If Roy had to describe Nanika in a single line, he'd call it "not reasonable."
If he had to pin it with a single concept, it would be "wish engine."
His father, Silva, had always put it bluntly: Nanika isn't human—don't look at it with a family member's eyes. It's a darkness from somewhere else.
And the facts track: beings like Nanika sit outside what humans can really understand. Reading the story's events, Roy prefers to call them "gods with partly forfeited agency"—things that act strictly by rules yet retain a sliver of personhood.
Like Nanika's "requests" versus "demands." And later, because of Killua-dependence, it skips its rules entirely and obeys his commands, healing both Tsubone and Gon. Case in point.
Roy slipped into thought. If you want to kill something on par with Nanika, you step out of the human lane and onto the divine road—something even the "strongest human" standing here couldn't do.
This kid's really considering the feasibility of slaying a god… Netero studied Roy. The boy didn't find it absurd at all. He exhaled, almost fond: "Zigg found himself a fine heir."
Same lack of fear. Same impossible reach…
Give a "conjurer" type enough runway and they invariably drift beyond what "ordinary" folks can grasp.
"I understand," Roy said at last, smoothing his mood. He smiled. "It's late. I won't keep you, Grandpa."
"Gotoh, see the Chairman out."
Creak. The butler swung the door open. "This way."
"You're not leaving?" Netero asked Zeno.
"I'm his grandfather," Zeno said. "Not a guest."
Netero: "…"
He chuckled, sleeves swishing as he stepped into the hall—leaving grandfather and grandson the room.
Thunk. The door shut.
"Find the exorcist," Zeno said at once. "And work."
"Your great-grandpa and I will do the same. If it comes to it—if we have to flip the world and kick in the Dark Continent—we'll kill the thing that did this!"
He rose on his toes and mussed Roy's hair. "Just remember, you're not fighting alone."
In the few hours they'd been apart, the boy seemed taller. Zeno had to stretch to reach. Roy dipped his head a little to help and grinned, relieved. "Maybe this is the hint Great-Grandpa left me."
"If that thing could track me through Zigg's memory, then it likely means… Great-Grandpa is still alive."
"Then there's even more reason to kill It."
"My thoughts exactly."
They met each other's eyes and smiled.
Outside, Netero hadn't actually left. He stood by the door, hands behind his back, the big lobes of his "Buddha ears" tilted to listen, old eyes bright with a tear-sheen he'd never confess to. Envy, plain and simple.
Look at their child. Look at his.
Over in Kakin, word was that his whelp had sired a heap of heirs in the royal family, was building something called the Black Whale, and whispering an entire nation into migrating toward the Dark Continent…
All these years, and the boy still hadn't learned the art of sitting still. And Netero—who'd have liked to bounce a grandchild on his knee—no longer knew which one he'd be holding. Let alone sit and watch that grandchild grow. Let alone pat them on the head.
He sighed. The breath drifted down the hallway.
Creak. The door opened.
Zeno strolled out loose-shouldered, jabbed Netero with his eyes. "Going?"
Netero stared at him for a moment, then swung a kick. The old killer slipped it with a turn of the hips.
"Losing it, are we?"
"Just don't like your face. Problem?"
"You smashed my ball. I kick you once. Sounds fair."
Zeno: "…"
He snorted and left Netero to grumble after him.
Click. The door shut.
Roy and Gotoh were bent over Zigg's notes again—page open to Will-Scissors.
The Demon Slayer Corps selection was only days away. Travel would take two of them. Roy had decided: tonight he'd sleep into that other world and go hunting demons, banking life energy.
But first, he'd learn Shu, both as a thank-you and farewell gift for Shigure, Makomo and the others—payback for months of patient company.
[The essence of nen never leaves imagination.
Conjuration and Transmutation lean on imagination most.
#1 "invent from nothing"… #2 "shape from nothing"…
Simulate a pair of scissors—mold your will into their shape—snip the nen-line between your body and the object. This severs "man" from "thing" while preserving the nen coating the "thing"…]
The lamp threw his shadow long across the room. Roy read carefully, missing nothing. Now and then he asked, "How'd you learn Shu, Gotoh?"
The young butler flipped a coin onto the back of his hand, thinking. "By thinking hard."
Roy glanced up. Gotoh rolled the coin, sheepish. "Tsubone always told me I was dense. Shu should be easier for an emitter—but I had to fire coins like bullets; I had to sever the nen-line. So after enough drills, repeating 'Cut the nen, cut the nen,' one day… it just… cut."
Not dense at all. Roy shut the notebook, thought a beat, and looked his butler in the eye. "Back home, prepare me a blade. After the exam, I'll teach you a sword form. Train it."
The value of breathing spoke for itself—if it could force a human to meet a demon's numbers, it had to be shared. He'd start with Gotoh. Later—other "loyal retainers." He needed everyone stronger, for the road to godslaying.
"Yes!" Gotoh bowed.
Roy waved him down and grabbed the last few minutes before sleep, diving into the Will Scissors method. Cross-legged on the bed, he let the golden chick flop about, palms up, eyes closed, breath steady—Sun Breathing humming—
Mind's eye assembling a pair of scissors.
Handles, hinge, cutting edges, spine…
Over and over, built and broken, broken and built—half an hour later, the shape held.
Roy raised a hand; magnetism tugged his cane-sword to the palm. He wrapped it in nen, let go, and snipped the nen-line linking hand and steel—
Click.
The sound rang in his mind.
He looked: the sword lay on the quilt, banded in a milky sleeve of nen—firmly Shu-bound.
"That's our master," Gotoh breathed. From question to meditation to hold—under forty minutes. Tsubone was right; next to Roy, Gotoh was a knotted log.
Done—and not as hard as it looks… Roy lifted the sword again, repeated the drill a few times. No slip. It held.
A simple truth bloomed in his chest: people fear the unknown because they don't know it. Not because it deserves fear—because it lies outside their comfort of knowns. But once someone steps out first, finds the method, punctures the veil—the fear evaporates.
Exactly why Roy cleaved through Shu faster than Gotoh—because he had a map.
My fear of that "Unknown" exists because I don't understand It. If I can catch one loose thread—like Killua hands Nanika to Alluka—then It stops being frightening.
Tick… tick…
The counter on his hand kept falling.
Roy ignored it. A seed planted itself—someday he'd march onto the Dark Continent and show that "Unknown" what the world's top assassin family really looked like.
Bong— Eleven at night. The big clock in Saba chimed the hour. The little golden crow, worn out from rolling, scrambled onto Roy's head, pecked him—sleep.
"Gotoh," Roy called softly, "Goldie-chan's guarding me. Get some rest."
The butler nodded, shut the door—and found Kuraging waiting with a notebook, glasses pushed up, clearly posted there some time.
She lifted a pen, opened the book. "I've got questions about nen. Do you have time?"
Gotoh blinked. She held his gaze. He relented with a sigh. "All right."
They settled under the hallway's warm lamp; he began to explain.
"Gah—" Inside, Gold yawned and flicked its wings at Roy: sleep now.
Roy heard the murmurs outside, smiled, and turned toward the window—
A chalk-white face dangled upside down past the sill, black hair spilling, dead fish eyes boring through the glass like an accusation: "If you won't let me in, I'll hang here and die."
A vein twitched in Roy's forehead. He shot Ilumi one look. "What?"
Kicked from the test and still not going home?
Ilumi didn't answer; he only stared. "Why did grandfather go into your room?"
"Nothing."
"What happened to your hand?"
"Nothing."
"Who did it? Tell me. I'll kill him."
The long hair writhed. The foolish Otouto finally noticed the bandage on Roy's hand—the air went murderous.
A few luckless birds clipped the glass, eyes rolling white, and tumbled out of the night.
Swish— Roy pulled the curtain across.
He peeled back the magnetism and said, perfectly mild: "I told you—it's fine. Go to bed."
Outside, Ilumi swung and creaked in the breeze, moonlight calving off his face in cold slabs. He didn't answer, but the silence itself was threatening.
~~~
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