Age 10 – Three years after the separation
The campfire in Kai's chest had grown into a steady blaze.
Three years under Zeno's tutelage had transformed him. His Ten was iron. His Ren could fill a room. His Hatsu was still forming—a Specialist ability he couldn't quite name—but he could feel it taking shape, like a blade being forged in slow darkness.
But none of that mattered tonight.
Tonight, he was sneaking through corridors he wasn't supposed to enter.
Zeno's wing was silent. The old man was meditating—a three-hour ritual he performed every night without fail. Kai had timed it perfectly. He had exactly seventeen minutes.
He moved like smoke, his Zetsu so complete that even the mansion's security sensors registered nothing.
Down the spiral staircase. Through the east corridor. Past Milluki's room, where the faint glow of screens and the click of keyboards meant his brother was gaming through the night.
Then, the south hall.
The door to Killua's room.
Kai's hand hovered over the handle. His heart—the one part of him he couldn't silence—hammered against his ribs.
Three years.
I haven't seen his face in threeears.
He opened the door.
Killua was awake.
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, yo-yo spinning in his palm, blue eyes fixed on the doorway as if he'd been waiting.
"Took you long enough," Killua whispered.
Kai stepped inside and closed the door. "You knew I was coming?"
"Felt your presence." Killua's mouth curled into a smirk. "You're good, but I'm better."
Kai snorted. "In your dreams."
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Three years of separation, and neither knew how to bridge the gap. Killua was taller now. Leaner. His white hair had grown shaggier, falling into his eyes. There were new scars on his knuckles.
But his eyes were the same.
"I don't have much time," Kai said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Zeno will finish meditating in—"
"Twelve minutes," Killua finished. "I know his schedule too."
Kai blinked. "You've been watching him?"
"I've been watching you." Killua's smirk faded. "Or trying to. You're hard to find, Kai. Grandfather keeps you locked up like a treasure."
"It's not a treasure chest. It's a cage."
"Same thing in this family."
They fell silent again. The clock on the wall ticked. Eleven minutes left.
Kai reached into his shirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper—worn soft from being carried against his skin for months.
"I've been planning something," he said. "For a while now."
Killua's eyes sharpened. "The exam."
Kai's head snapped up. "How did you—"
"You think you're the only one who remembers our promise?" Killua pulled a matching piece of paper from under his pillow—same fold pattern, same worn edges. "I've been planning too."
Kai unfolded his note. Killua unfolded his.
They had written the same thing.
Full moon. Midnight. The hollow tree.
Don't be late.
Kai laughed—a real laugh, rusty from disuse. "Great minds."
"Idiots think alike," Killua corrected, but he was grinning too.
They swapped notes. Kai's had a map drawn on the back—Zeno's wing, the patrol routes, the weak point in the electric fence. Killua's had a list: money stolen from Silva's safe, clothes from Kikyo's closet, weapons from Zeno's arsenal.
"Three months from now," Killua said.
"The next full moon. Father and Mother are scheduled for a mission in the Meteor City region. They'll be gone for at least a week."
"Illumi?"
"On his own mission. Milluki won't leave his room. Kalluto's too young to matter."
Kai nodded slowly. "Zeno will be the problem. He doesn't sleep much, and his En covers half the mansion."
Killua's grin turned sharp. "Then we don't run at night."
"Come again?"
"We run during dinner."
Kai stared at him. Then he understood. "The servants' shift change. The kitchen entrance. No one watches the service corridors at 7 PM because everyone's eating."
"Exactly." Killua tapped the map. "We meet at the hollow tree at 7:15. By the time Zeno notices you're missing, we'll already be down the mountain."
Kai folded the note and tucked it back into his shirt. "You've thought about this."
"I've thought about nothing else for two years." Killua's voice dropped. "I'm not letting them turn me into a weapon, Kai. I'm not letting them turn you into one either."
Kai reached out and clasped his brother's wrist. Killua clasped his in return. A Zoldyck handshake—brief, firm, final.
"Three months," Kai said.
"Three months," Killua echoed.
Kai stood. He was at the door when Killua spoke again.
"Hey. Kai."
He turned.
Killua's eyes were bright—not with tears, because Zoldycks didn't cry. But close. "Don't get caught between now and then. If Zeno suspects—"
"He won't." Kai allowed himself one last look. "I've gotten very good at lying."
He slipped through the door and vanished into the dark.
Killua sat alone in his room, the note still in his hand.
Full moon. Midnight. The hollow tree.
He smiled—small, secret, defiant.
Don't be late.
Three months later. Age 10 (almost 11).
The dinner gong echoed through the mansion at exactly 7:00 PM.
Kai was already moving.
He'd memorized Zeno's habits. The old man ate precisely seventeen minutes of his meal, spent twelve minutes reviewing reports, then retreated to his meditation chamber for the night. That gave Kai a twenty-minute window—barely enough.
His Zetsu was flawless now. No sound. No aura. No presence.
He slipped through the service corridor behind the kitchen, where the servants were too busy carrying trays to notice a shadow passing between them. The delivery entrance was unlocked—it was always unlocked during dinner, because the kitchen staff came and went.
Seven-oh-eight.
He was ahead of schedule.
The forest behind the mansion was dark, but Kai didn't need light. He'd walked this path a hundred times in his mind. Between the trees. Over the dead log. Past the clearing where the hounds slept.
The hollow tree stood at the edge of the estate's outer wall—a massive oak, split by lightning decades ago, its interior hollowed into a natural cavity large enough for two boys to hide.
Kai reached it at 7:12. No one was there.
He pressed his back against the bark and waited. His heart pounded. Every rustle of leaves made him flinch. Every distant howl of the guard hounds made his hand drift toward the knife at his belt.
Seven-fifteen. Nothing.
Seven-seventeen. A twig snapped to his left.
Kai's knife was out before he could think—but then a familiar voice whispered, "Relax, it's just me."
Killua emerged from the shadows, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His white hair was a mess. His clothes were dark—practical, stolen from the training dorms. And he was grinning like he'd just won a prize.
"You're late," Kai hissed.
"You're early." Killua dropped the bag and unzipped it. Inside: cash, clothes, four throwing knives, two yo-yos (metal, weighted), and a small first-aid kit. "I had to wait for Milluki to stop watching his cameras. He's paranoid tonight."
"Did he see you?"
"Please." Killua rolled his eyes. "I'm a Zoldyck."
Kai pulled his own bag from the hollow tree—smaller than Killua's, but better organized. He'd been storing supplies here for months. Rope. Water. A map of the region he'd drawn from memory. A hunter license application form he'd stolen from Zeno's study.
"You brought the form?" Killua asked, eyes widening.
"I brought two forms." Kai handed one over. "We're doing this together or not at all."
Killua stared at the paper. Then at Kai. Then back at the paper.
"I thought you'd forgotten," he said quietly.
"Never."
They packed the bags, shouldered them, and looked at each other.
The outer wall loomed twenty feet ahead. Beyond it: the mountain slope. The road. The world.
"You ready?" Killua asked.
Kai thought about Zeno. About Silva's broken fingers. About the isolation chamber and the campfire in his chest that had burned through every dark night.
He thought about Gon. Kurapika. Leorio. The Hunter Exam he'd watched a hundred times on a screen in another life.
I'm not watching this time. I'm living it.
"Ready," he said.
They ran.
The electric fence was the hardest part.
Kai had studied it for weeks. The voltage cycled every forty-seven seconds—a flaw in Milluki's design that the lazy genius had never bothered to fix. At the lowest point of the cycle, the current dropped just enough for metal to bridge the connection without fatal shock.
Their yo-yos were conductive.
"On my count," Kai whispered. "Three. Two. One—now."
They swung their yo-yos in perfect unison. The metal connected with the fence. Sparks flew—blue and white, blinding in the dark. The current screamed.
Then it died.
A gap opened—barely wide enough for a child to squeeze through.
"Go!" Kai shoved Killua forward.
His brother scrambled through, bag and all. Kai followed. The fence sparked back to life behind them, singing the edge of his jacket.
They didn't look back.
They ran down the mountain slope, stumbling over roots and rocks, bags bouncing against their spines. The mansion lights grew smaller behind them. The forest swallowed them whole.
Kai didn't know how long they ran. Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour?
Finally, Killua grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.
"Listen," his brother gasped.
Kai listened.
No alarms. No howling hounds. No sound of pursuit.
They were alone on the mountainside.
"We did it," Killua said. His voice was strange—disbelieving, like he couldn't trust his own ears.
Kai looked up at the sky. The full moon hung overhead, fat and silver, illuminating the road that wound down toward the distant lights of the nearest town.
"We did it," Kai agreed.
They stood there for a moment, breathing hard, feeling the weight of what they'd just done. The Zoldyck estate—the only home Kai had ever known in this life—was behind them.
Ahead was everything else.
Killua laughed first—a wild, giddy sound that Kai had never heard from him before. Then Kai laughed too, and they laughed together until their ribs ached, because if they didn't laugh, they would cry.
"Come on," Killua said, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder. "The road's not going to walk itself."
They started down the mountain side by side.
The truck driver's name was Haru.
He was sixty-three years old, missing three fingers on his left hand, and had the kindest eyes Kai had ever seen on a stranger.
"You boys lost?" Haru asked, leaning out his window. His truck was old, painted in peeling green, hauling a trailer full of cabbages.
"Just traveling," Killua said smoothly.
"Headed to Dolle Harbor. Can you take us as far as the town?"
Haru studied them for a long moment. Two boys, ten years old, alone on a mountain road at midnight, carrying bags full of weapons and stolen cash.
Kai tensed. If Haru called the authorities—if he even mentioned seeing them—
"Hop in," Haru said. "But you're riding in the back with the cabbages. My wife says I'm not allowed to pick up hitchhikers, but she didn't say anything about cabbages."
Killua blinked. "Your wife?"
"Dead ten years." Haru grinned, revealing several missing teeth. "I do what I want."
Kai climbed into the truck bed, settling between two crates of cabbage. Killua followed. The engine rumbled to life, and the mountain began to fall away behind them.
"Where are you really going?" Killua asked quietly, once the wind made eavesdropping impossible.
"The Hunter Exam," Kai admitted. "I looked up the location in Zeno's files. It starts in Dolle Harbor in three days."
"And you think we can pass?"
Kai thought about everything they'd survived. The torture. The training. The isolation. The constant, crushing pressure of being a Zoldyck.
"I think we can do anything we want," he said. "That's the point of leaving."
Killua was quiet for a long time.
Then, softly: "Yeah. That's the point."
They watched the stars wheel overhead, the cabbage crates jostling against their shoulders, and for the first time in their lives, they felt free.
The harbor was chaos.
Ships of every size crowded the docks, their masts swaying like a drunken forest. Sailors shouted in languages Kai didn't recognize. The smell of fish, salt, and engine smoke hung thick in the air.
Kai and Killua stood at the edge of the pier, bags slung over their shoulders, and stared.
"It's... big," Killua said.
"It's real," Kai corrected. "This is what the world looks like. Not the mountain. Not the mansion. This."
A woman walked past with a parrot on her shoulder. A child chased a rolling orange across the cobblestones. Two men argued loudly over a crate of something that was definitely not fish.
Killua's eyes were wide. "There are so many people."
"Told you."
They followed the signs toward the exam registration—crude arrows painted on walls and lampposts, easy to miss if you weren't looking. The crowd thickened as they walked. Applicants, Kai realized. Other people hoping to become hunters.
Some were young like them. Most were older. Some wore expensive suits. Others wore rags. One man wore nothing but a loincloth and a necklace of animal teeth.
"This is insane," Killua whispered.
"This is awesome," Kai whispered back.
The directions led them to an unmarked building at the edge of the harbor—a rundown restaurant with boarded windows and a flickering sign that read "THE SEABIRD'S REST."
"That's the exam site?" Killua asked, skeptical.
Kai didn't answer. He was too busy watching Gon.
The boy in green had hopped down from his tree branch and was walking beside them like they'd known each other for years. No suspicion. No caution. Just... trust.
That's really him, Kai thought. Gon Freecss. The protagonist. The reason I'm even here.
"So where are you guys from?" Gon asked, swinging his fishing rod like a walking stick.
"North," Killua said vaguely.
"Cool! I'm from Whale Island. It's tiny. You've probably never heard of it."
Kai had definitely heard of it. But he just nodded.
They reached the restaurant door. A man in a dirty apron stood outside, smoking a cigarette. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
"We're here for the exam," Kai said.
The man took a long drag of his cigarette, blew smoke in their faces, and jerked his thumb toward the door. "Downstairs. Don't touch anything."
They pushed through the door, crossed the empty dining room, and found a staircase leading down into darkness. The air grew cold and damp. The walls were raw stone—not restaurant basement, but something older. Something secret.
"The Hunter Exam," Gon said, practically vibrating with excitement, "is under a restaurant?"
"Guess so," Killua said.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. A long corridor stretched ahead, lit by flickering electric lights. At the end: a reception desk manned by women in blue uniforms.
And behind them, a massive metal door.
They filled out the forms—name, age, reason for taking the exam. Kai wrote "Kai Zoldyck" without flinching. Killua did the same. The receptionist scanned their fingerprints, stamped their papers, and handed them each a numbered card.
Kai looked at his: 405.
He blinked.
In the anime, Gon had been 405. Killua had been 99. But here—
"Gon Freecss, number 406," the receptionist said.
"Killua Zoldyck, number 407."
Kai stared at his card. Adjusted by one. Me at 405 instead of Gon. Gon at 406.
Everyone else shifted.
His past life knowledge wasn't worthless—but it wasn't perfect either. The timeline had already changed.
Because I exist.
He tucked the card into his pocket and turned to watch the others.
Kai positioned himself near the wall, arms crossed, Killua beside him. From here, he could see everyone who entered through the metal door.
First came a boy with blond hair, braided and elegant, wearing traditional clothing that marked him as foreign.
Kurapika.
Kai's chest tightened. The last survivor of the Kurta clan. He looked younger than Kai remembered from the anime. More fragile. But his eyes—those scarlet eyes, currently brown—held a fire that hadn't been extinguished yet.
Kurapika received his card (408), glanced around the room with barely concealed suspicion, and found a corner to stand alone.
Next came a tall man in an expensive suit, carrying a briefcase. He was older than the others—nineteen, maybe twenty—with dark hair, glasses, and a face that seemed permanently annoyed.
Leorio.
He was arguing with the receptionist about something. His voice carried across the hall: "What do you mean I can't bring my briefcase? It's got important documents!"
"It'll be returned after the exam, sir."
"This is outrageous!"
Leorio huffed, surrendered his briefcase, and stalked into the hall with his card (409). He looked around, spotted Kurapika, and immediately walked over to complain to him.
Kai suppressed a smile.
"Those two are going to fight within an hour," Killua muttered.
"Less," Kai agreed.
More applicants filtered in. A short, round man with a friendly smile and a beer belly—Tonpa, the rookie crusher. A muscular ninja with a bandana and a sword—Hanzo. Others Kai didn't recognize from the anime, which meant they were either filler or would be eliminated quickly.
Then the air changed.
Kai felt it before he saw it—a presence so thick, so wrong, that his Nen screamed at him to run.
He turned.
Hisoka walked through the door.
The magician was taller than Kai expected. Pale skin, red hair swept back, a star and teardrop painted on his cheeks. He wore a harlequin's outfit and smiled like he knew something you didn't—something that would hurt.
His aura was disgusting. Lustful. Hungry. It rolled off him in waves, making weaker applicants step back without knowing why.
Killua tensed beside him. "Who is that?"
"Dangerous," Kai whispered. "Don't make eye contact."
Hisoka's gaze swept the room—and stopped on Gon.
The smile widened.
"Interesting," Hisoka murmured, loud enough for Kai to hear. "Very interesting."
He licked his lips and moved toward the corner, where he proceeded to terrify everyone within ten feet without saying another word.
Kai's stomach turned.
In the anime, Hisoka was a threat. But experiencing his aura in person is different. This man isn't just a villain. He's a predator.
He was about to tell Killua to stay alert when the temperature dropped.
Kai didn't sense him. That was the first warning.
His Zetsu was nearly perfect—Zeno had drilled that into him. But someone better at hiding could still slip through.
But Kai knew that presence.
Not the disguise—the shape beneath it. The posture. The way he moved, each step precisely measured, each breath calculated.
Illumi.
His eldest brother was here.
Illumi—still disguised—collected his card (301, Kai noted absently) and scanned the room. His gaze passed over Kai and Killua like they were furniture.
Then it passed back.
He knows, Kai thought. He's always known.
But Illumi didn't approach. Didn't speak. He simply found a wall, leaned against it, and waited. His face revealed nothing. His aura revealed nothing. He was a perfect, empty mask.
Kai forced himself to breathe.
He won't make a scene here. The exam has rules. Even Illumi follows rules when it suits him.
But his hand didn't leave his yo-yo for the rest of the wait.
The large hall filled to capacity—over four hundred applicants, all with their numbered cards pinned to their clothes. The noise was overwhelming: conversations in a dozen languages, the clink of weapons being checked, someone crying in a corner.
Kai, Killua, Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio stood together—not by conscious choice, but because they'd gravitated toward the same corner.
"So," Leorio said, adjusting his tie, "anyone know what the first test is?"
"It's always different every year," Kurapika said. "The Association doesn't repeat exams."
"That's not helpful."
"It's the truth."
Gon grinned. "I'm not worried. Whatever it is, we'll pass."
Killua raised an eyebrow. "That confident?"
"I've been training my whole life for this." Gon's voice wasn't arrogant—just certain. Like he'd never considered the possibility of failure.
Kai studied him. This close, he could see the details the anime had smoothed over: the calluses on Gon's palms from climbing trees, the faint scar on his chin, the way his eyes flickered toward every exit and entrance like he was mapping the room.
He's not just naive. He's observant. He just hides it behind that smile.
Kai looked around the hall one more time.
Tonpa was already moving through the crowd, offering drinks to nervous rookies. Hanzo was meditating in a corner, ignoring everyone. Hisoka was playing cards with a group of applicants who didn't know better.
And Illumi—disguised, watching—stood perfectly still.
He turned to the others. "We should stay together. The first test always weeds out the weak. If we're a group, we're harder to pick off."
Leorio snorted. "Who put you in charge?"
"Someone with common sense," Kurapika said dryly.
Leorio opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, the lights dimmed.
A man in a top hat and tails stepped onto a raised platform at the front of the hall. He had a pencil-thin mustache, a cheerful smile, and the deadest eyes Kai had ever seen.
"Welcome, applicants, to the 287th Hunter Examination."
The room fell silent.
"My name is Satotz, and I will be your guide for the first phase. Please follow me to the testing site. Do not wander off. Do not fall behind. And do not—" his smile widened, "—die before the exam even begins."
He turned and walked toward a massive door at the far end of the hall.
The crowd surged forward.
Kai grabbed Killua's sleeve. "Stay close."
"Wasn't planning on leaving."
They moved with the current, five bodies pressing together against the tide of four hundred hopefuls.
The door opened.
Beyond it: darkness.
And the Hunter Exam had truly begun.