"Sir, they failed."
The subordinate knelt on one knee, his voice trembling with fear and panic.
It had been expected, but they had been defeated far too quickly.
It was hard not to wonder whether the Zoldyck Family's publicly displayed strength was really as they claimed.
Or whether it ran even deeper, like a bottomless pool.
What was even more frightening was the way those lunatics would retaliate without regard for their own lives.
Could this Colai castle withstand it?
After all, this was retaliation from an assassin family.
How could anyone not tremble with fear?
The middle-aged man they called sir twitched, and his cigarette butt fell, burning a hole in the golden velvet carpet.
He didn't feel the slightest pang of regret. He simply stamped it out.
He let out a long breath.
The middle-aged man's eyes were deep-set. He narrowed them and said calmly, "You should know that once you've drawn the bow, there's no turning back."
Once you've done it, you have to accept the price of failure.
"Besides, the Zoldyck Family didn't suffer much this time. They won't take any major action. At most, they'll kill some of those hunters' associates to make an example of them."
His mind was a tangle of thoughts, but the middle-aged man was certain.
The Zoldycks would never attack their 'partners' over something so trivial.
He took another cigarette from the pack. His hand trembled, but he stubbornly lit it anyway.
For some reason, the man was feeling very uneasy.
Still, he could only reassure himself that the Zoldyck Family had never been in the habit of wiping out everyone who attacked them.
Assassins wouldn't choose to do something so exhausting and thankless for no pay.
As if trying to comfort himself as much as his subordinate, the man spoke again, attempting to talk himself out of that nagging unease.
"Even if they really decide to go after their 'employers,' they won't be able to trace it back to us."
The Colai Family was only one of the employers.
And it wasn't even the real mastermind behind the whole affair.
Lowering his eyes in thought, the man cursed that old man more than once.
If that old bastard hadn't insisted on avenging his youngest son, how would his family have been dragged into this?
Unfortunately, the Colai Family couldn't stand up to the Kalluto Family, ruled by that old bastard.
Otherwise... why would he have gone to such lengths to curry favor with the old bastard?
Furiously, he shoved his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray.
He stood up and looked out the window, his anger with nowhere to go.
He could only endure it.
He sighed wistfully and shook his head.
He hoped the Zoldycks wouldn't set their sights on him because of this.
No one spoke. The air was utterly still.
Only the man, who had spent half his life laboring for his family, sat alone with his worries.
Suddenly, something felt wrong.
Frowning, he looked around.
It was far too quiet.
The estate was secluded to begin with.
But it shouldn't have been this silent!
He glanced up at the clock hanging high on the wall. It was a quarter past eight.
His brow furrowed.
This was when his daughter would normally pester him to tell her a story.
Unease spread through his heart.
A little panicked, he called out, "Jieya, little Jieya, sweetheart, are you there?"
Calling his daughter's name, the man hurried out of the room.
He headed straight for the bedroom shared by his wife and daughter.
But before he could get there, one of his men stopped him.
"Boss, run!"
His subordinate Carls clutched the wound on his left arm, panting as he shouted.
"This... this..."
Seeing the cleanly severed stump of his subordinate's left arm, the man's eyes widened in disbelief. He stumbled back a few steps.
Impossible. This...
Carls was a hunter who could use Nen Ability!
How could this be?!
Covered in sweat, Carls looked at his still-stunned employer and gritted his teeth.
With his remaining hand, he grabbed the man's arm and dragged him backward.
As they ran, he explained, "A demon's come into this house! A white-haired demon! His methods of killing are bizarre beyond belief! I can't defend against him!"
Carls was just as confused about who that person was.
Why couldn't he remember ever seeing such an incredible killing technique?
The angles were strange and unpredictable, striking straight at his weak points.
And that child's powers of observation were astonishing.
It only took him a few exchanges to find Carls's opening.
If Carls hadn't learned Nen recently, he wouldn't have escaped at all!
"Wait, what about my wife and daughter?"
The man was being pulled along, but he hadn't forgotten why he'd come out.
Where was Jieya?
Where was his sweet Jieya?
Grimacing, Carls could only say quietly, "Boss, forget about them."
Even Carls, with his extensive combat experience, didn't want to mention the state of their mangled bodies.
That person was a real sicko!
A sicko who took pleasure in killing!
Clang.
A scalpel flew past Carls's temple and stuck into the wall at the end of the hallway.
Blood trickled down his cheek.
He stopped abruptly and pulled his boss behind him, his face wary.
It was him. It was that person!
Tap.
Tap.
The sound of leather shoes striking the floor rang out from the other end of the hallway.
"Why are you running?"
It was a boy's voice.
Confusion edged his words.
"What an honor it is to become a work of art!"
He sounded oddly sentimental, but his words inspired nothing but genuine terror.
"And if you have to run, why take the 'protagonist' with you?"
As the footsteps drew closer, little by little, the candlelight in the hallway revealed the newcomer's face.
A... a child?!
The man whipped around and stared at Carls in disbelief.
This was the child who had cut off your left arm?
Carls ignored the man's look. He remained tense and wary.
He couldn't predict where the child opposite him would attack from.
His moves had no discernible pattern, yet every one of them could be fatal!
It made no sense, but he was extremely dangerous!
The white-haired boy, however, merely watched Carls with interest.
"Hello, sir. What did you just use? Would you mind telling me?"
As he spoke, the boy shrugged and added, "If you're willing to tell me about that move you just used, I'll let you leave this artistic feast."
Carls's pupils contracted at those words.
What?
An artistic feast?
You call this an artistic feast?
Your artistic feast is hanging corpses from threads and arranging them in all sorts of poses?!
Unbelievable!
When no answer came, the boy didn't get angry. He simply smiled and said, "Don't be so cold. You know you're only here to earn money. There's no need to throw your life away over a job."
The white-haired boy, Coleman, was remarkably considerate as he made his reasonable pitch.
"I'm just curious. Besides, do you really think I won't figure out your move as time goes on? Come on, I'm only trying to satisfy a child's curiosity."
He spread his hands without breaking stride.
Then he continued, "Besides, one answer in exchange for your life is a pretty good deal."
He called Carls 'sir' over and over, but showed him no respect whatsoever.
His condescending attitude was irritating, yet the disgust it inspired was swallowed up by the terror of his cruel methods.
The closer he came, the more reasonable his arrogance seemed.
Like a demon toying with humans, he had no compassion at all.
Cruel and mad.
Carls's face darkened as he slowly said, "If you want me to tell you, then you have to let my boss go, too."
As a bodyguard, protecting his employer was part of the job.
How could a bodyguard survive while his boss died?
Even if Carls survived in the end, he'd become a laughingstock.
His reputation and dignity would be swept away.
But Coleman looked as if he'd just heard a joke.
"Sorry, I can't accept that."
What was the point of painting if the protagonist ran away?
Art had to be perfect, and complete.
However, Coleman didn't voice his thoughts. Instead, he offered another option.
"One explanation for one person. You only have one explanation, so who do you want to trade for: yourself or your boss?"
Utterly cruel.
The malicious streak buried deep in his soul had awakened.
The white-haired, red-eyed boy stood there smiling.
Cruel and elegant.
Even his white suit was spotless.
Moonlight spilled over him.
For a moment, he seemed like a god descended to earth.
Silver light shimmered around the white-haired boy.
As if guarding a treasure from the heavens.
Serene and beautiful.
Holy and noble.
But then he spoke, and his words were so cruel they shattered the illusion.
Half-lidding his eyes, Coleman was magnanimous.
"I'll give you thirty seconds to think it over."
"Come on, choose."
He watched Carls with his bright red eyes, full of curiosity.
What would you choose?
Poor little sir.
Your own life?
Or your boss's?
Would you choose loyalty or selfishness?
Would you uphold your professional ethics or betray your trust?
I'm really curious.
Are hunters really as noble as the rumors say?
From his vantage point, Coleman watched coldly.
His gaze was innocent and pure.
He watched the man struggle, watched him sink into misery.
With a hint of enjoyment, Coleman observed human nature.
Choose. Hurry up and choose.
Though no matter what you chose, your boss would die.
After all,
how could this exquisite canvas be complete
without its indispensable protagonist?
Before you continue