Author's Note:
How are you all liking the story so far? Do you notice a difference between my writing and ChatGPT's?Sorry for not uploading for so long—I've been busy with school and work.
This chapter is a transition chapter, since you already know a time skip is coming. I won't be uploading for at least a week, so hold tight for the new Serik and Illumi.
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This time, Serik did not resist or whimper. He obediently went upstairs to pack his bag. He took a few sets of clothes, his toothbrush, and the book his mother had left him. They were the same essentials he had carried when he left the Veylor mansion—except this time, he was not being cast out. He was moving forward, toward a place where he could grow and learn.
It took him no more than ten minutes.
Downstairs, Jons was already waiting, a massive backpack strapped to his back and two additional bags resting beside him. When Serik saw the amount of luggage, a chill ran down his spine as he imagined the torment ahead.
Jons began walking toward the garden, and Serik followed. When they reached the open space, Jons stopped and stared ahead.
"Young master," he said quietly, "it will be a long time before we return. I want you to close your eyes and relive every day since you came here."
Serik did as he was told.
He thought back to his arrival in the middle of the night… his first steps into this strange home… meeting a Hunter… his first training session… his first defeat… his first victory… his first kill…
And then Illumi—his first, awkward, fragile attempt at friendship.
The memories passed before his mind's eye like drifting clouds. When he finally opened his eyes, they carried the same calm he had possessed when he emerged from the cocoon.
Jons noticed.
You have matured, Serik.
After a moment, Jons spoke again. "There is something I have wondered about since that day. The green smoke you exhaled—what was it?"
Serik met his gaze calmly. "It was the excess life energy you gave me. I couldn't contain all of it."
For the first time in a long while, Jons' composure cracked.
"So you knew from the beginning," he said quietly. "And you have taken it so calmly."
Serik gave a small, hollow laugh. "Not really. Ever since then, I've been trying to think of ways to restore your lifespan. Every path I find leads to the same dead end."
"Sacrifice."
Jons nodded. "I understand, young master. But you do not need to burden yourself with this. I made my choice. I would make it again without hesitation. You are what matters to me most."
Serik clenched his fists. "But did you ever think that you shortened the time we could have spent together? You are all I have left, Jons. If you die… what will I have?"
Jons stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.
Serik did not hesitate. He returned the embrace with desperate strength.
"One day," Jons said gently, "I will die—on a mission, on an adventure, or simply from old age. I owe my life to your family. If giving everything I have is the price, I will gladly pay it."
Serik said nothing. He simply cried quietly against Jons' chest.
I owe all of you too much, Jons thought as he held him.
After a moment, Serik pulled back and lifted his head, meeting Jons' eyes.
"Jons… even if you don't believe it, we are family. Even death will not stop me from restoring your lifespan."
The determination in his voice resonated with the earth itself.
The ground trembled.
Behind Jons, a small sapling burst through the soil. It grew rapidly—roots digging deep, bark hardening, branches stretching upward—until it became a slender but sturdy young tree nearly a meter tall. Then the shaking stopped.
Serik pointed at it with a ghostly pale face.
"I make this vow to you, my family. You will live to see this tree mature. Only then will you die. Until that day, you will remain by my side."
Jons stared at the tree, shaken to his core—yet his face remained calm, as always.
"As you wish, young master."
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Meanwhile, with Illumi
It did not take long before Illumi arrived at the Testing Gate. Without using Nen, and with immense effort, he forced open three of its massive doors. The heavy stone groaned as it moved, dust drifting from its ancient surface. Even for him, the strain was undeniable—but he showed no reaction.
Having finally reached the third door, Illumi turned around.
A tall figure stood waiting nearby. The man wore the formal black-and-white uniform of the Zoldyck household, his posture rigid, his hands folded behind his back. His face was calm and unreadable, as though he had been standing there long before Illumi arrived, silently observing.
"Master Silva is awaiting," the butler said quietly.
Illumi gave him a brief, assessing glance. "Very well. Lead the way, Goto."
Only then did the man move, turning and walking toward the path that led deeper into the estate, guiding Illumi toward the mansion.
Before they reached the entrance, another presence revealed itself.
Zeno Zoldyck stood near the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes sharp and penetrating despite his age. Illumi immediately increased his pace, moving toward him to greet him—but before a single word could escape his mouth, Zeno spoke.
"Strip your top half down."
Illumi did not hesitate. In a single smooth motion, he removed his clothing and stood still, bare from the waist up. Zeno stepped closer, his gaze sweeping across Illumi's body, inspecting him as though he were a weapon rather than a grandson. His eyes lingered, searching for something unseen.
After a moment, Zeno clicked his tongue and sighed.
"You sly fox."
Without further explanation, he turned and walked away, still shaking his head.
Illumi felt no offense. He calmly put his clothes back on and continued forward, opening the door to his father's study.
Inside, Silva Zoldyck lay sideways on a beanbag chair, one arm resting lazily against the floor. His massive frame made the casual posture feel strangely predatory.
Silva did not greet him.
Instead, his eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed his son.
His Nen is stable. Strong. Controlled. He clearly received proper training, but it is nothing special. Then why did Father accept his request?
A faint smile appeared on Silva's face as he looked at Illumi.
"We had to cut your training short," Silva said. "A large job has come in. We need every capable hand. Since you have learned Nen, you are now ready to handle the most difficult requests we receive."
Illumi nodded once in understanding.
"So," Silva continued calmly, "what did you go through?"
Illumi spoke without embellishment. He described everything he had experienced, every trial, every fight, every observation. Silva listened in silence, occasionally interrupting with a short question or clarification. When Illumi finished, Silva paused.
"So," Silva said, "you made a friend."
"No," Illumi replied flatly. "An assassin does not need friends. He is a target."
"That does not have to be the case," Silva said. "Friends can be useful—especially someone like him."
Illumi tilted his head slightly, confused. "So you want me to ally with him, then kill him when he least expects it?"
"No." Silva shook his head. "Killing him brings no benefit. Use him. And when he no longer serves a purpose, discard him."
Illumi nodded in understanding.
But as he did, a face surfaced in his mind.
Serik.
For a brief moment, something tight and unfamiliar twisted in his chest—a small, hollow pit that made his breath feel heavier. The sensation was weak, but it was there.
Silva noticed the change.
He said nothing.
Instead, he gestured toward the door.
Illumi turned and left without another word.
As he walked down the corridor, a single thought repeated in his mind:
Why am I hesitating?