As "Melors Zoldyck," I disliked Illumi.
I knew what he would do to his younger brother, Killua, in the future: intimidation, threats, brainwashing, control.
All of this would be done under the guise of "love," and it wasn't an excuse; he genuinely believed it.
I disliked that kind of "it's all for your own good" bandit logic.
"..." I didn't need his pity, so I tightened my grip on the whistle hanging around my neck and ignored his words.
I was mute. Once Illumi stopped talking, the cell they were in became very quiet, and they could hear each other's faint breathing.
Illumi was good at hiding his emotions. His inorganic black eyes were his natural trait, and when he had a blank expression, few people could discern his feelings.
Our eyes met. I didn't know what he was thinking. Perhaps he was genuinely waiting for me to pat his head... I didn't know.
This situation didn't last long. A knock sounded on the door, and then I heard Silva and Kikyo talking as they entered.
"...They will reconcile." This was Kikyo's trailing remark.
No, Kikyo, you are mistaken. Don't talk about "reconciliation." Has my relationship with Illumi ever been good?
"Mm." Silva simply replied, offering no opinion.
The last time I saw Silva, I had not heeded his warning and had attacked him like a madwoman. I hadn't seen him since I passed out. His sudden appearance now caught me off guard, and I felt awkward, hesitant to look at him.
He probably didn't dwell on my attack on him.
After all, I couldn't even bite through one of his index fingers, only chipping my own teeth.
Taking a small fry like me seriously would only diminish his status as one of the three main bosses of the Zoldyck family.
"Melors." Silva approached. He called my name in his usual calm tone with a hint of authority, his emotions unreadable. "Has Illumi reflected properly?"
Whether Illumi reflected or not was irrelevant to me. I had no expectations of him doing so. He had already whipped me with a whip; what else could I possibly want? To push my luck even further?
"..." I was in the wrong, so I continued to lower my head, looking at the floor.
Then Silva pushed a birdcage into my hands. I held the birdcage with both hands. Inside was the familiar hawk, with a mini message tube tied to its leg.
"Since you like it so much, you can make it into a specimen, and it can continue to accompany you," Silva said. "Don't be too sad. Death is an unavoidable and unpredictable event. I'll get you another hawk, one that's more beautiful and smarter."
"..."
More beautiful, smarter... but it wouldn't be the original one. The original one would never return.
When I was a little over a year old, it had started accompanying me, and we would play together in the mountains behind the house all day.
I petted it, fed it, and even slept with it in my arms.
But it died without ever delivering a single message.
It could no longer hear my whistle.
Liquid wet the cage. By the time I realized it, I couldn't stop crying.
As Illumi had said, my affection for a pet surpassed that for "family," which was difficult to understand and incorrect.
Just as they didn't care about pain, crying was probably strange to them as well.
No one stopped me. They quietly watched me cry alone.
Except for the involuntary tears shed from pain during interrogation training, I hadn't cried since birth. I thought stopping my tears would be easy, but for some reason, the dam had broken this time. Fortunately, I was mute, so no matter how much I cried, I made no sound.
I remembered the last time I held it, feeling its broken neck, my body felt like it had plunged into an ice cave.
I remembered putting it down, my mind clouded by rage, attacking Illumi and Silva, who had come to intervene, without regard for the consequences.
...So what? In the end, I achieved nothing and had to yield to reality once more, choosing to "forgive."
Yes, what can weak people do but choose to accept their fate?
To break free from destiny completely, what else is there besides death?
In the "real world," I had once taken off my shoes, stood on the balcony, climbed to the rooftop, but ultimately lacked the courage to let go.
In the "real world," I had once put a plastic bag over my head, tied a rope, and when I suffocated, the pain made me untie the rope.
In the "real world," I had once bought a sharp fruit knife, stood in front of the mirror, and tried to pierce my carotid artery, but only managed to break the skin, and the pain made me stop.
Death is not an easy thing. The pain levels were not low for any of them, and I hated my cowardice.
Therefore, I once longed to be shot in the head, or to be blown to smithereens instantly by a bomb. That should have been painless, but unfortunately, the country I lived in had too good public security; I was unlikely to encounter such things.
Go abroad to try my luck? No, I was unfamiliar with the place, and it was a dangerous area. If my luck ran out and I didn't die, but was captured and used for some other special purpose, then I would truly wish for death but be unable to find it.
In the "real world," my mother occasionally apologized to me.
["I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. I'm becoming more and more like my mother, but I can't control it."]
["Living is tiring, isn't it? If only I could fall asleep and never wake up."]
["I shouldn't have given birth to you, making you suffer for no reason."]
We went to sweep Grandpa's grave together, and she said she envied dead people because they had finally fulfilled their life's mission and could sleep forever.
I agreed with her. Those lying down were indeed the happiest people in the world.
They had no worries, no pain.
And they didn't have to ponder the meaning of life.
Why live? When the pain of living exceeds the joy of living, what is the point of living?
Yes, I am good at nothing, accomplished nothing. I am so mediocre, harmless to the world, but also of no benefit. I merely exist to live, too exhausted for other desires, just filling a spot in the world.
I should have died sooner. Yes, this is called "cutting losses."
I am so stupid. Combat in this world requires not only strength but also intelligence. I likely won't be able to meet the Zoldyck's expectations in the future.
...Some apologies.
I pressed my face against the bars of the birdcage.
If only I could switch places with this hawk. It could do so many things; it would be a great helper.
Its neck was broken. It was a quick death, with little pain, right?
I envied it so much. It achieved the end I had long desired.
In the years I've been with the Zoldycks, have I been "happy" to be alive?
This question cannot be answered in a simple yes or no, because happiness and unhappiness coexist. I can only say that being alive has been very painful.
Pain cannot be eliminated. The Zoldycks' training merely allows one to increase their tolerance to pain, to not be affected by it. httpδ:/m.kuAisugg.nět
The electric current was painful, the whip was painful, disinfecting wounds was painful, suturing wounds was painful, bathing after training was painful... There were many kinds of pain, with different effects and on different parts of the body.
In the Zoldyck household, this was not called abuse; it was necessary training for those in a special profession. All family members went through this, so I had no reason to complain, let alone the right to cry out in pain.
Oh, since I can already endure so much pain, if I were to dig out my own heart, just like those two butlers did...
"Melors." Silva's voice interrupted my thoughts.
My tears had stopped at some point, leaving dry tear streaks on my face, which felt tight.
"..." I relaxed my grip on the birdcage, retracting my nails, which had inadvertently sharpened.
I lifted my head and looked at Silva. I remembered Killua proudly saying in the original story that Silva could [steal a heart] without shedding a drop of blood. I remembered Silva descending from the sky and smashing a commander-level Leopard Man into a pulp with a single punch.
Skill, strength, speed, when taken to the extreme, became a different kind of beauty.
Ah, I envied those who were killed by him. They died before they could feel pain or terror.
How fortunate that must be.
I longed to be killed by him.
I wanted him to steal my heart.
For that, I was willing to offer all my savings.
I imagined him stopping me, not by grabbing my wrist, but by my neck, and then casually breaking my neckbone... The thought made me inexplicably excited, my heart racing.
"Melors." Silva's large palm covered my eyes.
The warmth of his palm was slightly higher than mine, brushing against my trembling eyelashes.
"You're tired. You don't need to do anything else for the next two days. Go back and get some rest," he said, removing his hand, patting my shoulder, and then giving my back a forward push.
"My" body coordination was very good, and this sudden push did not make me stumble. I took two steps forward with it, my steps steady.
Turning back, I looked at Silva with confusion. Behind him, Illumi had somehow released the handcuffs and put on his shirt.
Kikyo raised her hand towards me. Before she could speak, Silva said to her, "Next week is your due date. You should rest as well."
"No..." Kikyo was a powerhouse who was energetic the day before and the day of giving birth, so rest was completely unnecessary for her.
"Illumi was taught by me. Don't think I can't tell," Silva said nonchalantly. "Not just Melors, but some rest would do you good too."
"Go, Melors," Silva urged me again. "You can leave."
I nodded, holding the birdcage, and walked out of the cell.
What they did next had nothing to do with me.
I had my own things to do.