By the end of his second day at the academy, Chrollo had accomplished everything he set out to do. Enrollment was secured, his courses selected, and he had settled into his dorm—a small, spartan room furnished with only the bare essentials. It was unremarkable, but that suited him just fine.
More importantly, he had begun laying the groundwork for something far more crucial: building key relationships. Chief among them was Cassie. Her sharp intellect made her a valuable asset, but it was her ironic tendency—an almost blind loyalty to those she considered friends—that made her an even greater priority. Trust, after all, was a rare and exploitable commodity. If he played his cards right, she would prioritize him over others.
With the formalities out of the way, his real work could begin.
The morning classes were nothing more than the standard curriculum all Sleepers had to take—a carefully structured mix of boundaries, teamwork exercises, and subtle messaging reinforcing obedience to authority. The government's hand was evident, blending reasonable lessons with quiet manipulation. It wasn't so different from Chrollo's own approach to charisma—being vulnerable yet firm, offering a truth that's a lie. A lie that's true.
The short break between morning and evening lectures—the real lessons—gave him time to reflect. His earlier interaction with Cassie had been a step forward, but securing her loyalty wasn't enough. He needed more than fragments of knowledge from the novel. True foresight required control, and control meant understanding the pieces before they moved.
He still had a few minutes before his first class with Julius.
Professor Julius was his real objective—his one firm choice, even without Master Jet's advice. Power, knowledge, insight—Julius had it all. And while Chrollo had the advantage of foresight, however unreliable, what he truly lacked was the ability to survive. Not to fight, but to endure.
Survival wasn't just about strength. It was about knowing what to eat, where to sleep, how to navigate an unfamiliar landscape when the world itself was trying to kill you. Julius specialized in exactly that—wilderness survival, resourcefulness, the kind of knowledge that separated the dead from the living when everything else failed. That was why Chrollo had chosen him. Not for combat, but for longevity.
The only reason he'd even bothered enrolling in Professor Rock's combat classes was for Bandit's Secret. Fighting could be learned anywhere, but his Nen ability had strict conditions. He needed to witness an ability's activation and have its user make physical contact with his conjured book—all within an hour of each other. He had already spoken to most of the Sleepers, gathering intel on their Aspects. Now, he just needed to make it happen.
The rule was rigid. But rules could be bent. And Chrollo had already found a way.
His ability wouldn't begin its countdown until his Nen sensed the intent to steal—like a stopwatch that only starts when manually triggered. For now, he hadn't willed it to activate. His intentions, while clear, weren't yet solidified enough for his Nen to deem them worth fulfilling.
For now, he had all the time he needed. He would observe, evaluate, and when the moment came, he would take their abilities. And when that time arrived, it would be on his terms.
Throughout the day, Chrollo had been pondering something. Why was he able to read enchantment descriptions? He knew that in the novel, only Sunny had this ability, and that came after he inherited the Weaver's lineage—the Daemon of Fate.
Chrollo had no such lineage. So why was this happening to him?
The answer, he mused, was most likely tied to his unique nature as a Specialist. His Nen wasn't just ordinary—it was fundamentally different. Furthermore his aspect may have played a distinct role in this matter . Being a being of Nen rather than flesh meant there were aspects of his power that he didn't fully understand yet. Despite his vast knowledge of Hunter x Hunter and Nen, there were still effects and nuances in his abilities that even he couldn't predict. Pride could only take him so far. The deeper his understanding of his own power, the more he realized just how much he had yet to discover.
Could it be that he already had a second Hatsu? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. If that were the case, it would have shown up in his runes, alongside Bandit's Secret, as an Aspect Ability.
The possibility didn't sit right with him. He had come to this conclusion after observing how the Nightmare Spell interacted with Bandit's Secret—and it didn't fit the pattern of a second Hatsu emerging. If it had been another Hatsu, it would've manifested distinctly by now as another aspect ability .
No, this was something different. Something more subtle, perhaps a reflection of the unique nature of his Nen. But it was still a mystery, one that he couldn't afford to ignore. The way he could read enchantments—it didn't align with anything he knew. It was a crack in his understanding of his own power, one that he would have to explore further.
****
Chrollo's experience with Julius and Sunny wasn't exactly noteworthy. However, Julius had an almost larger-than-life aura, filled with joy at the fact that not just one, but two sleepers had chosen his course. Unlike Julius, Sunny had remained distant and cold, his words carefully calculated, every sentence thought through with precision.
Chrollo, however, found it difficult to follow along with Julius's lessons. Unlike Sunny or the true Chrollo Lucilfer, he—Ashwin—wasn't a genius. Sure, he'd consider himself clever, but he lacked the innate curiosity and depth of understanding that both Lucilfer and Sunny shared. His life had always been about survival, not about expanding his knowledge or exploring the world for its own sake.
Yet, there was one aspect of Julius's lessons that Chrollo found captivating: the study of the Nightmare Realm's geology and linguistics, specifically ancient runes and inscriptions. Their necessity for his future survival was clear to him. The materials, minerals, and resources fascinated him. He had always been more inclined to apply his knowledge practically, rather than purely theorizing. His nature and role had made him a well-rounded individual, capable of applying his skills to any situation, but it was this hands-on application that truly captured his attention.
But these topics had only been lightly touched upon, as it was their first class. Chrollo planned to switch fully to wilderness survival from the combat course when the winter solstice approached in a few days. However, for now, he needed to build up a catalog of useful abilities.
He entered the combat hall, which was filled with training equipment—some strange devices lining the walls, their purpose unknown to both Chrollo and Sunny. Yes, Chrollo wasn't alone, though to everyone else it appeared as if he was simply zoning out in the center of the gym. In reality, he was accompanied by an unwelcome shadow that had most likely followed him after Julius's lesson.
"Alright, as this is your first day, we would usually go with an overall assessment of physicality, but you poor sods came at the wrong time. With only a few days left until the solstice, your venture into the Dreamrealm starts," said the low, rough voice of Rock—professor of the combat class. An Awakened whose sole purpose was to shape these inexperienced sleepers into combatants capable of surviving. His large stature gave him an almost bear-like build, his presence dominating the room.
"Form a pair, a partner to spar against for the first few rounds, till I can see your levels. After that, you'll have the opportunity to switch partners," Rock announced gruffly.
Chrollo's gaze immediately fell on a potential partner—a candidate for his future acquisition. If he could figure out how to preserve their Hatsu—or rather, their aspect ability—after death, it would be a valuable addition to his arsenal. But for now, that was a distant thought, and he had to focus on the task at hand: assessing the competitors, their strengths, and their weaknesses.
"Yo Kaelen wanna partner up ?"
Kaelen cracked a grin, his stance loose but ready. "Hmm, sure man, but I don't know if your aspects are gonna help you since an upfront fight isn't suited for stealth aspects."
Kaelen, a legacy like many others with little to no backing, had been trying to build connections—possible future allies. Chrollo had met him on the first day, before the opening ceremony, a boring formality conducted by Professor Rock. Though Kaelen was a legacy, he understood the power of knowledge and had actively spoken to other students—especially those who openly divulged information like their Aspects and abilities.
Of course, Chrollo too had taken part in such exchanges.
However, unlike Sunny, he had no obligations to be honest. He understood there was no way to verify his bluff; after all, any professional check would find the same result
An Awakened Rank Aspect, [Silent Thief], supposedly allowed him to dull his presence and enhance his stealth—or so he had informed the Academy, and by extension, the government. Though he would rather not be involved with them, Chrollo knew that to survive, he would need backing.
As such, he built a persona—one that the government would find useful, but not threatening enough to require absolute control. He was more of a utility, especially when compared to Master Jet's lethality.
Kaelen had taken a stance—an unfamiliar one to Chrollo. He had no real understanding of combat, after all. But Kaelen's posture formed a tight, boxed frame that made him harder to topple, a stance that complemented his weapon of choice: a bo staff, which in real combat would likely translate into some form of polearm.
His weight was distributed mainly on his front foot. Despite his relaxed yet tense guard suggesting otherwise, he clearly wasn't planning to wait for Chrollo to make the first move.
Chrollo, a non-combatant by nature, had taken on an unnatural and crooked stance, attempting to mimic a Kaili-style posture—or at least, what he thought was one. To be frank, he had no idea if he was doing it correctly. His version was more an imitation of Nightwing, more like Nightwing cosplay than martial form. God, if his old classmates saw him now trying his best not to utterly embarrass himself in his first spar. He feinted a step forward, slightly raising his right baton—a substitute for his usual daggers.
Swaaah—
The sound of air being forcefully shoved aside as the bo staff lunged toward Chrollo, its speed far too much for him to react to. And yet, he had dodged—if only by a hair.
Trapping the staff between his chest and arm, resting comfortably in his grasp, he slid along it and lunged, thrusting an attack of his own.
Kaelen moved his head effortlessly to evade. However He hadn't seen Chrollo's other hand leave the staff to grab the second baton and swing it.
Well—that would have been the case, had Kaelen been any ordinary Sleeper. But he wasn't.
He was a Legacy.
A child born into the purpose of bloody combat.
Raised with brutal efficiency.
Kaelen's staff slipped free the moment Chrollo let go.
Of course it did.
That single movement had already exposed how far behind Chrollo was—technically, physically, and instinctively. The baton swing that followed was half-hearted, off-rhythm. Kaelen barely had to move.
The staff knocked it aside with a dull crack, catching Chrollo's wrist just enough to make his fingers go numb. He didn't even see the second motion until the tip of the staff brushed against his thigh—no force, just a warning.
"He's measuring me," Chrollo realized, eyes narrowing.
"He doesn't even see me as a threat."
Kaelen didn't press forward. He didn't need to. His posture said it all—weight centered, staff low, shoulders relaxed, breath slow. His form was compact, refined, and completely unbothered. Every shift of his foot shaved off angles, every twitch of the wrist denied options.
It was efficient. Controlled.
Chrollo hated how beautiful it was.
He shifted back two steps, pretending to regroup. But he was watching—really watching now.
Where Kaelen's attention went, how he reset his grip after every strike, how his right hand stayed just a bit tighter on the shaft. His strength was likely loaded on that side.
He wasn't just fast—he was explosive. Built to burst and dominate.
"I can't outpace him. Can't outmuscle him. So I won't."
Instead, he offered opportunity.
A feint.
A sloppy one—shoulders dipped too far, footing messy, batons held uneven. It screamed openings.
Kaelen moved to punish, predictably.
And Chrollo twisted.
A fast step to the inside, ducking low, letting Kaelen's forward pressure carry over him. The moment he felt the brush of cloth against his shoulder, he struck upward with both batons—not for damage, but for leverage. He hooked the staff, yanked it down with everything he had, and twisted his torso to break the angle.
Kaelen's staff left his hands. It clattered across the mat.
For a moment, the world paused.
Chrollo breathed hard, one baton still raised. The other hand hovered near the dropped staff.
"You good without it?" he asked, mouth curling in a half-smirk. "Or was it the stick that made you special?"
Kaelen said nothing.
Then he stepped forward—and punched Chrollo in the ribs.
It wasn't a wind-up. There was no flinch. Just a direct, hammering blow—sharp, fast, and brutally clean.
Chrollo's body bent around the impact. Air exploded from his lungs before he even realized he'd been hit. He staggered back, knees giving slightly. Pain like a hot rod split his ribs.
Kaelen's expression didn't change.
"You're good with timing," he said.
"Terrible at picking fights."
Another punch—a left hook, this time aimed at the arm holding the baton. Chrollo barely raised his forearm to block, but the impact was like getting hit with a sledgehammer. His baton flew loose, spinning out of reach.
Bare hands. Two hits. One fight reset.
Kaelen didn't press further yet. He just stood there, letting Chrollo process what had happened.
"This is a legacy?" Chrollo thought, dazed.
"No... this is a soldier."
His entire torso screamed in protest, lungs still catching up.
But beneath that pain, something stirred.
Not pride. Not anger.
A spark of clarity.
"If I can't beat him—then I'll survive him. Make him bleed seconds. Make him think. Waste just enough energy to make him question the next guy."
That was the role he could play.
Chrollo raised his hands again. No weapon. Just fists.
Kaelen's brow lifted slightly.
"...Really?"
"Come on," Chrollo rasped, voice hoarse.
"I'm not done losing yet."
That was a lie.
He was done. Thoroughly.
Even now, the ache in his ribs pulsed with every breath, his body stiff from the twin blessings of adrenaline crash and bruised pride.
Chrollo sat slumped on the bench by the wall, arms draped over his knees, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance. Beside him sat Kaelen—bo staff across his lap, his face the picture of calm.
And yet, even with that blank composure, Kaelen had the decency—or the stupidity—to look apologetic.
"Sorry, man," he said, glancing sideways. "Didn't know you'd fold like a paper straw. I mean, yeah, you're built like one, but... damn."
Chrollo exhaled through his nose. Slowly. Painfully.
"...You're really bad at apologizing," he muttered.
Kaelen shrugged, sheepish. "Yeah, well. I grew up sparring with a guy who broke my nose before I learned how to feint. You're practically cuddly by comparison."
Chrollo didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he watched the scuff marks on the mat, the place where he'd dropped to a knee, where his baton had bounced off the floor and rolled out of reach.
A moment he kept replaying—not because he was embarrassed, but because he was studying it.
"I landed a disarm," he said absently.
Kaelen nodded. "You did."
"You would've killed me two seconds later."
Kaelen's mouth twitched. "...Also true."
Chrollo leaned back against the wall, ribs complaining as he adjusted.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't even humiliated.
He was processing.
That fight had told him something far more valuable than victory.
Kaelen was a monster in the making—physically overwhelming, brutally efficient. But he wasn't cruel. He had patterns. Openings. He didn't expect people like Chrollo to survive long enough to exploit them.
And that was a mistake.
"Hey," Chrollo said quietly. "Next time… I bring two paper straws."
Kaelen blinked. "That's not how—"
But Chrollo just let his head rest against the wall, a small grin tugging at the edge of his lips.
He'd lost.
But he'd learned.
Kaelen was a legacy, yes—but in the grander scale, he was nothing compared to monsters like Nephis, Sunny, or even Caster.
Chrollo had seen them.
Knew the difference.
They weren't people. They were walking bombs —ticking clocks filled with potential violence. Compared to them, Kaelen was still rough stone. Formidable, yes. Dangerous, absolutely. But not sublime . Not yet.
Just another capable boy trained to be a weapon.
And for now, that made him useful.
Chrollo had considered using [Bandit's Secret] on him. The idea had crossed his mind the moment Kaelen disarmed him—his instinct ,whispered to steal first, deal with guilt later. But the moment passed.
The conditions hadn't been met. Not fully.
Kaelen's Aspect remained a mystery—ofcoure he knew the false one he had told everyone about chrollo knew that kaelen wasnt dumb he was seting trapps evaluating and gaging. The rsaone chrollo had been given some semblance of trust was to gain his inreturn kaelen had deemed his aspect useful if not anything else. Kaelen had used his logical mind to deduce friendship was best choice and to rather then manipulate he chose to build a connection to allow a stable exchange of favoures chrollo is not one to be manipulated he mostlikey figured it out.
"We reject no one. So take nothing from us."
More importantly, Kaelen wasn't entangled.
Unlike the major houses, the Ardent Clan had no official vassal ties—not to Valor, not to Song, and not to the House of Night. They worked with the government, yes—but with a kind of casual autonomy that made them ideal for navigation. They didn't kneel to power. They traded with it.
Which meant Chrollo could interact with Kaelen freely, without drawing the gaze of Nephis. His alignment with the Ardent didn't trigger any alarms. Not yet.
Neutral, dangerous, growing.
Kaelen was a foothold. A future investment.
So Chrollo said nothing. No threats. No stolen abilities.
Just bruised ribs, a bruised ego, and a quiet, growing map inside his mind.
He'd remember how Kaelen fought.
He'd remember who Kaelen didn't serve.
And when the tide shifted—because it always did—Chrollo would be there.
Not at the front.
Not at the bottom.
But right at the edge of the turning wheel.
Where all the leverage was.
The gym was strangely quiet, but in a way, it made sense. Nephis had just been defeated by Caster, a fight that had left a peculiar tension in the air. Chrollo, with his knowledge as a transmigrator, understood the underlying currents far more than most. He knew that Nephis had not used her aspect—and that was significant.