Ten, yes? Basic internal control."
"Yes, Grandmaster."
"Good. Now, we begin the real work: Shu, Ren, Hatsu. The creation of power. The energy you used to paralyze that thug, and the focus you used to whistle that boar—that is Nen. It is your life energy made manifest."
Theron walked toward Sullivan and, with a startling speed for a man his age, gently pressed his thumb against a single, critical point on Sullivan's chest—a Nen node.
A shockwave of energy ripped through Sullivan's body. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming. It felt as if his very life essence had been unlocked, flooding his senses.
This was the formal ritual of Aura Node Opening. Sullivan could now consciously sense the flow of his own Aura.
The world instantly changed. The sound of the waves wasn't just noise; it was rhythmic energy. The rocks weren't just black stone; they were dense, solid Aura. And Theron?
Theron was a sun—a staggering, controlled supernova of Nen, barely contained within his frail body.
"This," Theron whispered, gesturing to the crashing waves, "is chaos. Now, you must choose how you will impose your will upon it.
You have the potential for Specialization—the ability to manipulate aura in ways that defy the five standard types. But Specialization comes from a unique, deep-seated psychological commitment."
Theron pointed a gnarled finger at Sullivan's chest.
"Your arrogance, your reliance on analysis, your need to control and adapt to any variable... that is your Hatsu's core. Your ability cannot be a strength you already possess. It must be the weaponization of your greatest weakness: reactive adaptation."
Conceptualizing the King Engine
For the next six months, Theron did not teach Sullivan techniques. He taught him Self-Knowledge.
"What are the fundamental aspects of a confrontation, Morteuxe?" Theron demanded daily, forcing Sullivan to analyze conflict down to its simplest components.
Sullivan worked in his small ledger, his mind churning, distilling the complexity of battle and survival into pure, quantifiable data.
He conceptualized eight distinct attributes—eight pillars upon which all conflict rested. He wrote them down, organizing them in a precise wheel:
* 🧠 Mind: Calculation, Strategy. The Engine.
* 👁 Perception: Sensing, Deduction. The Radar.
* ⚡ Instinct: Intent, Disruption. The Unconscious.
* 🛡 Defense: Endurance, Durability. The Shell.
* 💪 Strength: Power, Vitality. The Hammer.
* 🏃 Speed: Velocity, Reflexes. The Blur.
* 🌀 Reflex: Reaction, Evasion. The Instinctive Dodge.
* 🎯 Focus: Aim, Concentration. The Anchor.
"Good," Theron said, looking over the list one stormy evening. "You have cataloged the parts of the whole. Now, you must make a contract with your Nen."
"My ability," Sullivan stated, looking at his diagram, "will be called King Engine. It is a system built entirely around adaptation and control."
He explained the core restriction: The 100% Rule. All his aura must be divided into these eight attributes. Strengthening one means weakening another. The ultimate tactical sacrifice.
Theron's eyes gleamed. "The restriction is elegant. It forces you to constantly evaluate the odds. You have built a cage for yourself, Morteuxe, to force discipline upon your arrogance."
"And the core power," Sullivan continued, his voice gaining the resonant confidence of conviction, "will be the Specialist Mode."
He detailed the condition: If any single attribute receives 50% or more of his total aura, it temporarily unlocks a Specialist ability unique to that attribute, granting extreme power but leaving the rest of his attributes dangerously low.
"Mind becomes Psychokinesis. Perception becomes Total Field Awareness. Strength allows massive Life Drain. Speed grants absurd Velocity Traps."
Theron smiled, a rare, chilling sight. "You are an absolute manipulator, Sullivan. You are manipulating yourself. The ability doesn't give you power; it unlocks your innate potential, based on the principle of sacrifice. That is the mark of a true Specialist Hatsu."
"I call it King Engine," Sullivan declared, looking out at the chaotic sea, no longer viewing it as a threat, but as a system he could analyze. "Because it demands that I remain the calculating, disciplined monarch of my own internal fight."
The training had ended. Sullivan Morteuxe, the arrogant scholar, had finally forged his tool. He was ready to face the world beyond the Veil, not as a Hunter, but as a King seeking his domain.