The rhythm of life on Ryujinshima settled back around Kess like a comforting, familiar cloak, yet beneath the surface of serene island days, a storm of internal focused training raged. The title of Floor Master felt distant, an echo from a loud, frenetic world, as he dedicated himself to the singular, perilous task of mastering Resonance. His chosen training ground was a secluded cove on the far side of the island, where the crash of waves against black volcanic rock and the cries of seabirds provided a symphony that masked the grunts of exertion and the unsettling thrumming that often accompanied his efforts.
He'd learned – the hard way, through blinding agony and terrifying loss of control – that channeling Resonance directly through his body was akin to grasping a live lightning wire. The recoil wasn't just painful; it was debilitating. His initial attempts to refine it further on Ryujinshima had left him more than once in a state bordering on catatonic shock. Hana's panicked cries, the frantic energy in her voice, still echoed in his memory, a stark reminder of his recklessness. "Kess! Kenji, quickly!" The image of his father's face, etched with a grim concern he rarely displayed, as they carried his trembling, unresponsive form back to their quiet yard, was seared into his mind. The following days were a haze of feverish delirium, each twitch and spasm a testament to the raw power he'd foolishly tried to contain. Hana's constant presence by his bedside, her gentle humming laced with palpable fear, and Kenji's silent, watchful intensity, spoke volumes of their worry. He'd pushed too far, too fast, and his body had screamed in protest.
During one particularly jarring recovery, the lingering phantom vibrations still making his teeth ache, Kess stared at the ceiling, the truth a bitter pill in his mouth. "It's impossible," he thought, the word echoing the profound sense of frustration and a sliver of fear. "Direct application is suicide. My nervous system can't handle this level of feedback. Inner Peace is a crutch, not a solution for repeated self-inflicted trauma." He remembered the horrifying moments when his limbs had spasmed uncontrollably, the chilling fear that he might have caused permanent neurological damage. He couldn't – wouldn't – risk that again. Not if he truly intended to navigate the treacherous currents of this world. "A conduit," the thought emerged, a spark of pragmatic hope in the darkness of his self-reproach. "I need something external. A focus to channel the vibrations, to act as a buffer, protecting my own system from the worst of the backlash."
The idea of a weapon surfaced, the image of a katana almost cliché in its sudden clarity. A katana? Seriously? A flicker of self-deprecating humor touched his thoughts. It felt like something ripped from the pages of a thousand manga, a trope so overused it bordered on embarrassing. Kess, the brooding swordsman. How original. A wry smile touched his lips despite the lingering weakness. But the survival instinct, honed by Kenji's teachings and the brutal realities of the Arena, swiftly countered the aesthetic objection. "Function over form, you idiot," he chided himself. "It's a classic for a reason. Balance, versatility, a natural extension of movement. And excellent for channeling focused energy." He mentally shrugged. "Well, if I'm going down this road, might as well embrace the stereotype with a bit of style."
Later that week, his body finally feeling like his own again, Kess found his father in the workshop, the familiar scent of worked wood a comforting balm. Kenji was engrossed in shaping a piece of polished cherry wood, his movements precise and deliberate.
"Dad," Kess began, leaning against a stack of fragrant cedar planks.
Kenji paused, his steady gaze meeting his son's. "Yes, Kess? You're moving well again."
"Much better, thank you," Kess replied, the memory of his recent ordeal still a faint shadow in his eyes. "I've been thinking about Resonance. My Hatsu."
Kenji nodded slowly, waiting.
"I can't keep channeling it directly. The recoil is… unsustainable. I need a tool, something to focus the vibrations externally." Kess took a breath. "I was thinking… a katana."
Kenji's eyebrow arched slightly, a hint of surprise in his expression, but he remained silent, considering the idea. "A sword can indeed be an effective conduit for certain Nen applications. If your intuition guides you this way, it's a path worth exploring. A well-crafted blade, attuned to your aura, could help mitigate the energy's impact on your body." He paused, a rare, almost mischievous glint in his eyes. "Leave it to me, Kess. I know a master smith who owes me a favor. I'll see to it."
Relief washed over Kess, but the image of a specific anime character flashed through his mind – a swordsman with a distinctive, reversed-blade sword, a symbol of a vow against killing. Definitely don't want to look like Kenshin Himura. The thought was almost comical in its specificity. "Oh! And Dad?" he added quickly, a note of unexpected urgency in his voice. "No reverse-blade swords, please!"
Kenji stared at him, a flicker of genuine bewilderment replacing the amusement. "A… reverse-blade sword?" He repeated the phrase slowly, as if deciphering an alien language. After a moment of studying Kess's unexpectedly serious face, he simply shrugged, the smile returning, now tinged with a father's affectionate bemusement at his son's odd pronouncements. "Alright, Kess. No reverse-blade swords. Standard edge it is. Anything else? Perhaps a flamboyant hilt? Some skull decorations?"
Kess flushed slightly, a small smile playing on his own lips despite himself. "No, Dad. Just… a normal, good quality katana will be fine."
"Noted," Kenji said, the twinkle in his eye pronounced. He turned back to his woodworking, the matter seemingly settled, leaving Kess to wonder if his father found his otaku anxieties endlessly amusing.
A few days later, a package arrived via a small island courier service. It contained a sleek, modern communication device – a phone – provided by Heavens Arena. It was compact, durable-looking, and after some initial fumbling, Kess figured out its basic functions. It felt strange, holding this piece of advanced technology after years on Ryujinshima where the most complex device was probably Dad's old radio. The Arena administration had indeed set up an account for him, linked to his Floor Master income. Curiosity overriding his usual caution with unfamiliar tech, he navigated to the banking application. He'd never consciously checked his earnings from the Arena fights beyond the small amounts given on the lower floors, his focus having been entirely on training and survival.
The numbers that loaded onto the screen made his breath catch in his throat. His eyes widened, and for a terrifying moment, he thought the phone was malfunctioning, displaying some impossible string of digits. He blinked, looked again, then frantically cross-referenced the currency symbol. Jenny. The balance read: 2,452,740,100 Jenny.
He almost dropped the phone. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to sit down heavily on the edge of his cot. Two point forty-five billion Jenny. The sheer, unadulterated shock of it felt like a physical blow. He remembered the airship ticket to the continent where Heavens Arena stood, how the cost had seemed so significant then. Now… now he could probably buy a small fleet of airships and still have change left over for a private island.
"Holy… shit," the old profanity slipped out, a breathless whisper in the quiet room. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum. This was… life-changing. World-changing. The financial freedom it represented was staggering. Travel, resources, information, training opportunities… almost anything was now within his reach. The relief that followed the shock was immense, a giddy, bubbling lightness. He wouldn't have to scrape by, wouldn't have to worry about funding his Hatsu development or his future explorations. He was, by any reasonable standard in this world, incredibly wealthy. It was a liberating, terrifying, exhilarating realization.
The promised katana arrived about a month after Kess's request. Kenji returned one evening not alone, but accompanied by an elderly man whose presence felt ancient, like weathered stone. He was small, wiry, with hands that looked gnarled but immensely strong, and eyes that burned with a focused, almost unnerving intensity, like looking into the heart of a forge. His aura was incredibly dense, contained with absolute perfection, a quiet testament to a lifetime of mastery over his craft and, Kess suspected, his own Nen.
"Kess," Kenji said, his voice holding a note of profound respect. "This is Master Masamune. He has… brought something for you."
Master Masamune. The name resonated with legends from Kess's memories, a name synonymous with unparalleled sword smithing. Kess felt a shiver of anticipation and awe. He bowed deeply. "Master Masamune, it is an honor."
The old smith simply grunted, his fiery gaze sweeping over Kess, assessing him from head to toe. Then, without a word, he produced a long, cloth-wrapped bundle. He unwrapped it with slow, reverent movements, revealing a katana.
It was breathtaking in its stark simplicity. The blade was a flawless, silvery grey, its edge impossibly keen, humming with a faint, contained energy that Kess's Nen senses picked up instantly. There were no ornate decorations, no ostentatious fittings. The tsuka was wrapped in plain, dark cord, the tsuba a simple, unadorned circle of dark metal. It was a weapon of pure function, radiating an aura of deadly purpose and perfect balance.
Kess reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he took the offered sword. It felt impossibly light, yet perfectly weighted, an extension of his own arm from the moment his fingers closed around the hilt. He drew the blade slowly from its simple wooden saya. The steel sang softly in the quiet air, a clear, pure note. He inspected the edge, the flawless hamon, the perfect geometry of the blade. It was, without a doubt, the finest weapon he had ever held, a masterpiece of lethal artistry.
And, to his immense, almost comical relief, the cutting edge was exactly where it was supposed to be. He let out a small, unconscious sigh.
Kenji, watching his son's rapt expression and the small sigh, rolled his eyes dramatically, a smile playing on his lips. "Satisfied it's not going to cut you if you swing it the wrong way, Kess?"
Kess flushed again but grinned. "It's… perfect, Dad. Master Masamune… thank you. This is more than I could have hoped for."
Masamune gave another noncommittal grunt, but Kess thought he saw a flicker of something akin to approval in those ancient, fiery eyes. "A sword is a tool," the old smith said, his voice raspy, like stones grinding together. "How you wield it defines its worth, and yours. Do not dishonor it." With that, he turned and, after a brief, silent nod to Kenji, departed as quietly as he had arrived, leaving Kess alone with the magnificent blade and his swirling thoughts.
He found an isolated spot in the yard, away from the house, the katana resting reverently in his hands. A wave of anticipation, mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation, washed over him. This was it. The moment of truth. He took a deep breath, centering himself, and carefully channeled a small amount of Resonance into the katana.
The effect was immediate and profound. The blade vibrated subtly, a low hum resonating through the steel, but the feedback… it was minimal. A faint tingling in his hands, nothing more. No tremors, no agony, no terrifying loss of control. A sigh of pure, unadulterated relief escaped his lips. It worked. The katana was indeed a viable conduit, effectively shielding his body from the worst of Resonance's destructive recoil.
A wave of giddiness washed over him, followed by a sharp pang of self-directed annoyance. Why didn't I try this with… anything else first? A piece of wood, a metal bar, anything? The sheer stupidity of not testing the concept with a less valuable object struck him with sudden force. He could have saved himself weeks of suffering and his parents considerable worry. The image of himself collapsing repeatedly, the fear in Hana's eyes, flashed through his mind, and he cringed inwardly.
He shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Well, no use crying over spilled milk (or shattered nervous systems)," he thought. "At least it works. And hey, I've got a super cool sword now."
The following days saw Kess integrate sword training into his already demanding routine. He started with basic stances, cuts, and parries, the katana feeling like a natural extension of his will. He practiced channeling his aura through the blade using Shu, feeling the steel hum with contained energy, its edge becoming even sharper, its durability amplified. He began to experiment with channeling Resonance through the katana, finding it a far more stable and controllable conduit than his own body. The vibrations still carried immense power, but the debilitating feedback was significantly dampened, manageable now with focused Ten and short recovery periods rather than days of agonizing tremors.
He was making progress, his skills sharpening, his Hatsu evolving. Yet, a familiar restlessness began to stir within him. Ryujinshima was home, a sanctuary, but the vast world beckoned. The twelve-year buffer before the canon events felt like both an eternity and no time at all. He needed to see more, learn more, experience more.
"Whale Island," he murmured to himself one evening, looking at a crudely drawn map of the known world he'd sketched from memory, the location of Gon's future home a small, insignificant dot in a vast ocean. "I should go there. Before anything else. Just to see it. To connect a place to the memories."
The decision solidified. A few more months passed on Ryujinshima, a period of intense final preparation, honing his sword skills, refining Resonance with the katana, and ensuring his Nen foundation was unshakeable. He spent precious time with his parents, soaking in the peace of home, knowing it would be a long while before he returned.
The day of his departure arrived in the warm, humid air of mid-July 1988. He stood on the dock once more, his new katana, sheathed in its simple scabbard, strapped securely across his back. He wore durable, dark grey travel trousers tucked into his familiar worn boots, a dark, high-collared, long-sleeved tunic made of a tough, flexible material, and over it, a light but resilient traveler's cloak of a deep forest green, its hood pushed back. The metallic stud in his left ear glinted faintly in the bright sunlight. His backpack was light, containing only the essentials. He looked leaner, harder, the boyishness of his features sharpened by an undercurrent of quiet, formidable confidence.
Hana hugged him fiercely, her tears flowing freely this time, a mixture of sorrow, pride, and enduring love. "Be safe, Kess. My strong, brave Hunter. Come home when you can."
"I will, Mom. I promise," he whispered, holding her tight.
Kenji clapped him firmly on the shoulder, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words couldn't capture. "The world is waiting, Kess. Learn from it. Grow strong. And remember the foundations."
"I will, Dad."
With a final wave to his parents standing on the dock, their figures framed against the familiar backdrop of their island home, Kess turned and walked towards the waiting ferry. The salt spray felt cool on his face, the vast ocean stretched before him, and a new chapter, filled with unknown adventures and the echoes of a future he was determined to meet on his own terms, was about to begin.