Uchiha power in HxH world - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Hand Seals of a Shut-in and the Bureaucracy of Murder

Three weeks. Twenty-one agonizing, sweat-drenched, meat-sweat-inducing days.

In the grand, terrifying narrative of the ‘Hunter x Hunter’ universe, three weeks was nothing. It was a training montage. It was a brief time-skip where the protagonists went off into the woods and came back slightly more toned and with a better understanding of friendship.

For me, it was a biological crucible that completely rewrote the laws of human anatomy.

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my bedroom, wearing a pair of silk pajamas that currently fit me like a collapsed circus tent. I grabbed handfuls of the excess fabric, pulling it taut against my waist.

The reflection staring back at me was virtually unrecognizable. The sprawling, mountainous waistline that had once defined Milluki Zoldyck was entirely gone. The deep, rolling folds of adipose tissue had literally been burned away, converted into pure, raw Experience Points by the Ultimate Uchiha System.

I had dropped from a staggering, heart-crushing 270 kilograms down to a lean, dense 74 kilograms.

I wasn’t a bodybuilder by any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t have the absurd, hyper-inflated muscles of a Heavens Arena meathead. Instead, I looked like a swimmer, or perhaps a gymnast. My pale skin stretched taut over deeply defined, compact muscle fibers that felt like coiled steel cables under the surface. My face had completely changed; the bloated cheeks had hollowed out, revealing high, aristocratic cheekbones and a sharp jawline that I was fairly certain the original Milluki didn’t even know he possessed. The stress acne had cleared up entirely, flushed out by my newly massive Vitality stat.

“I look like an entirely different person,” I whispered, the reedy, nasal tone of my voice having naturally deepened into something far smoother without three hundred pounds of flesh crushing my vocal cords.

I mentally willed the system panel to appear, the familiar blue holographic screen flickering to life in the cool air of my server room.

—

Name: Milluki Zoldyck
Bloodline: Uchiha Lv1 (0%)
Level: 18 (36/190)
Affinity: Fire Lv3, Yin Lv5, Yang Lv2

…

Health: 200/200
Chakra: 100/100
Fatigue: 0%
…

STR: 19
AGI: 23
VIT: 24
INT: 18
PER: 19

…

Skill: Sharingan Lv1, Chakra Control Lv3 (32%)

…

[Library]

—

I traced the glowing numbers with my eyes, a profound sense of satisfaction washing over me. Level 18. It had been a brutal grind of extreme calisthenics, running marathons through the estate halls, and consuming enough Class-D Magical Beast meat to drive a small country into bankruptcy.

But the results were undeniable.

My raw physical strength had reached 19 points. Doing the math—with one point equating to roughly 500 kilograms—my base lifting power was currently 9.5 Tons. And that was just my physical baseline. That was without actively utilizing ‘Ren’ to boost my muscles with aura. If I actually reinforced my body with my 100 units of Chakra, I could likely rip the reinforced steel doors of my bedroom off their hinges like they were made of wet cardboard.

My Chakra Control had hit Level 3, completely smoothing out the violent, erratic flow of my energy. I could now reliably maintain ‘Ten’ for hours without feeling like I was suffocating, and my ‘Zetsu’ is also pretty good.

More importantly, my Chakra pool had finally hit the magic number: 100.

I was officially capable of activating the Sharingan. I hadn’t tried it yet, partially out of lingering paranoia that it would instantly drain my reserves and leave me unconscious, but the knowledge that I had the ultimate ocular cheat code sitting in my back pocket was immensely comforting.

Furthermore, the grayed-out [Library] tab at the bottom of the screen was now glowing a soft, inviting white. It had unlocked at Level 10.

I closed the screen, stretching my arms above my head and listening to the satisfying pops of my joints.

“Just three more levels,” I muttered to myself. “Level 21. That’s the official Genin rank threshold according to the system. Once I hit that, the higher-tier jutsu in the Library will become available. I just need to stay in this room, eat, do a few thousand pushups.”

“That will be entirely impossible, Master Milluki.”

I violently jumped, instantly pivoting on my heel and falling into a defensive stance, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Kasuga stood exactly three feet behind me, completely silent, her hands clasped neatly in front of her black butler uniform. Her face was, as always, an impenetrable mask of stone-cold professionalism. She didn’t even blink as she took in my drastically altered, half-naked physique.

“Damn it, Kasuga!” I shrieked, instantly reverting to my spoiled brat persona. I grabbed a ridiculously oversized graphic tee from a nearby chair and pulled it over my head. “How many times do I have to tell you to knock? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Because I assure you, Papa will take it out of your salary!”

“I did knock, Master Milluki. Three times,” Kasuga replied smoothly, her voice betraying absolutely no emotion. “You were deeply engrossed in… admiring your reflection.”

I felt a flush of embarrassment hit my cheeks, but I scowled deeply to cover it up. “Whatever. Why are you bothering me? Is the food ready? Because I specifically asked for Class-C meat today. My metabolism requires it.”

“The kitchens are preparing your meal,” Kasuga said, bowing her head slightly. “However, I am here to deliver a formal reminder regarding your familial obligations. You have exactly one week left to complete your monthly assassin quest.”

The room suddenly felt ten degrees colder.

“My… what?” I asked, genuine dread leaking through my arrogant facade.

“Your monthly assassination quota, Master Milluki,” Kasuga repeated smoothly, as if discussing the weather. “It has been three weeks since the start of the fiscal month. If you do not accept and successfully complete a contract within the next seven days, you will be in direct violation of the Patriarchy’s standing orders. The standard penalty will apply.”

I stared at her, and rapidly pulling up the deeply buried, deeply repressed memories of the original Milluki.

‘Oh, God.’

It was a fundamental rule of the Zoldyck family. Every single member of the main branch was required to take at least one assassination quest a month. It didn’t matter that the family possessed enough wealth to buy small continents. It didn’t matter that they owned a mountain.

Assassination was no longer just a business for them; it was a ritual. It was a twisted, bloody religion. They didn’t ‘need’ the money. They needed to maintain their edge. They needed to honor the craft.

Even my terrifying grandfather, Zeno Zoldyck, wore custom-made, silk martial arts robes with the words “One Kill A Day” embroidered heavily on the lapels. And it wasn’t just a catchy slogan. There was no exception to his rule. Every single day, Zeno murdered someone. But he wasn’t a maniac or a serial killer in the traditional sense; he treated it precisely like a 9-to-5 job. The person he killed was always directly related to a paying mission. Zeno actually despised killing people outside of a contract—he considered it unprofessional and a waste of energy.

But a quota was a quota.

“And… remind me what the standard penalty is?” I asked, my voice suddenly feeling very dry. I knew the answer, but I prayed to whatever dark gods governed this universe that I was remembering it wrong.

“One consecutive year in the Subterranean Torture Chambers,” Kasuga answered flatly. “Under the direct supervision of Master Illumi.”

A cold sweat broke out across my newly defined collarbones.

One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days strapped to a chair in the dark, while the most psychotic, emotionless member of my family meticulously practiced his needlework on my cerebral cortex. If Illumi got me in that room, he wouldn’t just torture me; his needles would inevitably pry open my mind, and he would discover the system. He would discover I wasn’t the real Milluki.

“Fine!” I snapped, waving my hand dismissively to hide my trembling. “I know the rules, Kasuga! I was just… optimizing my physical parameters first! You think I want to go out looking like a slob? Tell the mission room I’ll be down shortly. I’m going to do my job. Happy?”

“I am merely a servant, Master Milluki. I do not possess the capacity for happiness,” Kasuga replied smoothly, bowing perfectly from the waist. “I shall inform the Receptionist to prepare the dossiers.”

She melted backward into the shadows and was gone.

I instantly collapsed into my gaming chair, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m going to have to kill someone. I actually have to go outside and commit a premeditated murder.”

The reality of my transmigration crashed down on me with the weight of a freight train. Up until this point, I had been playing a survival RPG in the safety of my bedroom. But this world wasn’t a game. It was a brutal, unforgiving meat-grinder. I could easily survive the torture chamber physically with my massive Vitality stat, but I would absolutely lose my mind within the first week.

I couldn’t fail this. But I also couldn’t just walk up to a target and punch their head off. I lacked actual combat experience. I had the stats of a superhuman, but the martial arts technique of a guy who used to get winded opening a tightly sealed jar of mayonnaise.

“I need an edge,” I muttered, my eyes darting to the blue screen still hovering faintly in the air. “I need utility.”

I mentally slammed the [Library] tab open.

A sprawling, infinite list of scrolls materialized in front of my eyes. Thousands of techniques, categorized by elemental affinity and rank. Because I hadn’t hit Level 21, the vast majority of them were locked behind red chains. But the lowest tier—the absolute basics taught to children in the ninja academy—were available.

I filtered the list for utility and evasion. Three jutsu instantly caught my eye.

[Transformation Jutsu (Henge no Jutsu)]
‘Description: An illusionary art that allows the user to alter their physical appearance. At Level 1, the user can transform into any human they have visually memorized. At Level 2, the user can transform into animals. At Level 3, the user can mimic non-living objects. Higher levels increase the density of the illusion and make it significantly harder to detect by sensory types.’

[Clone Jutsu (Bunshin no Jutsu)]
‘Description: A basic ninjutsu that creates intangible, illusionary afterimages of the user. Unlike Shadow Clones, these duplicates have no physical substance and cannot interact with the environment or deal damage. They are designed purely to confuse opponents and draw fire.’

[Body Flicker Technique (Shunshin no Jutsu)]
‘Description: A high-speed movement technique. By vitalizing the body with chakra, the user can move short to long distances at speeds almost untraceable to the naked eye. To an observer, it appears as if the user has teleported.’

Normally, a ninja would need weeks, if not months, of dedicated practice to master the exact chakra ratios required to pull these off smoothly. But I didn’t have months.

Fortunately, I had a Level 5 Yin affinity. I was operating on the same spiritual learning curve as Itachi Uchiha.

I clicked on the scrolls, reading the theory behind the jutsu. The system injected the knowledge directly into my cerebral cortex—the exact flow of chakra, the specific pathways, the mental imagery required to force reality to bend to my will.

‘Ding!’
[Transformation Jutsu Lv1 Acquired!]
[Clone Jutsu Lv1 Acquired!]
[Body Flicker Jutsu Lv1 Acquired!]

“Too easy,” I smirked, feeling a surge of confidence.

I stood up, focusing my chakra, and willed myself to transform into Kasuga to test it out. I pictured her stoic face, her neat hair, the exact cut of her suit. I pushed the chakra outward.

Nothing happened.

I frowned, trying again. ‘Body Flicker.’ I tried to jump across the room at the speed of sound. My feet stayed planted firmly on the carpet.

A small, obnoxious prompt blinked at the bottom of my screen.

[Warning: Jutsu execution failed. Host has not formed the required Hand Seals.]

“You’ve got to be joking,” I groaned, staring at my hands.

It made sense, though. In this world, Nen abilities required strict conditions and restrictions to function. Kurapika needed his chains; Chrollo needed his book open. For me, because the system was my Nen ability, it subjected me to the rules of its own lore. The hand seals acted as my binding vows. They were the training wheels required to shape the chakra until I reached a high enough level to bypass them.

I sighed, raising my hands. I awkwardly twisted my fingers, trying to mimic the diagrams the system had forced into my head.

‘Dog. Boar. Ram.’

“Transform,” I muttered.

With a soft ‘poof’ and a small cloud of white smoke—which I was horrified to realize actually smelled faintly of ozone—my perspective shifted. I looked down. I was wearing a tailored black suit. I reached up and touched my face; it was smooth, feminine, and framed by tightly pulled-back hair.

I released the seal, the smoke clearing as my massive, baggy t-shirt swallowed me once again.

“Okay,” I breathed, my heart racing. “That is terrifyingly effective. I can do this.”

—

Thirty minutes later, dressed in a sleek, tailored black trench coat and dark trousers that I asked butler to purchase, I left my quarters and navigated the labyrinthine halls toward the estate’s Mission Room.

The walk was an experience in itself. As I passed by the patrolling guards and the sweeping maids, the reactions were universally identical. They would bow respectfully as a Zoldyck approached, catch a glimpse of my face, and physically freeze. Their eyes would widen, their brooms faltering.

I ignored them, keeping my expression locked in a permanent, arrogant scowl. ‘I am Milluki. I am just a very angry, very fit Milluki now.’

The Mission Room was located deep in the administrative wing of the mountain. It looked less like an assassin’s guild and more like a high-end corporate banking office. Sleek mahogany desks, massive digital maps of the known world, and banks of ringing, encrypted telephones.

Sitting behind the primary reception desk was a woman in her late twenties, wearing a pristine white blouse and wire-rimmed glasses. She was one of the senior handlers who dealt directly with the clients.

I walked up to the desk, tapping my fingers impatiently on the hardwood. “I need a contract. And make it quick, I have a raid boss spawning in three hours.”

The receptionist looked up from her tablet. “Good afternoon, Master…”

Her voice trailed off. She blinked behind her glasses. She looked down at her tablet, then back up at me. She took in the sharp jawline, the lean physique, and the distinct lack of a second chin. She stared for a solid five seconds.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snapped, channeling every ounce of Milluki’s famous short temper. “Yes, it’s me. Are you malfunctioning, or do I need to ask Gotoh to replace you with someone who knows how to do their job?”

She adjusted perfectly, the shock vanishing from her face as she slipped back into professional mode. “My deepest apologies, Master Milluki. The… change is quite remarkable. I shall bring up the available contracts immediately.”

She tapped rapidly on her screen, and a large holographic display projected onto the desk between us.

“As you know,” she began smoothly, treating me as if I hadn’t been locked in a room for seven years, “missions are strictly categorized. D-Rank contracts can be handled by highly skilled non-Nen users or baseline assassins. C-Rank requires novice Nen users, typically involving armed syndicates or minor political figures. B-Rank is strictly for Mid-rank Nen users, often dealing with rogue Hunters or heavily guarded mafia dons. A-Rank targets are Top-rank Nen users, and S-Rank contracts require the deployment of multiple Top-rank family members, such as your father and grandfather.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “I’m not looking to fight a war today. Give me the D and C ranks. Something local. I don’t want to deal with jet lag.”

“Certainly.” She swiped her finger, filtering the list. “We have a high volume of requests this month.”

I leaned over the holographic dossiers. There were dozens of them. Politicians. Rival corporate CEOs. Jealous spouses. The sheer banality of the evil on display was staggering.

My eyes landed on a D-Rank folder. I tapped it, expanding the details.

Target: ‘Goran “The Butcher” Vane.’
Location: ‘Yorknew City Outskirts, operating near Heavens Arena.’
Profile: ‘Gang leader. Specializes in human organ trafficking, extortion, and illicit gambling rings. Heavily armed personal guard. No confirmed Nen abilities.’

I read the profile, feeling a strange mix of disgust and relief. If I was going to commit my first murder, taking out a guy who harvested organs from people who couldn’t pay their gambling debts felt like a marginally acceptable place to start. It wouldn’t keep me up at night.

“I’ll take this one,” I pointed at Goran’s ugly, scarred mugshot. “Trash disposal. Easy enough.”

“An excellent choice, Master Milluki,” the receptionist nodded, authorizing the contract. “Target is a highly detestable individual. The world will undoubtedly be a better place without him.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care about the world,” I scoffed, playing the part. “Who’s footing the bill for this?”

The receptionist tapped the file, bringing up the encrypted client information. “The client is a Mr. Silas Vance. He runs a competing human organ trafficking syndicate three blocks over. He wishes to monopolize the local market.”

I stared at the glowing blue text.

A heavy, profoundly exhausted sigh escaped my lips. I rubbed my temples, a dark chuckle bubbling up in my chest.

“Of course he is,” I muttered. “God forbid anyone in this world just wants to do something nice. It’s just monsters paying other monsters to kill different monsters.”

“Pardon, Master Milluki?”

“Nothing,” I said, turning away from the desk. “Prep my transport. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

—

When I arrived at the massive, echoing stone courtyard that housed the family’s private transport zeppelins, two figures were already waiting for me at the boarding ramp.

They were both dressed in the immaculate black suits of the Zoldyck butler staff. One was a tall, incredibly broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, and the other was a wiry, older man with a thin mustache.

“Master Milluki,” the broad-shouldered one bowed deeply. “I am Varg. This is Lin. Head Butler Gotoh has assigned us to accompany you on your excursion to the Heavens Arena district.”

I eyed them critically. “I don’t need babysitters. It’s a D-Rank mission. I can handle a few thugs with guns.”

“We do not doubt your capabilities, Master,” Lin, the older butler, said smoothly. “Our presence is merely a formality of family protocol. We are not here to assist you with the contract.”

“Then why are you here?” I demanded, crossing my arms.

Varg straightened up, his face deadly serious. “To observe. If you engage your target and fail, and the target proceeds to kill you, we will stand by and watch you die. That is the way of the assassin. You succeed on your own merit, or you perish.”

He said it so casually, as if explaining the rules of a board game, that I actually felt a chill run down my spine.

“However,” Lin interjected, his tone dropping an octave. “You are a Zoldyck. Outside these gates, you are an internationally wanted criminal. Even a blurry photograph of a main branch family member’s face can be redeemed at the Hunter Association or the black market for one hundred million Zenni.”

I blinked. “A hundred million? Just for a picture?”

“Indeed,” Varg nodded. “Which is precisely why nobody knows what the family looks like. Because if a civilian, a rogue Hunter, or a bounty hunter attempts to point a camera at you, or engage you outside the parameters of your assigned contract…”

Varg didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The murderous, suffocating aura that briefly leaked from the two butlers told me everything I needed to know. The flash of a camera was usually followed immediately by the photographer’s head separating from their shoulders.

They weren’t here to help me kill my target. They were here to butcher anyone else who tried to interfere with the family business.

“Right,” I swallowed hard, forcing my face into an arrogant smirk. “Well, try to keep up. I want to be back before the new season of ‘Gingeta’ airs tonight.”

I turned my back on them and walked up the boarding ramp of the zeppelin, the massive propellers beginning to roar to life above us.

The shut-in was finally leaving his room. Heaven help whoever got in his way.