Killua x Illumi

The matchup list on the electronic screen froze on the final line. Illumi stood in the center of the arena, his fingers already gripping the end of the first Nen Needle. He removed it slowly, just as he had in Trick Tower—each one producing a faint metallic scrape, like screws being individually removed from some precision instrument. Muscles shifted, bones rearranged, and that dull, rigid face peeled away like a mask being stripped off layer by layer. Long hair fell over his shoulders. His face was pale, his eyes pitch-black and lifeless. Illumi Zoldyck.

Killua's pupils widened, his mouth slightly open, every muscle in his body taut. He wanted to step back, but his legs seemed nailed to the arena floor. He had seen that face ever since he was little. Every appearance meant he had to act according to his family's will. This time was no exception.

Illumi looked down at his younger brother, his voice calm and cold, as if reciting a script written long ago. "You have no right to have friends. You were born to be a Zoldyck assassin. Your life should contain only missions and killing. There should be no unnecessary emotions."

Killua's lips moved. I do. I have things I want. I want to be Gon's friend. But the words stuck in his throat, and he could not force them out. It was not that his brother would not let him speak—it was that something in his mind was preventing him. That needle. The Nen Needle that had been buried deep in his brainstem since he could remember. Whenever he wanted to resist his brother's will, its tip would tremble faintly, forcing every word back into his lungs.

"The bond between you and Gon should never have existed." Illumi watched him, those pitch-black, lifeless eyes like two mirrors reflecting only Killua's own fear. "Since you refuse to wake up, I'll get rid of him now and eliminate the problem for good."

"No... don't..." Killua's voice squeezed out from deep in his throat, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

Illumi ignored him, his cold gaze sweeping toward the waiting room where Gon was, as though he were about to step off the arena.

"Don't move." Illumi stopped without looking back. "The slightest movement from you means the duel begins. If my hand touches you, that will also count as the duel beginning. There is only one way to stop it—surrender."

Killua stood where he was, his nails digging into his palms. His body had gone completely rigid—not because he wanted to stop, but because of that needle. It had been lodged in his mind for more than ten years. Whenever he faced an opponent he knew he could not beat, its tip issued a single command: run. Now, that command overlapped with his brother's order, nailing his limbs to the arena floor. He remembered being locked in solitary confinement at four, his brother standing outside the door and saying the same thing. When he completed his first mission alone at six, his brother said the same thing during the report meeting. When he asked his father at eight whether he could go to school like other children his age, his brother answered for their father with the same thing. Every time, he knew how to argue back. Every time, he did not. Because the needle would not let him.

Illumi turned around and took a step toward him.

"I surrender." Killua's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. His expression was blank. There was no anger, no resentment—only the numbness of someone utterly defeated. He slowly lowered his arms as if all strength had left him. "I lost... Brother."

Illumi withdrew his hand and walked off the arena, his gait exactly the same as when he had stepped onto it—rigid, measured, without a single unnecessary movement, like a robot completing its task. Killua remained where he was, head lowered. Suddenly, he wanted to laugh. Not bitterly, but with something even emptier than bitterness. Four. Six. Eight. Twelve. Every time, he had made the same choice. He returned to his seat, and after sitting down, he held the exact same posture Illumi had before removing the needles—body stiff, expressionless, like a doll that had been fitted with needles again. But that needle had never been removed in the first place. Today, his brother had only shown him that it existed.

Netero announced Illumi's victory. Then he announced the resumption of the postponed match: Bodoro versus Leorio. Bodoro stepped onto the arena. The gray-haired martial artist had needed quite some time to recover after Hisoka injured him, and now he could barely stand upright. Across from him, Leorio took his stance, muttering that once he won this match, he would be a Hunter.

Netero raised a hand to signal the start of the match. The instant his words fell, Killua rose from his seat. His eyes were empty, his face expressionless, and he walked exactly as Illumi had before removing his needles. He walked to the center of the arena, paused behind Bodoro for a moment, then drove his bare hand through Bodoro's chest. His fingers pierced in through Bodoro's back and emerged from his chest.

The entire hall was stunned. Bodoro looked down at the hand protruding from his chest, opened his mouth, but could not say a word before collapsing at the edge of the arena.

Netero's voice sank. "Killua Zoldyck, you killed an examinee in violation of the rules. You are disqualified from this Hunter Exam and will be expelled immediately."

Killua did not argue. He did not even glance at Bodoro's fallen body. Staff members came forward and led him away from the arena. As he passed Gon's empty seat, his gaze remained hollow, with no exchange of words or looks, like a controlled puppet. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly—that was the Nen Needle's final tremor.

Saitama stood beside Netero and watched from beginning to end. He had seen this episode. He knew what Illumi would say, that Killua would surrender, that Bodoro would die. But in the anime, this part had only lasted a few minutes. Watching a twelve-year-old child in person be controlled by his own older brother through both words and a Nen Needle, then walk step by step to the arena and pierce an old man's chest, felt entirely different.

"His brother put a needle in his head when he was very young. Not the ones in his face—the one in his brain. Whenever he runs into someone he can't beat, he wants to run. Whenever he resists his brother, his whole body freezes up. It's not that he's a coward. The needle is controlling him." Saitama spoke quietly, almost to himself. "That needle was still working just now. He'll be afraid of his brother for the rest of his life—unless someone helps him pull it out."

Netero turned his head to look at him. Saitama said nothing more. He knew Gon would bring Killua back from Kukuroo Mountain. He knew that one day, Killua would pull out that needle himself. But not today. Today, he could only stand there and watch the silver-haired boy be led out of the examination hall by the staff.

Netero announced the list of those who had passed: Gon, Kurapika, Hanzo, Hisoka, Pokkle, Illumi, and Leorio. Seven in total. Beans made the final confirmation on the record board.

The final test was over. The electronic screen went dark. The examinees left one after another. Saitama walked out of the hall and stopped at the end of the corridor, pulling something from his pocket—the fragment of a Bloodthirsty Butterfly wing he had picked up beside the rock platform. He gently wiped the volcanic ash from its veins with his fingertip and placed it on the corridor windowsill. Sea wind rushed in through the transom window, lifting the broken wing. It fluttered a few times beneath the lights, then drifted toward Glasses Island.

At some point, Netero had come up behind him. "But you didn't intervene just now."

"This is his family's business. Getting involved would only make things more troublesome." Saitama paused. "But someone will bring him back. That spiky-haired kid."

With that, he turned and headed toward the waiting room. The smell of hot pot sesame sauce still clung to his T-shirt. He had stood around the venue for most of the day, and he was a little hungry. But after taking two steps, he stopped and looked back toward the direction Killua had been taken. The end of the corridor was already empty. Only staff remained, cleaning the blood from the edge of the arena. He slipped his hands back into his pockets and continued toward the waiting room.