The Price of Losing Control

After all the matches ended, the arena fell into a brief silence. The final outcome no longer mattered. Every examinee had completed their match, and all that remained was waiting and unease.

In one corner of the arena, the examiners and Chairman Netero sat in a small circle, quietly discussing each examinee's performance. They analyzed everything one by one, from physical ability, judgment, and basic reflexes to combat style and mental fortitude. Beans took careful notes, Pakunoda occasionally frowned, while Buhara chewed on snacks he had somehow brought along with chopsticks, wearing an unusually focused expression.

On the other side of the arena, the examinees remained silent, sitting or standing on their own, appearing restless yet restrained.

Killua stood at the edge, his gaze drifting as though his mind was elsewhere. From afar, he looked toward the chairman's group, his eyes passing over Gon, who was receiving treatment ahead, before lingering on a patch of blood that had yet to be cleaned from the ground. Something stirred faintly in his expression.

Just then, a low, hoarse voice sounded beside Killua's ear. "Are you upset? Do you think those people don't understand you at all?"

Killua did not turn around.

"They see you as a child. They can't see what you're truly capable of. Even after realizing you're from the Zoldyck Family, they keep their distance from you."

It was Illumi's voice.

No one knew when he had approached. Still wearing that unfamiliar face, he stood one step behind and to Killua's left, twirling a thin needle in his hand.

"You know who you are. You're a Zoldyck—you don't need to hold back, and you don't need to wait for their approval."

Killua said quietly, "Shut up."

Illumi smiled. "You're already wavering, aren't you? Killing doesn't need a reason for you.