At half past five in the evening, the Seventh Enlightenment Academy in the western district of Tower City dismissed its students on time. Children in dark blue uniforms streamed out of the school building like a tide. The scent of sugar cakes from the street-corner stall mingled with the clamor of the crowd, forming a naive yet vibrant slice of everyday life.
Ryan walked along a narrow path near the roadside with his schoolbag on his back. The road was not long, but because it ran near a deserted lot filled with old factory buildings, few pedestrians passed through. Older children often took a detour here to fool around.
The wind was restless today, yet the alley entrance was quieter than usual.
He heard a low growl mixed with the friction of clothing and the sound of a plastic bag being kicked away. By the old wall not far ahead, three children around eight years old were surrounding a skinny boy a head shorter than them, shoving him, mocking him, and snatching at the notebooks that had fallen from his arms.
"So cowardly, yet you dare read Folk Martial Arts Heroes Chronicle? You think you're worthy?"
"A Nen Ability user? You don't know shit!"
The book was unmistakably Martial Arts Folk Heroes Chronicle, borrowed from the school library, its cover corners already worn down. The surrounded child hunched his shoulders, his eyes filled with fear. He looked as if he wanted to cry but did not dare make a sound.
Ryan stopped in his tracks.
He knew scenes like this were not uncommon in the world of children, and he had always told himself, Now isn't the time to stick my neck out. But—inappropriately, images from his past suddenly surfaced in his mind.
Gon standing up to an examiner for his friends, 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.
A Hunter was not a bystander who believed that something had never happened simply because he had not seen it.
The next moment, Ryan no longer hesitated. He lowered his head, tightened his grip on his schoolbag, 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 voice was even.
"Mind your own business, brat."
"Stick around and we'll beat you up too."
There was not a trace of fear in Ryan's eyes. He assessed the situation in an instant. The biggest of the three stood on the right and at the front, but his feet were closest to the corner of the wall, where a patch of standing water lay beneath them. The boy in the middle had just kicked the book away, watching Ryan from the corner of his eye. The boy on the left was the least guarded, a handful of papers clenched in his hand.
Ryan suddenly leaned to the left, pretending to reach for the book. The boy on the left instinctively dodged, taking half a step backward.
At the same time, Ryan pressed down with his right shoulder and flicked the half-dry paper bag up with his toe, sending it into the middle boy's face.
"Hey—!"
The boy cried out and instinctively took a step back, only to collide with the rightmost boy's support point. With a sharp slap, his sole skidded, and his knee slammed into the muddy ground covered in standing water, sending a large splash everywhere.
"Hey, why'd you push me!"
"I didn't—"
Taking advantage of the confusion, Ryan bent down and picked up the book from the ground. With one hand, he helped the skinny boy up and shielded him behind his back. The movements flowed together seamlessly—quick and precise. There was no sense of a "technique" to them, yet they created a situation of absolute suppression.
The three children clearly had not expected this "quiet-looking" little boy to cause such chaos, especially chaos that made it seem as if they had "messed everything up themselves."
"Let's go. Ignore this lunatic." The lead boy, humiliated and enraged, spat out the words before leaving with his two companions.
The alley entrance fell silent once more.
Dust and damp marks still clung to the skinny child's clothes, and his face had yet to recover from the shock. He looked at Ryan, moved his lips a few times, and finally said in a low voice, "Th-Thank you..."
Ryan simply handed the book back to him and said evenly, "Don't take that alley next time."
"Okay." The boy hugged the book tightly and nodded hard.
Ryan said nothing more. He turned around, put his schoolbag back on, walked out of the alley, and followed the flow of people back into the district's lights.
The sunlight fell across his profile, drawing out a long, lonely shadow.
He did not boast about it, nor did he feel proud. But he knew:
At that moment, he had made the choice that belonged to the world of Hunters—to protect, to intervene, and to win through calm means.
Passion had never meant recklessness.
And he was learning how to let his passion burn within reason, rather than burn itself away.
The sky was exceptionally clear that evening. The wind was mild, and the streets were quiet. 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, and took a notebook the size of a workbook from the bottom of a drawer. He flipped to a blank page.
He did not do his homework. Instead, he wrote several words:
[First Instance: Record of an Unplanned Intervention]
This was the first time since beginning his training that he had voluntarily involved himself in a real-world scene of violence and carried out an intentional, structured intervention with a proper conclusion.
In his mind, he categorized this type of behavior as the "Dominant Reality Intervention Strategy (SIS)."
He picked up his pen and listed the following beneath it:
[Incident Number: SIS-01]
Time: After dismissal from the Enlightenment Academy
Subjects: Bullies × 3; Victim × 1
Enemy Composition:
Older in age;
Localized control type → Core provocateur in the center, with support on both sides;
Impulsive behavior but average observation skills;
Execution Logic:
Analyze the terrain first and identify a victory point that does not involve direct violence;
Induce positional dislocation and create internal confusion;
Use the slippery ground and confined space to cause visual and physical confusion;
Complete a "reversal of dominance" without striking, avoiding exposure of his abilities and intentions;
Emotional State:
Excited at the beginning, then completely shifted into calculated execution;
After the action, no guilt and no excitement, only one emotional reflection: I don't want to watch that book get trampled.
His pen stopped.
When those words surfaced in his mind, he suddenly realized that he was not as "entirely rational" as he had imagined.
The book the bullied child had been holding was Folk Martial Arts Heroes Chronicle.
He did not know the child, and he might not even have liked the book's narrative style, but he knew that to that child, the book was certainly a "totem of hope."
And when those pages were kicked around pointlessly, 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 accurate either.
It was more like a long-suppressed "impulse of belonging and identification."
In the world of Hunters, the strong protected the world and explored the unknown. They also protected those "seekers" who had yet to set out on their journeys. Even if they were young, weak, and unqualified, as long as they were struggling to hold on to their beliefs and direction, a Hunter should not turn his back on them.
He wrote:
Strength exists to preserve the ability to choose.
Not to defeat enemies, but to ensure that when I decide whether to act, I am no longer passive.
And that day, he had done it.
He had not used force to knock anyone down, nor had he shown off any "ability." Yet through calmness and judgment, he had made the others "fall on their own" and taken control of the battlefield.
He understood: this was the true Hunter's way of winning.
At the bottom of the page, he drew three horizontal lines and solemnly recorded:
[Three Principles of Reality Intervention]
There must be a reason to act: Never act out of emotion. Act to "protect" or "maintain balance";
The action must remain controllable: Achieve the greatest impact at the lowest cost and avoid a chain reaction that exposes him;
The conclusion must be clean: Leave no reason to be "targeted." Speak little, move decisively, 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 flowed over his palms, washing away the day's grime as well as the faint stirrings in his heart.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
His face was still childish, his features not yet fully formed. But those eyes were already no longer those of a five-year-old.
He spoke softly, almost in a breath:
"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 was ready in the kitchen, and his mother called him to eat. His father raised his head and casually asked, "How was your day?"
Ryan paused before saying, "A little noisy. But it was fine."
He said it flatly, but it was his choice.
A Hunter did not need to draw his blade every time.
A true strong man knew "when to sheathe his blade."
And he was learning that.
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