"Ohoh…"
Killua nodded stiffly, a twitch in his eye.
What the hell just happened?
Why… did I actually listen to him?
As the heir of the Zoldyck family, Killua had never bowed to anyone. Even his strict mother Kikyo or his cold father Silva could barely hold a leash on him. And yet…
Today, something was different. Something about Roy — that blind, irritating, self-righteous older brother — made him hesitate. Made him submit. Why?
Killua stood dumbfounded in the kitchen, awkwardly holding a single clove of garlic. His brows furrowed in concentration, trying to figure out which end to peel.
"This is a nightmare…" he muttered.
But before he could even begin to ruin dinner, Roy clapped his hands with exaggerated disgust and waved him off.
"Enough. You've been hovering over three cloves of garlic for half a year. At this rate, I'll die of old age before I taste fried noodles. Out. Go play."
He didn't wait for a reply. With a firm shove and zero regard for Killua's ego, Roy booted his little brother out of the kitchen.
This isn't a place for a pampered assassin who knows nothing but killing, he thought disdainfully.
[Panel Notification: Experience +1]
Roy smirked as the system gave him its usual quiet praise. Another day, another tiny step forward.
Once Killua was gone, Roy got to work. The sound of oil crackling, the sizzle of garlic hitting the pan, the rhythmic motion of tossing noodles and sauce — it was a strangely peaceful process. A few minutes later, he brought out two steaming bowls of Jajangmyeon and plopped them unceremoniously on the table.
As he sat down and cracked his knuckles, the panel chimed again with a tiny glow:
[Cooking EXP +0.1]
He nodded in satisfaction and dug into the first bowl without hesitation.
Killua shuffled to the table, glancing longingly at the two bowls of glossy noodles. He blinked. Roy was already halfway through one bowl… and reaching for the second.
"Wait, wait, isn't one of those mine!?" Killua exclaimed.
Roy didn't even lift his head. "If you don't cook for a day, you don't eat for a day," he said flatly.
Expressionless, he started twirling noodles from the second bowl with absolute confidence.
"Grrr…"
Killua's eyes twitched. "What kind of elder brother are you?! What's the price? How much for one damn bowl?"
He knew his brother well. Roy was a damn miser — a real iron rooster. Trying to squeeze even one Jenny out of him was harder than surviving the Hunter Exam.
But Roy's face suddenly lit up with a businessman's grin. His mood flipped faster than Killua could dodge a dart.
"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Roy said warmly, like an old-time street vendor. "One bowl of fried noodles — a sincere 2,000 Jenny. No bargaining. Ice cream earlier? Consider that a free gift for my dear otoutou. Don't say I never cared."
"…You bloodsucking leech," Killua muttered.
"The stalls down the street only charge 200!"
Roy shrugged. "Labor costs, seasoning secrets, special broth… I'm blind, and I still make better noodles than any street chef. That's worth something."
Killua gritted his teeth, huffed, and finally slapped 3,000 Jenny on the table. "Fine! I'll eat it! The extra 1,000 is a tip — for your shamelessness."
He stormed to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, and scooped a giant serving. "You better not poison me…"
But one bite in — his eyes widened.
Hot… savory… perfectly chewy noodles bathed in rich black bean sauce… Damn it. It really is good.
Killua munched furiously, trying to stay mad while his taste buds danced. Roy, meanwhile, pocketed the money with a smile that could rival any successful stockbroker.
The world doesn't teach you how precious money is until you run out, he thought smugly. When this brat blows all his cash at the Sky Arena buying sweets and weapons, he'll remember big bro Roy's financial wisdom.
He sipped some barley tea, satisfied with his daily gains:
Income today: 3,000 Jenny — get √!
Once both bowls were emptied, Roy rinsed his mouth, grabbed his stick-blade, and stepped outside into the open courtyard.
It was time for his daily training:
Ten Thousand Slashes — Wan Ben Su Zhen.
He drew the blade, exhaled slowly, and focused.
One slash. Then another. The blade must fall like lightning, strike like thunder, and flow like water.
"Ha!"
The blade flashed through the air with terrifying force, splitting the wind, shaking the ground, and slicing the air so sharply that a high-pitched whistle echoed into the sky.
The clouds above were scattered.
Killua, still chewing the last bite of his noodles, froze.
That sound… that pressure…
He ran outside and saw Roy standing perfectly still, sweat glistening down his jawline, his posture firm, and his sword arm unwavering. He hadn't moved much, and yet… the slash just now was powerful enough to make his hair stand.
Killua remembered the way Roy had cut vegetables earlier — lazy, casual… but maybe…
He wasn't serious at all back then…
"Is this your true strength?" Killua whispered.
The fried noodles didn't taste so good anymore.
He set his bowl aside, jumped down to the yard, and called out, "Hey! You need a sparring partner?"
Roy paused, flipped the blade with a spin, and slowly turned toward him.
Though blind, Roy's head turned with unnerving precision, as if his gaze pierced through Killua's skin.
Killua felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
Then came the words:
"My stupid otoutou… you're still too weak."
Killua's fists clenched. That tone… that pitying, dismissive tone. He wasn't even trying to insult him — Roy meant every word.
As Roy turned his back, flicking the blade into its sheath, he added one more line, calm and dismissive:
"Don't insult yourself."
HUH?!
Killua's mind blanked. "T-TM's self-inflicted humiliation?! What the hell does that mean?!"
His hair stood on end. His pride as a Zoldyck was set ablaze.
He gritted his teeth, shouted, "I admit you're strong, but I'm not weak either!"
"I'm a damn Zoldyck! I'll prove it — even if you're my brother, don't look down on me!!"