Chapter Text
His father was always so blunt with him ever since he was little.
"Papa. Why did Mama leave us?"
"She didn't love you, so she ran."
.
.
.
"Oh..."
He wonders if there was ever a time he found peace in existing. That's not to say he wants to die, but everything around him never went his way.
"Papa! Help!" a boy with bright red hair screams as he runs through a brush in the woods. Sticks cling to the mop on his head as dirt and mud cake his face, including his sky blue overalls.
A burly man looks up from pouring molten steel into a cast and stares at his son. Looking behind him, all the man sees are two measly squirrels. Sighing, the boy's father fills the gun barrel mold then turns around.
"Boy! Those are squirrels!" he yells back with neither concern nor alarm for his son's wellbeing. He wipes the sweat from his brows and laughs as the kid runs in circles. "Drop the peanuts already!"
He swishes his head to stare pointedly at his father. There are already tear tracks on his plump cheeks, and his eyes well up with another salty river, "But I bought them, Papa! I can't give them up!"
The man shakes his head at his son's stubbornness. Although, he shoots his head up again when he hears the redhead cry out. The boy had fallen, tripped over a stray rock, and landed on his stomach. The contents inside the bag he once held are strewn everywhere across the grass, and once the squirrels notice the mishap, they immediately go for the peanuts. The two creatures trample on the boy to get to the salty snack and scurry away with it.
It's quiet for a few seconds, but the four-year-old starts tearing up once the squirrels are out of sight. He sniffles as he sits on his knees -- the realization that his favorite snack has been stolen causes him to weep. His father almost looks down with sympathy, something not-so-easily gained by outsiders.
"Fine. Let's go get you a new pack." The man places his tools on a side table and beckons his son to the porch. The boy uses his sleeve to wipe the snot from his nose as he stares at his father with big, doe eyes. His father sticks his tongue out, cringing at the display. "Go wash your face first."
Sometimes, his father had peculiar clients. There's one that always left an impression, however.
"Who else would do such a thing!? I asked, specifically for you to modify it, yet another's unprofessional hands touched my weapon!?" a woman screeched from the other room, yelling at the boy's father for the former's mistake.
The boy's dainty fingers tremble as they dig into his soft tresses. He quickly brings them to his ears when the lady's shrill voice booms further around their quaint cottage.
"Gomennasai, Zoldyck-san. My son--" the boy's father began but was interrupted by the loud grit of the woman's teeth. It didn't make sense how she could do that, and with such force to grate their ears. Her mouth must hurt at night.
"Your son!? Bring him to me, now!"
The man clenched his fists but decided to comply, "Kazuno!" he calls from the other room.
The boy jumps from his spot in the corner, the darkness concealing his emotions. On shaky legs, he makes his way to the entrance of their home. His right hand tugs at the hem of his sweater while the left grabs the knob to the front door. Twisting the brass object, the red-head slowly pulls the door back to peek past the opening.
His father keeps a hand on his hip while the other gestures for his son to stand beside him. Kazuno grudgingly pulls the door back and presents himself to the group. There are three extras, all of which seem unfamiliar. A rather tall lady wearing a long, beige dress stands next to a kid with wild, white hair, and another child with short black hair stands on the other side of the woman. Kazuno closes the door behind him, but doesn't go to his father and keeps his lime green eyes trained on the wooden porch.
"You," The woman spoke, and it sounded like a command, so Kazuno slowly began raising his head. His body shook in place, and more tears wet his bottom lashes. Yet, he sucked up his traitorous emotions and bit his tongue to stop any whimpers.
"G-Gomen-menn-nasai, M-Miss. It's-It's just that I thought there could have b-been a be-better attachment to your-your sensu. I didn't mean to make y-you mad, Miss," his voice is meek, and it's a miracle he even got out his explanation as his mind was reeling with possibilities as to how this encounter will end. He shouldn't have taken his bed for granted-- he may not awake in a nice place tomorrow.
The lady hummed and raised her head high, "Look at me when speaking, Boy," she spat, then waited for Kazuno to do as demanded. He does so but keeps his gaze on the clouds above and then allows them to drift to the woman's large hat. There's a pause where the lady gawks at the redhead's appearance. He looks innocent with crystal-esque eyes and rich, red hair. Three small braids line the left side of his head, cut off by rainbow rubber bands that lead to more hair. His cheeks hold a permanent pink blush, and his skin is fair with no blemishes. Lastly, Kazuno has a cute button nose with highlights from the sun's rays. Without notice, anyone could guess he's a girl.
"This is your son?" the lady wonders, baffled. For what reason, the father and son duo can't decipher, but the burly man answers with a nod, "He's... Exceptional!" There's a moment when Kazuno and his papa are confused, and the lady instantly pounces.
The Zoldyck latches onto Kazuno's cheeks, pulling and squeezing them, "His skin is so soft and pristine!" She then whips his head side-to-side, inspecting his hair. "And his locks are so bright!" The lady digs her manicured nails into his scalp, beginning to rake them through his tresses. Kazuno yelps as strands of his red hair get yanked out of his scalp, but the lady doesn't relent. She next grabs his hands and plays with his fingers, "The perfect length and size, like a doll. I could dress you up as anything!" She stops her inspection by dangling Kazuno above the porch. She squeezes his sides, fingers digging into his ribs. Kazuno heaves a short breath and starts lightly squirming.
"I will forgive you if you let me dress your child from time to time," she says; that sealed the boy's fate because he didn't get a say in the adult's decision.
He openly cried then, and it hurt more when the two children nearly his age stared quietly with pity.
He had a "friend," but Kazuno wasn't a fan of being companions with a killer. Especially one so impervious.
"Killua. I don't want to go out. I look like a girl," the red-haired child whines when the frills on his dress bounce with every movement.
His feline friend groans and then abruptly pulls the curtain back to the changing room, "That's the point, stupid. Now let's go," Killua yanks Kazuno's tender arm, forcing him to retreat from his closet. The boy stumbles forward on his court heels, and he catches himself from tripping on his pink dress. Killua places the lime-eyed kid in front of a stand-up mirror so he can look himself over.
Kazuno quickly shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight to not stare at his distasteful state, "I-I don't like it, Killua! I wanna change!" he loudly states and tries heading back to his closet, but Killua grabs his collar.
Despite being the same age, their difference in strength remains unbalanced -- more in favor of the white-haired boy, "I don't care. Mom hates to keep waiting," he counters and drags his friend out of the room.
Their friendship was a secret, so it wasn't surprising when the Zoldycks stopped coming over. Kazuno felt guilty, but the family barged into his life so suddenly, and he didn't enjoy that. After months of humiliation, Kazuno felt free.
He heard from his Papa that they were world-renowned assassins, and he's lucky they didn't kill the duo because of the incident. Kazuno's father wasn't necessarily angry with him, more like proud. When the Zoldycks left, they started bonding more. Kazuno's Papa would teach him basic blacksmithing and slowly move to gunsmithing. Kazuno disassembled guns daily, and modified the simple ones to become ten times better. At 12 years old, the redhead was allowed to create, design, and mold his own gun.
He chose to dual-wield shotguns. There was a long time when he traded for raw materials, although that was a feat. Talking to strangers isn't his forte, but he did it enough to get the metals he needed. Kazuno isn't good at engraving, so he only added his family's stamp to the comb. The colors consisted of maroon, gold, and black, but he found they didn't match his clothing style. The Zoldyck's maternal figure coincidentally taught him a lot.
Kazuno took longer than expected to create his gun, but he wanted perfection. The shotguns are double-barrel with an easy way to unload and reload bullets. The guns are balanced and comfortable for someone of Kazuno's stature to wield. They fit on his sides and feature many different uses with a heat-seeking sight attached to the receiver.
Kazuno didn't think of everything, but he tried to fit his needs and wants. He stuck with something simple yet complicated to onlookers. He may have changed a few flaws later, but that's what it takes to achieve perfection.
Two years passed before Kazuno could call his weapon ideal. He stands in front of his mirror, admiring how his guns shined under the artificial light. As he turns around, his red locks brush against the muzzle of his weapons, and he smiles. They didn't fit his waist due to his belt of shotgun shells, so he strapped holsters across his back. The extra weight didn't deter the lime-eyed boy as he quickly got used to it.
Flattening his hair, Kazuno flicks around the tufts, attempting to tame them. It's in the same style as when he was younger, yet, as the years passed, his hair stuck up and grew more wild. He sighs, deciding it's not worth the effort and exits his room.
"Papa, I'm done!" Kazuno announces from the hall. He bounds through his home, searching for his father enthusiastically. As he makes it to the living room, the polka-dot window curtains are back to show his father resting on the front porch. The burly man sits up in his wooden chair, the legs desperately creaking.
Kazuno grins and opens the front door. The soft early morning breeze brushes against his plump cheeks making his nose light pink. His Papa looks over at the boy, his withered eyes almost gleaming when he sees how happy Kazuno is.
"Papa!" the redhead calls once more and practically bounces in front of his father. He twirls on one foot, presenting his attire and armed body. "I finished it!" he keeps his back to his father, and his guns clack together with his sharp movements.
The older man scratches his maroon beard, assessing his son's craftsmanship, "Not shabby, but your engraving could use some work," he rubs his chin and hums, then stands with a pleased smirk. "I think you're ready."
Kazuno turns around and tilts his head curiously, "Ready for what, Papa?" He wonders.
The maroon-haired man crosses his bulky arms over another, "The Hunter Exam!"
Then that's how he got here. Kazuno Makoto sits huddled close to a dingy, cold wall with the tag number 111 clipped to his chest. He sniffles for the umpteenth time and goes over the circumstances of how he landed in this mortal situation. The boy squeezes his knees tighter to his chest when he hears the elevator open and feels the atmosphere grow thicker.
I don't like it, Papa! I don't!