Guard Dogs

At the Forest Sea training ground on the Zoldyck Family estate, Wutong set three sets of weighted bands on the ground—four bands per set, one for each wrist and ankle. Each band weighed fifty kilograms.

"This is the basic trial. Put on the bands and run ten laps through the Forest Sea. If you can't finish, forget about seeing Master Killua."

Leorio could barely lift one band with both hands, his face flushed red. Kurapika had already fastened his bands around his wrists and was silently adjusting the clasps. Gon put his on third without hesitation, though his fingers trembled slightly when he bent to fasten the ones around his ankles. Both his arms were still bandaged. The blood on his right arm had dried, while fresh blood seeped through the bandage on his left. The three stood at the entrance to the Forest Sea, and Wutong started his timer.

Not far away, Saitama leaned against the trunk of an ancient tree and unwrapped his second roasted ear of corn. It was the last one he had bought at the station convenience store. He had meant to save it for the afternoon, but the training in the Forest Sea was too loud—he could hear Leorio panting from hundreds of meters away. Bored of waiting, he decided to eat it.

A low canine growl suddenly came from the side gate. Saitama paused mid-chew and glanced that way.

A squad of armed mercenaries was climbing over the iron fence at the side gate. Their leader, a burly bald man carrying an assault rifle, landed with practiced ease. "This damn mountain gives me the creeps. Find the target and don't waste time," he muttered to his men. But he failed to notice the three pairs of bloodred eyes in the shadows. Mike lunged from three directions at once. The man heard a companion shout, "Watch out, monsters—" Before he could turn, Mike's enormous jaws clamped down. A gun fired once and fell silent. Bones cracked. Flesh tore. Several men screamed almost at the same time, then fell quiet just as quickly. Blood spattered the fence beside the gate and ran down its iron bars. A broken tactical flashlight rolled onto the gravel path, still glowing faintly. Seconds later, all that remained outside the side gate were scattered weapons and a few pools of steaming blood.

Gotoh poked his head out of the guardhouse, took one look, sighed, and adjusted his hat. He fetched a mop and bucket and began cleaning the blood by the side gate with practiced efficiency. Before he had finished the first pool, Mike had licked the blood from his mouths and turned his bloodred eyes toward the Forest Sea.

The three giant dogs lowered themselves and silently closed in on the bald man leaning against the ancient tree. Their shoulders stood higher than a person's, and blood from the last intruders still clung to their fangs. Each step made the gravel tremble. A deep rumble rose from the throat of the one in the middle—the same sound he had made when he attacked the intruders. The other two circled in from the sides, steadily tightening the ring.

Leorio reacted first. He had just finished one lap and was bracing himself against a tree, gasping for breath, when he caught sight of the three giant dogs creeping toward Saitama. That was exactly how they had approached the mercenaries. His pupils contracted. Fear broke the rhythm of his breathing, and he roared with all his strength, "Saitama, run—!!"

Kurapika stopped short. The fifty-kilogram bands on his wrists and ankles struck each other with a dull metallic clang. He did not shout, but his body had already turned toward Saitama on instinct. He was too far away. No matter how fast he moved, he would not make it in time. His wrists tensed beneath the bands, and his knuckles turned white.

Gon did not shout. His feet gouged two furrows through the gravel. Before he had even come to a stop, he tore off the bands around his wrists and charged toward the ancient tree. His bandaged arms shook with tearing pain, but he did not slow down. His eyes stayed fixed on the three giant dogs. He knew he could not outrun Mike, but he had to run.

Wutong froze with the timer raised in his hand.

What happened next was nothing like Gotoh expected. Even the mop slipped from his hands. He and Wutong saw it at the same time: the three giant dogs had surrounded the ancient tree in the same formation they had used to kill the mercenaries. In all his years as the Zoldyck Family's head butler, Wutong had never seen Mike wag his tails at an intruder, lie at an intruder's feet, or roll over to expose his belly. Now Mike was closing in on this bald man in the same posture he used to pounce, while the man still leaned against the tree, holding a thoroughly gnawed corncob.

Saitama took the corncob from his mouth and looked at it. "This is the only one I've got left. You'll have to share." He gently set it on the ground.

Mike's growling abruptly stopped. The rumble in his throats slowly changed pitch, shifting from a dangerous growl to something else. An enormous nose edged forward cautiously, its breath swirling around Saitama's fingertips. A tail swept its first arc across the gravel. The other two dogs rested their chins on Saitama's feet, and their tails began to wag as well. All three tails swept the ground so fast they stirred up the fallen leaves along the edge of the Forest Sea. The dog on the left snorted, sending the corncob rolling twice. The one on the right promptly pinned it with a paw. Then all three giant dogs rolled over, baring their pale bellies and whining almost like puppies begging for food.

Leorio's mouth was still open, but no sound came out. His finger remained pointed at Saitama, frozen in midair as though someone had pressed pause. Kurapika slowly relaxed his tense wrists, and the white marks his nails had left in his palms began to fade. Halfway there, Gon slowed from a sprint to a jog, then to a walk. At last he stopped on the gravel not far from the ancient tree, breathing hard as he stared at the three giant dogs lying belly-up. Terror gave way to confusion on his face, then to a grin of understanding. "Saitama, I think they really like you," he said.

Saitama patted the middle of Mike's three heads. "Good boy."

Gotoh stood rigid, still holding his mop. Its handle slid from his hand, bounced twice on the gravel, and splashed water everywhere. Mike had killed armed mercenaries. He had killed Nen users. He had never wagged his tails. Now all three were sweeping the ground so fast Gotoh could feel the vibration through the soles of his feet.

Wutong lowered the timer and headed for the main house.

Deep inside the main house, Wutong knocked on Silva's study door. He reported what had happened near the Forest Sea in the briefest terms: Mike had wagged his tails, rolled onto his back, and lain at a bald man's feet whining for food.

Silva set down the document in his hand. "Mm."

Wutong waited a moment, confirmed that the head of the family had no further instructions, then bowed slightly and left the study. In his private room, Milluki stared wide-eyed at his screen, a potato chip suspended in midair. He replayed the footage of Mike rolling onto his back several times, typed a line on his keyboard, then deleted the whole thing. He rummaged another bag of chips out of his snack cabinet and muttered, "Tch. Fine. Looks like our dog likes him."

Saitama patted Mike's heads, stood, and headed toward the main house. Mike followed reluctantly, his tails still wagging. Only when Saitama pointed back toward the Forest Sea without looking did he return to his post with a few plaintive whines. As Saitama passed Leorio, Leorio's finger was still frozen in midair. His lips moved for a long moment before he managed to ask, "You're... not scared?" Saitama thought about it. "Dogs are fine. More reasonable than people waiting in line at the supermarket." He walked past Kurapika, who said nothing. Kurapika watched him go, tightened his weighted bands again, and told Gon, "Let's keep training." Gon bent to pick up the band he had torn off and fastened it around his wrist.

As Saitama passed Wutong, the butler's mouth twitched, but he said nothing. When Saitama passed Gotoh, Gotoh had just picked up his mop. He instinctively gripped the handle with both hands at the sight of Saitama and only relaxed once he had gone by. In the main house corridor, a young butler carrying a tea tray came around the corner, gave Saitama a polite nod, and continued toward the study.

Deep inside the main house was a solitary confinement cell. Its heavy iron door was set into soundproof walls, and it had no windows. Killua's hands were bound in thick iron chains and hoisted high to a ceiling beam, leaving his feet dangling above the floor. In the darkness, his head hung low, silver hair falling over most of his face. Illumi's Nen Needles continued to work deep inside his mind. He had come home of his own accord, entered the cell of his own accord, and held out his wrists for Wutong to chain up. The needles no longer needed to force him. He had already chosen to obey.