The assassination attempts did not stop.
They never did.
Serik had learned to recognize the signs—the pauses in birdsong, the way the air felt disturbed in places it shouldn't. He and Jons were in the garden, speaking quietly about the possibility that everyone began as Specialists, when Jons suddenly fell silent.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then Jons vanished.
No sound. No warning. One blink he was there; the next, the space beside Serik was empty.
Serik didn't even flinch, already used to the drill.
Another one, he thought calmly.
High above, hidden among leaves and shadow, a boy lay pressed against a thick branch, eyes fixed on the house below. He was completely still, perfectly positioned, breathing shallow enough to be mistaken for wind.
The assassin had been watching for over an hour.
The target was inside.The manservant as well.
Strange. No guards. No patrols. No visible defenses.
It didn't make sense.
That was when something shifted behind him.
Illumi reacted instantly.
His hand moved, a needle flashing toward the presence he felt rather than saw—
THUDD
—and his wrist was caught mid-motion.
Illumi's eyes widened.
A man stood behind him on the branch, balanced as if gravity had simply agreed to ignore him. Calm. Unaffected. His grip was light, yet absolute.
Illumi twisted, attempted to slip free, aimed another strike—
Pain bloomed sharply at the back of his neck.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Jons stood calmly on the branch, holding the unconscious boy by the collar as if he weighed nothing.
He looks familiar, Jons thought briefly. Where have I seen this face before?
Below, Serik looked up.
"…Another one?" he asked.
Jons dropped down lightly, landing without sound.
"Yes," he replied. "But this one is different."
He set the boy down on the grass.
Serik stared.
The assassin was thin. Small. Tense even in unconsciousness, like a drawn wire that refused to relax. Pale skin, sharp features—unmistakably young.
Serik's first thought was disbelief.
His second was anger.
"…They sent a kid?" he muttered. "They sent a child to kill me?"
Jons said nothing.
The boy woke a few minutes later.
Slowly. Deliberately.
His eyes opened without panic, already assessing the situation. He didn't thrash. Didn't shout. Didn't plead.
He simply watched.
Jons crouched in front of him, hands folded loosely behind his back.
"What is your name?" Jons asked calmly.
The boy remained silent.
"Where were you trained?"
No reaction.
"To which organization do you belong?"
Still nothing.
Jons nodded slightly, as if the answers had been given anyway.
"Your breathing is controlled," Jons continued. "Your movements are efficient. You go for the throat first. No hesitation." His eyes sharpened."You have been systematically trained since a very young age."
The boy's expression didn't change—but his shoulders stayed stiff, ready.
"There are very few organizations that train assassins this young and send them on missions," Jons said. "Fewer still that succeed."
Silence.
"And even among assassin families," he added, "there are fewer who are willing to send their children out so early."
Jons studied him carefully.
"The only family I know that does," he said evenly, "is the Zoldyck family."
Nothing.
Jons tilted his head, his gaze deepening.
"How is your great-great-grandfather doing?" he asked."Maha."
For the first time—
the boy reacted.
Shock flickered across his face, raw and unfiltered.
That name should not exist here, Illumi thought.No one outside the family speaks it.
The reaction lasted less than a second.
But it was enough.
Jons smiled faintly.
"So it's true," he said. "You must be Silva's son, then. How time flies. I remember when he tried to kill me—he was barely taller than you are now."
The boy's composure cracked.
His body tensed—but did not move. Memory overrode instinct. He looked away, jaw tight.
"I understand," he said quietly.
While Jons continued speaking, Serik watched in silence, confusion clear on his face.Why does it look like Jons knows this assassin?And his family?
Jons finally turned toward him.
"This boy is competent," he said calmly. "And he is your age. You will not be slowed down by him."
Serik blinked."My… age?"
"Yes."
Something unexpected stirred in Serik's chest.
Relief.
Excitement.
Someone his age. Someone real. Not a teacher. Not an assassin sent from afar.
For just a moment, the thought crossed his mind—maybe a friend.
'hehehe' Serik laughed in his head.
The boy stood across from him in the courtyard, motionless as a statue.
Jons positioned himself between them.
"Here are your options," Jons said calmly. "You will fight. If you refuse, you will be executed. If you fight and survive, you will live."
The boy didn't hesitate.
He nodded once.
The fight began immediately.
Illumi moved first.
A needle flashed into his fingers, thrust straight for Serik's throat. Clean. Efficient. Killing intent without emotion.
Serik barely twisted aside.
Scrap that, he thought. Definitely not a potential friend.
Instinct took over.
Ren erupted from him in a violent surge.
The pressure crushed outward, thick and overwhelming, distorting the air itself. The space between them grew heavy, suffocating.
Illumi froze.
Every instinct screamed retreat.
This wasn't a boy.
This wasn't even a man.
This was power.
Before Illumi could turn, Serik moved.
His fist slammed into Illumi's stomach.
The impact sent the boy flying backward, crashing into a large stone, his body lifting slightly from the ground—
Jons caught him midair.
"Enough," Jons said.
He turned to Serik.
"Invalid," he stated calmly. "He has no Nen."
The words hit harder than any blow.
Serik's breath caught.
Only then did he understand what he had almost done.
His Ren faded instantly.
"I—" He stopped. Looked away. Shame burned through him, heavy and choking."I didn't think."
"Exactly," Jons replied.
Illumi was taken inside to be treated.
The courtyard fell silent.
Nen had not just changed Serik's strength.
It had changed the line he was willing to cross.
And for the first time—
That realization frightened him.
---------------------------------
ps?