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Hunter x Hunter: The Sun Breathing Zoldyck - 132
🕑 Added 2025-11-20 17:08:01 +0000 UTCChapter 132: Maha Guards His Grandson × Kanzai Enters
"What day is it today?"
Republic of Batocia, Kukuroo Mountain, Zoldyck family estate.
In the dim little room on the first floor of the castle next to the garden, Maha rocked in his chair, enjoying a massage. Zeno was away; the "masseur" had been swapped out for Tsubone.
A few days ago, Silva had said he would come and do it himself, but the old man had shut him down with a single line: "Go take care of your wife properly."
Kikyo’s belly was getting bigger by the day. If anything happened, she would go mad. So Tsubone had been sent instead.
"The twenty-third," the old butler said. Her hands were not as surgically precise as Zeno’s, but she had stamina. With the eldest and second young masters both away, it seemed her schedule had loosened up quite a bit.
Almost a month already. Maha hummed. The blanket slid down from his knees, and Tsubone quickly caught it and tucked it back in place.
"Yes, almost a month," she said. “Master Zeno called to say he will be back in a few days. Likely around the same time as the young masters.”
Tsubone knew exactly what Maha was asking about. As she massaged, she made small talk to keep him from getting bored. "I hear this year’s Hunter Exam will end very quickly. The Hunter Association wants to tighten restrictions. They never intended to pass anyone from the start."
"Water gets thin, so they add flour. Flour gets thick, so they add water. Same old story." The old man gave a cold little snort of mockery. "People get senile. Only after flooding the world with junk Hunters do they think to turn off the tap. Too late."
He had a point.
Loosening restrictions made the exam seem easier, which lowered the value of the License. By the time they realized their mistake and tried to raise the License’s prestige by not passing anyone, all they really did was discourage people from applying in the first place.
The Hunter Association had Netero, the strongest human alive, as its figurehead, and plenty of grassroots staff. What it lacked was the middle layer—the people who could coordinate top and bottom and plan for the long term. At least in Tsubone’s eyes, who had managed the Zoldyck household from top to bottom for over forty years, the Association’s organizational structure was far from healthy.
That was likely one of the reasons Netero would someday form the Zodiacs.
"Which makes it a shame for young master Roy and young master Illumi," Tsubone said, frowning.
"I hear," she went on, "that besides Botobai Gigante, whom the Chairman values highly, he has also put that Pig-Headed Man unit he copied out of Zigg-sama’s memories in the vanguard."
"That Class-C magical beast?"
"Yes."
Tsubone pressed her palms together and gently tapped Maha’s shoulders. Her two pink rope-braids hung neatly down her back. Worry colored her voice. "Ordinary Nen users will have a hard time breaking those things’ defenses. The Association is demanding that all candidates hold out for ten seconds inside to count as passing."
"Even without Botobai Gigante making a move, the Pig-Headed Men alone will be enough to give everyone hell."
"Hm…" Maha closed his eyes. His fingers tapped the armrest. He did not speak for a while. Then his voice drifted out. "Nothing is absolute. You and Silva and Zeno all insist on using your own experience to measure the youngsters of today. You are more old-fashioned than I am."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
His fingertip beat a steady rhythm on the armrest. A gust of cold wind lifted a corner of the curtain and let a sliver of sunlight fall across the room. He looked out the window.
In the garden, Silva was helping Kikyo walk after breakfast. Maha suddenly recalled the stubborn, fiercely proud face of a boy that had been popping into his mind now and then these past days.
He snorted. "Ten seconds is not enough to stop a Zoldyck."
"If Netero says no one passes, that makes it so? Call Zeno and ask him whether his surname is Zoldyck or Netero. Ask him who gave permission to copy those memories."
"If he cannot answer…"
Maha paused, then said flatly, "Then there is no need for him to come home."
So the old man liked ramping up the difficulty for his grandson, did he? Perfect. These old bones were itching. Time to turn the intensity up on him as well.
It did not look like this little room would stay quiet today.
Tsubone answered carefully, "Yes, sir," took out her phone, and placed a call.
On the other end…
Zaban City.
Official venue.
With the help of the memory reels, the scent of the Bewitching Cedar, and the Illusion character carved onto Gel’s book, a highly realistic illusion had been constructed. Within it, Botobai had gone in and out seven times already.
It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a fight this much.
The Pig-Headed Men were natural Enhancers. Not only could they use the Four Major Principles and some advanced Nen applications as skillfully as humans, there were five of them with distinct "roles."
One Barbarian, wielding a battle axe, specializing in breaking through the front line. One Scout, throwing projectiles and monitoring enemy movements. One Rogue, operating in the middle, always looking for an opening to ambush. And behind them all, clearly stronger than the first four, stood the Pig-Headed General.
Botobai stepped out of the illusion for the last time, refreshed. He glanced at his right shoulder and quietly thanked the fact it had only been a recording. Otherwise, that one mighty swing from the General’s axe really would have taken his arm clean off.
"That thing is not just Class C," he muttered as he rolled his shoulder. Two jets of air hissed from his nostrils.
Beside him, Gel closed her pharmacology book, covering the glowing Illusion character on the cover. She glanced over in surprise—she rarely saw this colleague of hers so enthralled. She scoffed inwardly. "Trust the Dark Continent to hook a big lug like that."
Unlike Gel, Botobai, as one of Netero’s trusted juniors, knew more than most.
He had heard Netero say more than once that the Dark Continent was crawling with wild, unrefined magical beasts.
And yet—
"That Pig-Headed squad was drilled like a regular unit. Training, discipline, plus that General commanding them… They do not look unrefined at all. They look more like proper soldiers from some tribe or nation."
Botobai aspired to be a Three-Star Terrorist Hunter, and someday serve as both prosecutor and military analyst. His eye for such things was sharp.
He flexed his arm and wondered why the Chairman would choose to lie about the Dark Continent. He suspected, vaguely, that it had something to do with the "calamities" Netero had once brought back from there.
If those calamities truly threatened humanity—even to the point of extinction—then his silence, and even the vow that barred Beyond from exploring the Dark Continent, made a grim kind of sense. Botobai did not know about that particular restriction yet, of course.
Behind his mask, his broad, wrinkled face, almost scale-like under thick upturned brows and a heavy moustache, took on a thoughtful look.
Then he came back to himself, folded his arms, and took up position at the end of the corridor. His massive, muscular frame stood there like a door guardian, silently waiting for the candidates to arrive.
At some point, he and Gel looked up at the same time.
Clang.
The elevator doors at the entrance to the underground hall opened, and candidates stepped out one after another, exam numbers pinned to their chests.
Among them were many familiar faces: the bald ninja Yusuke; the bandaged man who looked like he came from some mountain tribe; the snake handler; the bow-backed boy; as well as Kite and Illumi.
Those last two immediately began scanning the hall for someone. When they realized their group was the first to arrive, they each found a corner and lay low.
The elevator opened again. More candidates emerged. Among them was a guy with spiky blond hair and a nasty temper, grumbling that the chosen venue for this exam was too remote. Every time he opened his mouth he used some idiom—and every time he got it wrong, drawing snickers.
"What are you laughing at? I will beat you senseless!" he would shout. Yet he never threw the first punch. Only when he really could not take it anymore did he yank his hair in frustration and slam his fist into the corridor wall, leaving a deep dent. That usually shut people up.
"Kanzai."
Someone called his name, saying they had seen him once while working as a bodyguard.
Kanzai was not unique. Scenes like this played out repeatedly as more candidates arrived. People clashed now and then, but most kept a high degree of vigilance and a low simmer of hostility. They were competitors, after all. Who knew if someone who was a friend one second would be an enemy the next?
It never hurt to keep a degree of caution.
"One hundred… two hundred… three hundred… four hundred…" As it neared two in the afternoon, the hall got more and more crowded.
Gel handled the headcount. According to the numbers sent from various locations, there were 408 people who had cleared the pre-examination and reached the venue. At that moment, 405 had arrived. Three were still missing.
One fifty-six. One fifty-seven. One fifty-eight. Less than two minutes remained before the official start at two o’clock.
Clang.
The elevator door opened for the last time. Three people and one bird stepped out and slowly came into everyone’s view.
Countless eyes turned toward them. Rika’s throat tightened. She quietly edged closer to Roy.
Gotoh stood half a step behind and to the left, adjusting his glasses. He had no time to glare at her. Over four hundred pairs of eyes were locked onto them, many laced with hostility. The weight of that pressure was immense.
Caw! Sol, whose heart was linked with Roy’s, was even more sensitive than Gotoh.
It immediately planted its wings on its hips and glared back at the crowd, as if to say, "What are you staring at? I will kill you all later."
It made Gotoh look gentle by comparison.
"Easy," Roy said, patting its head. He walked forward with his cane-sword, Gotoh and Rika following closely behind, and chose a relatively quiet corner to stand.
His gaze slid over several directions and paused briefly in a few places, then finally settled on the man in front with the massive frame. Botobai, standing there like a wall—huge, elderly, heavily wrinkled face almost like dragon scales, thick eyebrows slanting sharply upward, heavy moustache, traditional Chinese-style robes draped over a muscular, imposing body. Roy narrowed his eyes slightly and recognized him.
The Three-Star Terrorist Hunter whose strength was said to come closest to Netero’s: Botobai Gigante.
Hm?
Botobai sensed it as well. He looked up—and met the boy’s eyes. Roy gave him a small nod. His face was a younger echo of a man Botobai had seen a few times at high-level gatherings: Silva Zoldyck.
Botobai’s thick brows twitched. He recognized him too.
The Zoldyck boy the Chairman had explicitly told him not to show any mercy to.
What was his name again?
Roy Zoldyck.
