I didn't have a goal yet. Not a real one.
No grand ambition. No step-by-step revenge blueprint or galaxy-brain "rule the world through toothpaste manufacturing" scheme. Just this: survive the Zoldycks, protect Killua, and maybe—just maybe—figure out how to weaponize the Zodiac Core System without turning into something unrecognizable.
But that meant playing smart. Obedient. Understated.
I was done showing off.
At least... publicly.
They gave us an instructor.
A tall man with brown hair that never moved and hands that didn't fidget. His aura was calm in the same way a freezer is calm—cold, still, and waiting to kill bacteria.
He introduced himself as Kallin. No last name. Just "Kallin."
His job, apparently, was early "adaptation coaching." That's what he called it.
"You are to develop motor accuracy, memory indexing, social mimicry, and response tracking."
We were barely a year old.
Killua rolled his eyes halfway through the sentence and tried to shove a spoon into the wall.
I respected it.
I played along.
Kallin's sessions were structured like a private school designed by assassins.
Day One: flashcard drills.
Except they weren't pictures of animals or colors.
They were faces.
Twenty of them.
Real people. Different ages. Different moods.
We were supposed to match them to pre-assigned "emotional response tags."
Killua bit his flashcard.
I sorted mine with a three-second delay between each, just enough to look thoughtful.
Kallin made a note.
Day Two: physical response testing.
Balance beams, shape-sorting under pressure, hand-eye coordination tasks with weighted rings.
Killua turned one ring into a projectile and nailed a sensor at the edge of the room.
I missed on purpose.
He grinned at me like we'd both just pissed in the gene pool.
📿 Zodiac Core System
📌 System Note: Task Compliance – Grade A
📈 SE: 1.8
📌 Dormant
🔒 Core Fluctuation (Monkey: Passive Mimicry Detected)
It was creeping closer. Whatever this was, it liked it when I played the game.
Pretend. Perform. Predict.
So I leaned in.
By week two, Kallin upgraded the drills.
He gave us blocks soaked in different scents and asked us to rank them in "order of threat."
He brought in recordings of footsteps and asked us to guess gender, size, weaponry.
He let us crawl through low corridors and left knife fragments half-buried in sand.
Killua treated it like a treasure hunt.
I treated it like a field exam.
And by the end of the month, we both could identify at least four types of concealed weapon based on shape and metal sound alone.
Progress.
But I never stopped watching the other tests.
The ones not announced.
Like how every third day, they swapped the nightlight's hue by three degrees. Or how the floor mats changed thickness. Or how a camera would vanish for precisely seven minutes between midnight and 12:07 AM.
I started practicing in that window.
Not pushups.
Expressions.
Micro-emotions. Blinks. Subtle smiles.
Learning how my face worked.
How to wear a mask without needing one.
One night, I mouthed the word "help" to a deactivated camera just to see if anyone noticed.
Nothing happened.
Until the next day, when Kallin added storytime to our lessons.
Except the stories weren't real.
They were simulations. Hypotheticals.
"If a child's brother stole poison meant for their father, but survived, what should the child do?"
Killua answered by drawing a stick figure stabbing another stick figure with a fork.
I blinked three times and said, "Tell a butler."
Kallin smiled faintly for the first time.
"Correct," he said. "Not for justice. For loyalty."
📿 Zodiac Core System
📌 System Note: Narrative Deviation Logged
📈 SE: 2.1
📌 Dormant
It liked lies.
Not just survival.
Narrative.
Twist the path. Fold it. Break it a little. That's where the energy came from.
I was starting to get it now.
Silva visited once a month.
Never said anything. Just watched us from the doorway like a dad too disappointed to be present but too interested to stay away.
Killua stared at him like he wanted a turn.
I waved once.
Silva blinked slowly and left.
That day, our dinner had meat in it.
A signal, probably. Or a reward.
I didn't trust it either way.
Around that time, Killua started drawing with intent.
At first it was just lines. Spirals. Angry scratchings.
Then it was me.
At least, I think it was. White hair. Round eyes. A mouth with sharp little triangles for teeth.
Underneath, he scrawled one word in his baby handwriting.
"TRICK."
Was it a threat? A nickname?
A warning?
He wouldn't say.
Just handed it to me and walked away.
📿 Zodiac Core System
📌 Core Ping: Snake – Signal Trace Detected
📉 SE: 2.5
🔒 Core Status: Still Sealed
Snake again.
Always Snake.
Why?
Because I was lying?
Because I was quiet?
Because I hadn't broken yet?
Month five of training: twin differentiation drills.
We were dressed identically. Hair brushed. Same shoes. Same cold eyes.
A stranger entered the room—blindfolded.
She was told to identify "the one with the system."
I froze.
So did Killua.
She walked slowly, hands extended.
Paused between us.
Lifted one hand.
Touched Killua's forehead.
"Not him," she said.
Then touched mine.
"Warm," she whispered.
"They haven't bled yet."
And then she left.
Just... left.
That night, Killua bit my arm hard enough to leave a crescent mark.
I didn't cry.
I bit him back.
By now, we were both walking. Running. Thinking too fast for the people watching us.
So they brought in someone new.
A woman in red.
Scarlet robes. Golden hair. A soft face full of knives.
Her voice was syrup and steel. She called herself Cura.
She said we would begin "emotive testing."
"You've learned control," she said. "Now show me what you've hidden beneath it."
Killua rolled his shoulders and cracked a joint that shouldn't have been crackable in a baby body.
I said nothing.
Cura crouched and smiled at me.
"You first," she said.
She held up a mirror.
Not a toy mirror. A polished shard of some reflective crystal. It hummed softly in her hand.
I stared into it.
And the face that looked back?
Not mine.
Still a baby. Still pale. Still silver-eyed.
But the smile was wrong.
Too wide. Too sharp.
A snake's grin.
I blinked.
The image vanished.
📿 Zodiac Core System
📌 CORE: Snake – Minor Alignment Detected
📈 SE: 2.9
🔒 Status: Threshold Approaching
📌 Warning: Ritual Lock Conditions Unstable
Now we were getting somewhere.
Killua failed the test.
He looked in the mirror and broke it.
Just punched it.
No hesitation.
Cura didn't flinch.
"Not ready," she said.
Then turned to me.
But I was already gone.
Mentally.
Sliding through the system's menus like a rat through wiring.
Looking for cracks.
Words.
A sign.
It came at night.
A dream.
Or... a download.
I saw a hallway.
Stone. Wet. Slanted down.
At the end, a door. Gold-trimmed. Twelve marks.
And one glowing:
🐍
Snake.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
Then, a voice—not a voice—a feeling.
"Cost required."
No words.
Just pressure.
And then a vision:
Killua.
Smiling.
Trusting.
And me... turning away.
Letting someone grab him.
Take him.
Use him.
That was the cost.
Not death.
Betrayal.
I woke up screaming.
Or tried to.
No sound came out.
Killua was already sitting upright, watching me with that same unreadable expression.
He didn't ask.
He didn't need to.
He'd seen something too.
📿 Zodiac Core System
📌 Snake Ritual Conditions – 60%
📈 SE: 3.1
📌 Host Instability: Low
So that's how it worked.
Not button presses.
Not skill trees.
Moments.
Choices.
And if I ever wanted that power...
I'd have to sell something that couldn't be bought back.
No.
Not yet.
Not him.
Not ever.
But I knew what I had to do now.
I didn't need a plan.
I needed a line I wouldn't cross.
And then?
I'd cross every other one.