Passion and Boundaries

At five thirty in the evening, Seventh Enlightenment Academy in Tower City's western district let out on time. Children in dark blue uniforms streamed out of the school building like a tide, while the scent of sweet cakes from street-corner stalls mingled with the crowd's clamor, forming a lively, childish slice of everyday life.

Ryan walked along a small path near the street with his backpack on his shoulders. The route was not long, but it passed near an abandoned lot of old factories, so few pedestrians used it. Older children often took detours through the area to fool around.

The wind was restless that day, yet the alley entrance was quieter than usual.

He heard low growls mixed with the rustle of fabric and the sound of plastic bags being kicked away. Near an old wall not far ahead, three children around eight years old had surrounded a frail boy a head shorter than them, shoving him, mocking him, and snatching at the notebook that had fallen from his arms.

"You're such a coward, and you still dare read Martial Arts Folk Heroes Chronicle? You think you deserve to?"

"A Nen Ability user? You don't know shit!"

The book was clearly a library copy of Martial Arts Folk Heroes Chronicle, its cover worn at the corners. The surrounded child hunched his shoulders, terror in his eyes, looking as though he wanted to cry but did not dare make a sound.

Ryan stopped in that instant.

He knew scenes like this were not uncommon in the world of children, and he had always told himself that it was not yet time to stand out. But—images he had seen in the past surfaced in his mind at the worst possible moment.

Gon standing up to an examiner for his friend, Killua defending his dignity with blood and claws, Leorio stepping forward to throw a punch for the weak... Those scenes were not fiction. They were part of the real world.

Hunters were not bystanders who believed that what they could not see had never happened.

The next moment, Ryan no longer hesitated. He lowered his head, tightened his backpack straps, and calmly walked into the corner.

The three older boys noticed him approaching. One of them raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

"Move." Ryan's tone was steady.

"Mind your own business, brat."

"Don't leave, and we'll beat you too."

There was not a trace of fear in Ryan's eyes. He assessed them quickly: the boy on the right was the biggest and stood at the front, but his feet were closest to the corner wall, where a puddle of water had not yet dried; the boy in the middle was kicking the book farther away while watching Ryan from the corner of his eye; the boy on the left was the least wary and held a fistful of paper.

He suddenly shifted left, pretending to grab the book. The child on the left reflexively dodged, taking half a step back.

At the same time, Ryan pressed forward with his right shoulder and flicked a half-dry paper bag up with his toe, sending it into the middle boy's face.

"Hey—!"

The boy cried out and instinctively stepped back, only to bump into the support point of the boy on the far right. With a sharp slap, his feet slipped, and he dropped heavily to his knees in the muddy puddle, splashing water everywhere.

"Hey, why did you push me?!"

"When did I—"

Taking advantage of the chaos, Ryan bent down and picked up the book from the ground. With one hand, he helped the small boy up and shielded him behind his back. The movement was seamless, quick and precise. There was no sense of any "technique" to it, yet it created an absolutely dominant situation.

The three boys had clearly not expected this "quiet-looking" little kid to cause such a mess—especially one that made them look as though they had ruined everything themselves.

"Let's go. Don't bother with this lunatic." The leader snapped in humiliation and anger, then left with his two companions.

The alley entrance fell quiet once more.

The small child's clothes were still covered in dust and damp stains, and his face remained pale with fright. He looked at Ryan, his lips moving several times before he finally whispered, "Th-thank you..."

Ryan merely handed the book back to him, his voice calm. "Don't take that alley next time."

"Okay." The little boy clutched the book tightly and nodded hard.

Ryan said nothing more. He turned around, slung his backpack over his shoulders again, left the alley, and followed the crowd back into the lights of the neighborhood.

Sunlight fell across the side of his face, stretching his shadow long and lonely.

He did not show off, nor did he feel proud. But he knew:

At that moment, he had made a choice that belonged to the world of Hunters—protecting others, intervening, and winning through calm judgment.

Passion had never meant recklessness.

And he was learning how to let passion burn within reason, rather than burn itself out.

The sky was especially clear that night. There was little wind, and the streets were silent. After dinner, his father sat on the balcony repairing a loose chair, while his mother simmered soup in the kitchen. Ryan returned to his room alone, gently placed his schoolbag beside the desk, took out a notebook the size of a workbook from the bottom of a drawer, and opened it to a blank page.

He did not do his homework. Instead, he wrote several words:

[First Incident: Record of Unplanned Intervention]

This was the first time since beginning his training that he had actively involved himself in a real-world violent situation and carried out an intentional, structured intervention with a proper conclusion.

In his mind, he classified this kind of behavior as a "Dominant Reality Intervention Strategy (SIS)."

He picked up his pen and listed the following beneath it:

[Incident Number: SIS-01]

Time: After dismissal from Enlightenment Academy

Subjects: Bullies × 3; Victim × 1

Opposing Side Composition:

Older age group;

Localized control formation → core instigator in the center, support on both sides;

Impulsive behavior, but moderate observational ability;

Execution Logic:

First analyze the terrain and identify a winning point involving "non-direct violence";

Induce misalignment and create internal disorder;

Use the slippery ground and cramped space to create visual and physical confusion;

Complete a "reversal of control" without throwing a punch, avoiding exposure of ability and intent;

Emotional State:

Initial agitation, followed by a complete shift into calculated execution;

No guilt or excitement after the action, only one emotional reflection: "I didn't want to watch that book get crushed underfoot."

His pen paused.

The instant that sentence surfaced in his mind, he suddenly realized that he was not as "completely rational" as he had imagined.

The book the bullied child had held in his arms was Folk Martial Arts Heroes Chronicle.

He did not know that child, nor did he necessarily like the book's style of narration. But he knew that, to that child, the book had to be a "totem of hope."

And when those pages were kicked around meaninglessly, mocked, and trampled, a familiar emotion rose uncontrollably within him.

Was it "anger"? Not entirely.

Was it "a sense of justice"? That was not quite right either.

It was more like a long-suppressed "impulse of belonging and identification."

In the world of Hunters, the strong protected the world, explored the unknown, and also protected those "seekers" who had yet to set out on their journeys. Even if they were young, weak, and unqualified, so long as they were trying to hold onto their beliefs and direction, Hunters should not turn their backs on them.

He wrote:

Strength existed to preserve choices.

It was not for defeating enemies, but for ensuring that, in the moment when "I decide whether to act," he would no longer be passive.

And that day, he had done it.

He had not relied on strength to knock anyone down, nor had he flaunted any "ability." Yet through calmness and judgment, he had made his opponents "fall on their own" and brought the battlefield under his control.

He understood that this was a victory that truly belonged to the way of Hunters.

At the bottom of the page, he drew three horizontal lines and solemnly wrote down:

[Three Principles of Real-World Intervention]

There must be a reason to act: never act out of emotion; act only to "protect" or "counterbalance";

The action must remain controllable: achieve the greatest impact at the smallest cost and avoid a chain of exposure;

The conclusion must be clean: leave no reason to be "targeted"; speak little, move efficiently, and withdraw completely.

After finishing the record, he closed the notebook, stood up, and went to the washbasin to wipe the dust from his face.

Cold water from the faucet ran over his palms, washing away the dust of the day and his barely perceptible agitation.

He looked at himself in the mirror.

His face was still childish, his features not yet fully formed. But those eyes were no longer the eyes of a five-year-old.

He murmured, almost soundlessly:

"Next time, I can handle it faster."

After saying that, he dried his hands and walked out of the room as if nothing had happened.

The soup in the kitchen was ready, and his mother called him to eat. His father looked up and casually asked, "How was today?"

Ryan paused, then said, "A little noisy. But it was okay."

The words were plain, but they were his choice.

A Hunter did not need to draw a blade every time.

The truly strong understood "when to sheathe the blade."

And he was learning that.