The Battle Wolf mother nuzzled her cub, her breaths shallow yet deliberate. Around her, the arena lay in ruins—Modified Devil Serpent carcasses smoldering, the air thick with acrid smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
Toriko crouched nearby, relief fading as Rin voiced the grim truth: "Her body's failing. That final strike burned her last reserves."
Zed knelt, his Saiseiya instincts assessing the wolf's withered frame. "I can prolong her life—months at best. For true healing, only Yosaku can perform such miracles."
Toriko's eyes lit up. "Then let's go! We'll—"
"She refuses," Zed interrupted, nodding to the Battle Wolf. Her amber eye met theirs, steady despite the tremors wracking her body. A single, resolute shake of her head silenced the group.
Erina Nakiri stepped forward, brow furrowed. "Why decline help? She has a cub to protect!"
"Pride," Zed murmured. "Battle Wolves inherit more than strength. Their dignity is… absolute."
The wolf's gaze never wavered. To accept aid would betray millennia of instinct, a surrender to the weakness her cloned form already embodied. Better to perish with honor than linger as a shadow of her Gourmet World kin.
Rin sighed, stroking the cub's silver-flecked fur. "Even clones carry their ancestors' wills. Gourmet Cells don't just enhance—they remember."
Toriko clenched his fists, frustration warring with respect. "Stubborn as the real thing."
Zed touched the wolf's head, Food Honor humming through his fingertips. Not to heal, but to honor her. "Her choice stands."
Zed's voice softened, respectful of the Battle Wolf mother's resolve. "Pride defines her. To linger as a shadow of her lineage—weak, dependent—would dishonor everything her kind embodies."
The wolf's amber eye gleamed with approval. Cloned or not, her Gourmet Cells carried the indomitable spirit of the Second Continent's apex hunters. She'd sacrificed her dwindling vitality to birth a cub untainted by human tampering—a final act of defiance.
As the cub nuzzled Toriko's palm, the mother released a piercing howl, reverberating through the arena's fractured walls. The cub hesitated, then padded toward Toriko, its tiny frame trembling with inherited pride.
"I'll raise it right," Toriko vowed, voice gruff with emotion. "Like it's one of my own."
The mother's response was a final, thunderous howl—gratitude and farewell intertwined. Then stillness. Her body remained upright, muscles locked in defiance, even as life fled.
"Died on her terms," Zed murmured. "A Battle Wolf to the end."
The cub glanced back once, whined softly, but followed Toriko without protest.
Later, in IGO's opulent dining hall, Mansam unveiled his infamous Full-Course Menu—a parade of dishes steeped in alcohol. Drunkard Melon, Liquor Shell Soup, Liquor Stealing Escargot, and even his main course, Bacchus Dragon.
Zed prodded a shimmering cutlet, fumes wafting upward. "A menu only a drunkard could love."
Erina Nakiri paled, her God Tongue recoiling at the alcoholic assault. Hisako Arato gagged discreetly into a napkin.
Komatsu forced a smile, nibbling a Whiskey-Glazed Dumpling. "It's… bold."
Mansam roared with laughter, draining a goblet of Bacchus Whale Sea Water. "Bold? Kid, this is art!"
Zed exchanged a wry glance with Toriko. Some battles, even Gourmet Hunters couldn't win.