At the highest peak of Kukuroo Mountain, where thick, gray clouds constantly embraced the stone walls of the Zoldyck estate, silence reigned supreme. Inside a vast, dimly lit room, Silva Zoldyck stood before a massive glass window, his hands clasped behind his back. His imposing shadow stretched across the wooden floor like a dormant beast, his sharp eyes surveying the dense, deadly forests that isolated their blood-soaked world from the rest of humanity.
Behind him, sitting in the darkest corner of the room, was Zeno, the elderly grandfather. He calmly sipped green tea from a porcelain cup, his demeanor as cold as the mountain air outside.
Silva broke the silence, his voice deep, quiet, yet carrying a weight that rivaled the mountain itself. "Killua... has a distinct flaw in his character, Father. A flaw that makes him completely unready to carry the family name at this moment."
Zeno paused his drinking for a second, not lifting his eyes from the cup. "Boredom... isn't it?" his raspy voice echoed in the cavernous room.
Silva turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing with stern seriousness. "Exactly. He fails to distinguish between 'work' and 'play.' Assassination, for us, is a commitment... a contract signed in blood, governed by rules we follow with absolute emotional detachment. We kill because it is our profession, not because we seek enjoyment. But Killua... he has begun to view killing as a mere game. And when he doesn't find enough thrill in a target, boredom creeps in. This proves he is still a child, too immature to understand that true work offers no pleasure."
Zeno smiled faintly, the wrinkles on his face deepening, hiding the wisdom of decades of bloodshed. "Hehehe... Youth. Killua still looks at the world through the eyes of a teenager looking for entertainment. When he falls into the trap of routine, he feels suffocated and wants to escape."
Silva turned back to the window, his expression unchanging. "Iron is only forged in fire... and currently, his fire has gone out."
Meanwhile, several floors underground, the atmosphere was vastly different, yet equally dark. Inside a stone dungeon reeking of rust and dried blood, the crackle of high-voltage electricity tore through the terrifying quiet.
Bzzzzzt! CRACK!
Another strike of the electrified whip sliced through the air, landing with brutal force. Milluki stood there, panting heavily, sweat pouring down his forehead and soaking his clothes. His hands trembled from the sheer exhaustion of swinging the lethal weapon.
In front of him, Killua was suspended by his wrists from thick iron chains hanging from the ceiling. Stripped to the waist, his bare torso was a canvas of deep, jagged scars—a silent, gruesome testament to years of inhumane training. His lean, sharply defined abdominal muscles stood out in stark contrast to his youthful face, highlighting a body forged solely for killing. His flesh was absorbing electrical shocks that could stop a fully grown elephant's heart. Yet, the room was engulfed in a maddening, provocative silence. There was no screaming, no groaning, no flinching.
Killua's head hung low, his silver hair shadowing his eyes. He was completely still. In fact, his breathing was slow, steady, and rhythmic. He was fast asleep.
Milluki stopped, dropping to one knee as he gasped frantically for air. He stared at his younger brother's motionless, resting form, and his face contorted in a mix of pure rage and sheer disbelief. "Are you... are you sleeping?!" Milluki screamed, his voice cracking from the perceived humiliation. "I am torturing you, and you are sleeping, you brat?!"
Slowly, the steady breathing shifted. Killua lifted his head, opening his deep blue eyes. There was no pain in them, only an endless, dead void. He looked at his trembling older brother, blinked lazily, and spoke with a chillingly calm, unbothered voice.
"Ah... aren't you done yet?" Killua asked, entirely unconcerned by the electric current still running through him. "Honestly, your voltage is too weak today. It felt like a decent massage. You actually helped me doze off for a bit."
Milluki's eyes bulged. He gritted his teeth, raising the whip again, blinded by humiliation and a desperate desire to elicit some pain from his brother.
But in that fraction of a second, Killua's demeanor completely changed. The lazy void in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, piercing, and lethal glare. He had grown tired of this place, these faces, and this endless, suffocating routine that was slowly choking him.
"I have made my decision," Killua stated, his voice ringing out with absolute, unwavering resolve. "I am going to take the entrance exam at U.A. High School."
Before Milluki could even process the meaning behind the words, Killua flexed the muscles in his suspended arms. He used no special energy, just the raw, terrifying physical strength forged in the fires of hell.
SNAP! CRACK!
The thick iron chains shattered into pieces, raining down like brittle glass. Killua landed gracefully on his feet, silent as a ghost. Milluki opened his mouth to scream for the guards, but Killua was already in front of him. A single, precise strike to Milluki's gut sent the heavier boy crashing to the stone floor, instantly unconscious.
Just then, the heavy iron door burst open. Kikyo, their mother, stood in the doorway, shrieking frantically at the sight of the broken chains and her unconscious son. Killua didn't hesitate. Using his Shadow Step, he phased past her in a blur, leaving a microscopic, stinging scratch across her cheek as a warning, grabbed his clothes, and walked out into the dimly lit corridor without ever looking back.
A few minutes later, the door to Silva's study burst open violently. Kikyo rushed in, blood trickling down her cheek. But she wasn't in pain; she held her hand over the tiny wound, laughing hysterically, tears of twisted, maniacal joy streaming from her eyes.
"Silva! Killua escaped! He broke the chains, struck his brother, struck me... and left! He said he is going to a place called U.A. Academy for Heroes!"
Silva did not move. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, his voice devoid of any emotion. "U.A. Academy? ...Interesting."
"Silva! Should I send the butlers to retrieve him immediately? We cannot let him waste his time with scum who play at being heroes!" Kikyo demanded, her voice trembling with manic energy.
"Let him do as he pleases," Silva replied coldly, cutting her off. "This is nothing but the fleeting whim of a bored teenager. Let him go to that world. Let him see their fake 'idealism.' Soon enough, he will grow bored of playing the hero, and he will realize that his only true place is here, in the dark. If the situation escalates... I will send Illumi to bring him back. Until then, let him play."
(Smash Cut)
The oppressive, perpetual darkness of the mountain was instantly replaced by the blinding, warm sunlight of Musutafu City.
Killua sat near the window of a bullet train, resting his chin on his hand as the vibrant, colorful city blurred past him. He was fully dressed now, his baggy clothes hiding the lethal weapon his body truly was. The train was packed with ordinary citizens going about their daily lives. He watched a man use a minor telekinesis Quirk to hold his briefcase while reading the paper, and a woman using a small fire Quirk to light her cigarette on the platform.
Quirks, Killua thought, popping a piece of ChocoRobo into his mouth, savoring the crunch. Everyone here relies so heavily on them. They flaunt their powers like cheap toys. This world is loud, bright, and utterly ridiculous.
Stepping off the train, Killua dropped his skateboard onto the pavement and kicked off, gliding smoothly through the bustling, sun-drenched streets. He was in no rush. He navigated through the crowds with effortless grace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy shorts, his silver hair catching the morning sun. The closer he got to the U.A. campus, the thicker the tension in the air became. Teenagers from all over the country were walking in the same direction, their faces pale with anxiety, muttering frantically to themselves about points, strategies, and the crushing fear of failure.
Killua found it pathetic.
Finally, the massive, towering H-shaped glass building of U.A. High School loomed in the distance. The sheer scale of the gates was impressive to any normal civilian, but to an assassin raised behind the Testing Gates of Kukuroo Mountain, it was just another door.
He slowed his skateboard down, tapping the tail, taking in the sight, when suddenly, a frantic, chaotic sound approached from behind.
Step-step-step-step!
"I'm gonna be late! I'm gonna be late! If I don't run faster, the gates will close, and my ten months of training will be for nothing!"
Killua lazily turned his head. A boy with incredibly messy, untamable green hair was sprinting down the sidewalk as if his life depended on it. He was sweating profusely, his eyes wide with sheer panic, muttering a mile a minute.
Killua raised an eyebrow. He expertly tapped the tail of his skateboard, slowing it down just enough to match the panicked boy's desperate pace.
"Hey," Killua called out casually, his voice cutting through the boy's frantic muttering. "Why are you running like a monster is chasing you? Is your Quirk 'Extreme Anxiety' or something?"
The green-haired boy flinched in shock. He tripped over his own red sneakers and nearly face-planted onto the pavement, but barely managed to catch his balance, still desperate to keep running. He looked over in shock at the silver-haired boy gliding effortlessly beside him.
"I-I...!" the boy stammered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I'm heading to the U.A. entrance exam! I'm running super late!"
Killua glanced at his watch and smirked—a genuine, slightly mocking smile that showed his amusement. "The exam? You still have thirty minutes. You're panicking like a lost puppet with cut strings. Are you sure you want to be a hero with a face that scared?"
The boy looked down, deeply embarrassed. But then, his hands balled into tight fists. He stopped stammering. When he looked up, his green eyes held a strange, burning intensity that caught Killua completely off guard.
"I... I have to become a hero!" the boy declared, his voice suddenly firm, resolute, and solid, pushing his tired legs to run even faster. "I can't give up now!"
Killua's skateboard rolled to a slow, deliberate halt. He stood there for a moment, watching the green-haired boy's retreating back. That blind, fiery determination... it was an emotion entirely alien to the cold, calculating, and cynical world of assassins he was raised in. It was completely irrational.
And for the first time in a very long time, Killua felt genuinely intrigued.
With a swift, fluid motion, Killua popped his skateboard into the air, caught it, and tucked it securely under his arm. Without using a drop of his Quirk, he sprinted forward. In mere seconds, he was running side-by-side with the green-haired boy, matching his desperate sprint with effortless, terrifying ease, not even breaking a sweat.
The boy looked over, his eyes wide with shock as he saw the silver-haired stranger running right beside him, completely comfortable.
Killua looked straight ahead at the giant U.A. gates, the suffocating boredom finally fading from his eyes. He broke the silence, speaking with quiet, undeniable confidence.
"Ore wa Killua," (I am Killua).
The green-haired boy stared for a second, then a bright, determined smile broke across his exhausted face.
"Ore wa Midoriya!" (I am Midoriya).
Side by side, the runaway assassin and the hopeful successor ran toward the giant gates, stepping together into a world that would never be the same again.