He spun and drove a hand-blade at Roy's neck.
The carotid is the body's frailest point. Besides ripping out hearts, it was one of Illumi Zoldyck's two favorite strikes.
Roy caught the shift in the air and, without turning, stabbed back with a hand-blade of his own. Except—
Unlike Illumi, he wrapped his strike in Nen.
Beyond the four fundamentals—Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Hatsu—Nen training branches into many advanced applications.
For sensing, there is En.
For imbuing objects, there is Shu.
For erasing one's presence, there is In.
For reinforcing the body, there is Ken.
Roy had not formally learned these yet, but nothing stopped him from gathering aura into his hand to sharpen the edge for a moment.
The result was clear.
Both used "Serpentine Life"...
Two flashes crossed. Illumi's stab was checked, and he slid back at once.
He melted into the darkness at the corner, left arm up to guard against Roy, while his right hand trembled despite himself.
Too hard...
Assassin instinct drove him to flow from defense to counter in a blink, yet the target showed not a flicker of interest.
After all, Roy viewed himself as human, and humans do not argue with dogs—least of all a skulking cur that hides in the dark to bite.
Tap... tap...
Soft-soled trainers clicked lightly on the mottled stone floor.
Back to Illumi, Roy flicked his hand and walked on, as if brushing away a fly mid-journey. In a blink he left Illumi's sight and entered the training room.
Afternoon sun poured through the broad windows, still scorching. A good time to drill Sun Breathing.
Roy would not let a dog or two sour his mood, nor delay his practice.
He shifted his feet and began to dance.
From then on, the Zoldyck training hall often held a strange sight.
A boy in tight short training garb "danced" day and night, jarring the nerves of everyone on Kukuroo Mountain.
"He's still dancing?"
"Yes. Still..."
"Has he fallen behind on regular drills?"
"No..."
On the tiger-hide sofa, Silva Zoldyck propped his chin in one hand, listening to Zi Bonian's report on Roy's recent regimen, and fell silent.
Under Zi Bonian's startled gaze—
He stood and copied Roy's forms.
First "Dance," then "Clear Blue Sky," then "Raging Sun," "Fire Wheel," "Burning Bones, Summer Sun"...
When the last, "Sun Halo Dragon: Flame Dance," ended, Silva stood where he was, feeling it out without a word.
Zi Bonian stood by with hands lowered, silent.
Her "sound self-awareness" reminded her without fail that as a dog—an old hound loyal to the Zoldycks for decades—she must never bark while the master thought.
Even so, the surprise showed. It was the first time she had seen the head of house imitate someone else—worse, a son he had judged to have a low ceiling.
"Huu..."
He let out a turbid breath.
About five minutes later, Silva moved again.
Expressionless, he sat back. With a flick of his hand, Zi Bonian took the hint and withdrew.
Creak. The heavy door closed.
What came from within made the old butler outside stiffen.
"Tell Roy to compile his insights on these forms and send them over."
No room for refusal.
Zi Bonian: "..."
She stood before the door a moment, pressed right hand to chest, and bowed.
That evening she found Roy, soaked in practice.
The news did not surprise him. He simply stopped, glanced toward the master bedroom on the second floor, and chose... to refuse.
Sun Breathing was his trump card, nourishment drawn from the cognitive world through Nen. Whether out of respect for Tanjuro Kamado or to guard his privacy, he could not and would not pass it on.
And the more he studied it, the shallower his grasp felt.
In four afternoon hours he danced twenty rounds, yet only for a moment or two did he truly sink in. The rest felt wasted.
So where would he find time or energy to teach others?
Nor was this the attitude of one asking a favor—even if that person was his father.
"I believe I have the right to refuse," Roy said, wiping sweat from his neck, pitching it straight.
Zi Bonian froze. She had not expected refusal—for this was Silva, head of the Zoldycks, giving an order.
She asked by reflex, "May I have a reason?"
Roy smiled. Narrowing his eyes, he studied this fellow Conjuration-type Nen user for the first time in earnest. Her "Yamato Nadeshiko's Seven Variations" could conjure rideable conveyances; long training had dulled her judgment.
"A reason?" He slung the towel over his shoulder, tipped his head at her, and sneered. "Since you style yourself a dog, act with a dog's awareness."
"The master's affairs are best left unasked."
Zi Bonian: "..."
She stood there as if hexed, unable to go or stay, and finally slunk off.
As in the source tale, she cared for none of the Zoldyck children but Killua Zoldyck.
Naturally, Roy would not be polite. He simply prepared for Silva to come knocking.
Unexpectedly, days passed and the matter vanished as if it had never been. No word from Zi Bonian. Silva never raised it again. Father and son even crossed paths once.
Only when Wutong returned healed did Roy hear a whisper.
"She cut herself three times. She's recuperating..."
The young butler adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses as he served dinner. "She got off easy."
"If it were me, for offending the young master, I'd kill myself."
Well... you're even fiercer.
For a moment Roy had nothing to say.
He could only sigh. Very Zoldyck.
In this family, butlers were acknowledged property, death-troops, dogs. Even if Roy naively denied it, they embraced it, even took pride in it.
You could see it in the crowds lodging at the butlers' villa, shaving heads and scheming to join the Zoldycks.
So Roy changed the subject and asked Wutong:
"The task I gave you—any progress?"
When his "dance" began to lose efficiency, Roy thought it through and found three causes.
One, Sun Breathing is, at its core, a sword-dance and must be danced blade-in-hand.
Two, he lacked Total Concentration Breathing.
Three, he had no master teacher.
The last two he could only seek in his cognitive world.
But the first...
With a crisp ring, Wutong drew a katana from his belt and presented it with both hands.
"The Nen-forged weapon you requested has no word yet. But there is a fine katana in the vault."
"What is it called?"
"Snowstride."