Hunter X Hunter : The Boundary

Chapter 22: Reasons for Silence

The sky had yet to brighten. Ryan's steps home were heavy, his left shoulder throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. His jacket, stained with blood and dust, was a testament to the night's battle. He'd intended to slip in quietly, but the old wooden floorboards betrayed his slight stumble.

Creak—

The sound, sharp as an alarm in the pre-dawn silence, brought his mother out of the kitchen.

"Ryan, is that you?" Her voice was laced with a familiar, weary unease.

"Yeah," he replied, his own voice low. "Just got home."

She came out holding a bowl of hot porridge, ready to nag him about the late hour— but the words died in her throat. Her eyes fixed on the torn fabric of his jacket, the dark stains on the hem. Though he had treated the wound, the signs of a struggle were unmistakable.

"What happened to you?" Her tone rose, sharp with panic. "Is that blood?"

Ryan instinctively took a step back. "It's nothing," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "I took a detour yesterday, tripped, and hit an iron pipe."

But his mother was not a naive woman. She'd seen enough injuries from her husband's years on construction sites. She saw the unnatural stiffness in Ryan's shoulder, the faint outline of a bandage beneath the cloth, the traces of mortar and weeds clinging to his pants. These were not the marks of a simple fall.

"Were you out training again?!" she pressed, her eyes red with anxiety. "You're just a child! Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

Ryan remained silent. Any further explanation would only make things worse. He couldn't tell her the truth—that would only condemn them to sleepless nights and endless worry. He couldn't lay the brutal truth of the world at the feet of two ordinary people.

"I... I just fell," he repeated softly, his gaze fixed on the old boiler behind her.

His father walked out then, his eyes showing the fatigue of a lifetime of labor. He didn't ask questions. He just glanced at the wound on Ryan's shoulder, his brow furrowed. "Eat something warm first," he sighed. "Then put some medicine on it. We'll talk after."

The tension in the room settled. His mother went to get the first-aid kit. His father silently set the table. No one met Ryan's eyes. During the meal, the silence was heavy, a shared space of unspoken fear and concern. It was the only tenderness they could offer each other.

Though his body was injured, Ryan's mind was racing. He replayed the previous night's battle, but for the first time, he couldn't find a clear "reason for victory."

He had won through ambushes, terrain, and a bit of luck. He had dodged and countered, but he hadn't defeated anyone head-on. He couldn't even explain the "intuition" that had allowed him to predict his opponents' moves.

That wasn't a reaction I should have. It felt like something else had awakened his instincts.

He knew to some extent what it was. He had been chasing its shadow for years. That power that could shatter rock and turn playing cards into weapons. Nen.

He had reached a critical point. His physical training had hit a ceiling. Without a true understanding of Nen, he was like a martial artist waiting to be killed by a gun. He had felt it surge within him during the fight—that brief, uncontrolled flare. It had always been there; he just didn't know how to command it.

He needed a teacher.

He suddenly remembered a scene from the anime, a memory that now felt more like a map. Gon and Killua arriving at Heavens Arena. Their confrontation on the 200th floor. The crushing "killing intent" from the floor master that nearly broke them. It was after that ordeal that they met him.

Wing.

From him, they had first learned the words: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Hatsu. From him, they had learned their Nen types through a simple glass of water.

Water Divination. Ryan wrote the words in his notebook, his handwriting twice as heavy as usual.