On the Morphing Forms of Psionic Abilities X Maha's Food Guarding

When the world speaks of the Zoldycks, the first things that come to mind are that they are the world's number one family of assassins, boasting two top-tier experts: Zeno Zoldyck and Silva Zoldyck.

They are powerful, cold, and ruthless, with no interest in socializing; their eyes see nothing but missions and money.

It is precisely because of their track record that the world knows—there is no one the Zoldyck family cannot kill. If there is... it simply means the price wasn't high enough.

However, those who have had contact with the older generation of the Zoldyck family and veteran Hunters, such as Netero, know very clearly that the one person who truly forged the Zoldycks' transcendent status in the assassin world is, and has always been, only one man—

That is the ancestor-level figure who single-handedly built the entire Zoldyck family: Maha Zoldyck.

He is the true pillar of heaven and earth for the Zoldycks, the most mysterious existence within the family.

The old man appeared from nowhere, his withered face sagging with loose skin. At first glance, he looked like a corpse on the verge of death, ready to depart this world at any moment.

But Roy rose to bow to him, without a shred of disrespect in his heart... He knew very well that the outward appearance of this great-grandfather was entirely deceptive; much like his age, he was an enigma.

If he were to get angry for any reason, let alone his father Silva, even the strongest human, Netero, might not necessarily be able to gain any advantage from his hands.

After all, his grandfather, who felt uncomfortable if he didn't kill at least one person a day, once said that looking across the entire continent... "Chairman Netero is the only person who has fought Maha and lived to tell the tale."

From this, one can see the weight of the man's worth.

Maha was like a ghost, drifting in lightly and sitting down just as softly, his eyes fixed on nothing and no one.

His chopsticks moved like lightning, shoveling food into his mouth. It looked slow, but in reality, his chopsticks were moving so fast they left afterimages... Seeing this, Roy couldn't care about anything else; he pulled out a chair and sat opposite him, only to find two plates of food already half-gone.

"This speed..."

The young man felt a chill in his heart...

He hurriedly grabbed his chopsticks, snatched a piece of eggplant, and tossed it into his mouth. A glance later, three-quarters of the food was gone.

By the time he managed to swallow a mouthful of rice, "Clang!" two empty plates were tossed onto the table, with only a few lonely tomato slices left behind.

That was only because the old man couldn't chew them.

"Great-grandfather..." Roy's hand, still holding his chopsticks, froze in mid-air.

The old man let out a satisfied burp, feigned ignorance of Roy's resentful gaze, and with wind at his heels, vanished in an instant.

Faintly, one could only hear him lamenting his old age and failing teeth, leaving the remaining tomato slices for his dear great-grandson to get his vitamins.

Roy & Gotoh: "..."

They were speechless.

They looked at each other, staring blankly.

The young butler coughed softly and carefully chose his words: "Young Master, perhaps... would you like cream of mushroom soup tonight?"

Roy felt his stomach churning and immediately waved a hand.

He took Snow Walk back from Gotoh with one hand and strode toward his bedroom.

Tonight, the moon was a sliver, much like Roy's mood—neither good nor bad.

Although it was a pity he hadn't eaten the dinner he'd prepared himself, his great-grandfather's performance had undoubtedly proven one thing to him... his culinary skills hadn't regressed too much; with a little practice, he could pick them back up.

In any case, dealing with little brats like Takeo and Shigeru shouldn't be a problem.

With a sense of certainty, Roy exited the corridor, pushed open the door, and entered his bedroom. Just as he reached the window to place Snow Walk on the sword rack Gotoh had prepared, his gaze habitually swept the room and then froze—

A book he had never seen before lay quietly on the desk, its pages fluttering gently in the evening breeze blowing in from the window.

It made a soft "rustle, rustle" sound.

Roy frowned, certain that this did not belong to him.

He stepped forward and, by the moonlight, took a closer look. The pages were yellowed and clearly quite old, and the title page was so blurred it was hard to read, save for a faint line of small text—

On the Morphological Changes of "Nen" Ability.

"Nen ability"... "Morphological"...

"Could this be a 'textbook'?" the boy suddenly thought.

He hurried out of the bedroom and, in two or three steps, arrived at the small bedroom he passed by almost every day.

The small room was lit by a dim light, with a cartoon playing twenty-four hours a day, non-stop... Peering in from the window, he could see a withered old man sleeping soundly on a rocking chair...

He was lying face up, fast asleep...

Roy stood by the window for a while, clutching the book in his hand, and bowed to him.

The old man seemed tired, or perhaps he had stayed in one position for too long and his side had gone numb, so he simply turned over, leaving Roy with a small, hunched back.

It wasn't until Roy left the window that he half-opened his eyes, sighed faintly, and said to a corner in the darkness: "Come out."

The darkness squirmed eerily... and then a figure emerged.

He had silver hair and a silver beard, a metal ring around his neck, and wore a form-fitting robe inscribed with eight large, eye-catching characters—

"One kill a day, active for life."

"Good evening, Grandfather." Zeno bowed to Maha.

The old man rocked his chair, making it creak, and couldn't be bothered to acknowledge him at all...

Zeno didn't mind, treating it like a routine check-in, coming by here for a turn every single day.

He took the opportunity to knead Maha's shoulders.

An assassin's hands could wield blades, but they could also be used for massage... When it came to an understanding of human anatomy and pressure points, no one dared claim first place if the Zoldyck family claimed second.

Naturally, Zeno's technique was second to none.

He followed the line from Maha's neck down to his spine, then to his limbs, saying nonchalantly, "Grandfather, how could you bear to bring out Father's notes?"

"If I had known a single meal could make you happy, I should have learned some culinary skills back then."

"You?" Maha let out a huff, sneering, "You might dare to cook it, but this old man wouldn't dare to eat it."

"A bunch of things that only know how to kill, just like your dead father—all of you are arrogant fools."

Zeno remained silent. His father, Jager, had become a taboo for five generations of the Zoldyck family. He was the one who accompanied Netero to the Dark Continent, the one who brought back the Dragon from the Dark Continent, and also the one who, before he died, repeatedly warned them... they must be wary of the "Curse"!

Now, the Dragon was being kept in the backyard, yet the "Curse" had yet to show its face.

This was also... the reason why Zeno had come to Maha's side every day for all these years since Jager passed away; he was terrified that the old man might have contracted something foul that would lead to his demise.

Fortunately, although Maha's vitality had declined over the years, his condition was generally stable, and today he had even taken an interest in eating a few extra bowls of rice.

It was undoubtedly a good sign.

Zeno said with surprise, "I didn't expect that kid Roy to lack talent, but he certainly has a knack for cooking."

"One of these days, I'll have to try it too."

"He is my grandson!" Maha suddenly opened his eyes, glaring at Zeno: "From now on, only I get to taste it!"

Zeno: "..."