Two and a half years prior...
The air was filled with that distinct mix of anticipation and dread that always accompanied the end of high school. Graduation was just around the corner, and the hallways buzzed with the talk of final exams, college applications, and future plans. For the most part, you had kept your head down, working hard and focusing on getting through these last few weeks.
Your family had always been supportive—your mom, the practical one, always encouraged you to stay focused and think ahead. She was a teacher, and you grew up learning the value of education, stability, and hard work. Your dad, quieter but no less encouraging, would remind you that life wasn't just about doing well in school—it was about finding what made you happy. Even though they were different, they both believed in your potential. And so did you—most of the time.
Lately, though, there had been an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite explain. A restlessness. While everyone else seemed to be buzzing with excitement about the future, you felt like you were just... waiting. For what? You didn't know. But that sense of something missing had been hanging over you for weeks now, making it hard to concentrate.
As you made your way through the school's familiar hallways toward history class, you tried to push that feeling aside. You liked history. You liked the way it made the present feel connected to the past, as if every story, every person, was part of something bigger than themselves. You never really believed in destiny or fate, but something about learning how people's choices shaped their futures made you wonder.
You entered the classroom, the usual chatter of your classmates filling the space. You slid into your seat near the middle of the room, pulling out your notebook and waiting for the lecture to start. Mr. Yukio, your history teacher, was busy setting up his materials at the front of the class when the door creaked open.
"Ah, right on time," Mr. Yukio said, glancing up from his desk. "Class, we have a new student joining us for the rest of the year."
You barely glanced up at first, too caught up in the swirl of your own thoughts, until Mr. Yukio continued, "Everyone, this is Killua Zoldyck. Please make him feel welcome."
Your attention snapped to the front of the room, where a boy with striking silver hair and piercing blue eyes stood, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. There was something about him that made the room feel instantly different—like the air had shifted. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, his expression neutral, but there was an unmistakable intensity in the way he carried himself, as if he was always ready for something to happen.
"Killua, you can take the empty seat near the back," Mr. Yukio said, gesturing toward the row behind you.
You couldn't stop yourself from watching him as he made his way to the back of the room, moving with a confidence that seemed out of place for someone who was new. He took his seat without a word, his attention seemingly focused on nothing in particular, but you could feel the weight of his presence.
It was strange—why did you feel so on edge? It wasn't like new students were uncommon, especially this close to the end of the year. And yet, there was something different about this boy. You couldn't put your finger on it, but his arrival had unsettled something inside you.
Class began, but it was hard to focus. Mr. Yukio's voice seemed to blur in the background as your thoughts kept drifting back to Killua. You found yourself sneaking glances in his direction, curious but unsure why. He was just sitting there, not paying much attention to the lecture either, but there was an aura of calm about him, like he was perfectly comfortable with being unnoticed.
When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, you gathered your things quickly, trying to shake the odd feeling that had settled over you. As you stood up and slung your bag over your shoulder, you noticed Killua still sitting at his desk, seemingly in no hurry to leave.
