The boy's thoughts cleared, and he soon fell asleep.
This time, he dreamed of his past self and saw "whip-shadows," "stun batons," "venomous insects"...
His hands and feet curled up on their own.
If you've never been whipped, you don't know how much it hurts when the lash is dipped in water.
If you've never been shocked, you don't understand what five hundred thousand volts means.
If you've never been bitten by poison bugs, you can't imagine the convulsions and gut-twisting of envenoming.
From the time Roy could remember at age three, this was his daily training.
Silva led the young him into this unending hell, prettifying it as "laying the groundwork for a competent assassin."
Later, once he judged Roy's talent limited, he shifted his focus to Illumi, Milluki, and even children yet unborn.
Roy had nothing to say about that and no desire to judge. This was the Zoldyck fate. Every child born into the family had to endure it. There was nothing to debate.
But as a human, Roy believed he had the right to choose his life...
'First step, break free of control.'
"Arf!" At daybreak, Mike's bark came right on time.
Roy opened his eyes again and returned to his familiar bedroom.
Today he lay in bed one extra minute, savoring last night—the bowl of boar meat Kie had carefully cooked had been quite good.
So for lunch, he told Gotoh to fry an extra portion of bacon.
Fed and watered, he took up Yubashiri.
Morning shock training was done; the afternoon was his alone.
Roy changed into a comfortable training outfit and strolled the quiet corridors of the castle. Through a window he caught, in the garden, a woman with half her face covered by an electronic eye sipping afternoon tea with a very small child.
The kid was pale and chubby, arms and legs stacked like bamboo joints.
A tiny floral cap sat on his head; a lolita-style little dress, white knee socks, and round-toed shoes made him look like a girl.
In truth, that was just the woman's peculiar taste at work.
Roy had almost suffered the same treatment as a toddler, but he had torn it apart by force.
Ever since, the woman had looked at him with a curled lip and cold eyes. That suited Roy. Peace and quiet.
"Master Milluki, you mustn't eat that!"
The pudgy baby caught a butterfly and stuffed it toward his mouth, startling the butler behind him.
Too late. Half the butterfly was in. To retrieve it now, you'd have to sift through the potty.
"Crunch, crunch..." Milluki chewed with gusto, a powdery ring forming around his lips.
At some point he sensed a gaze from the corridor beside the garden. He strained to lift his chubby head and looked over, thinking—
Who's that?
"That is your elder brother, young master Roy..."
The butler supplied the answer. Milluki noticed Roy by the window, placed a hand on his chest, and offered a polite bow.
Roy didn't speak, nor did he interrupt what precious joy Milluki had left. His eyes lingered a moment, then he turned toward the training hall.
As for the woman—if she pretended not to see him, he had no reason to approach.
After all, in her eyes he was merely a "failed product."
Roy gave himself a wry smile,
patted Yubashiri, and pushed open the training-room doors.
The pure-white katana seemed to despise grime.
Gripped in Roy's palm and drawn with a ring, it flashed a dim blue chill that chased the dust motes from the sunbeams.
Creak—the door thudded shut.
The boy settled his breath, stroked Yubashiri, and began to "dance"...
"Sun Breathing — Round Dance," "Sun Breathing — Beneficent Radiance," "Sun Breathing — Raging Sun Mirror," "Sun Breathing — Fake Rainbow"...
[Physique +0.05... +0.05... +0.05... +0.05...]
In a blink of steel—
Yubashiri slipped from Roy's right hand like a bolt of lightning. An electronic eye nestled by the wall gave a dying whine and went to heaven on the spot.
Upstairs, the master bedroom's television filled with heavy snow.
Bzzzt—
Bars of static rolled one after another...
A man swirling red wine, half-reclined on a tiger-skin-draped sofa, watched his lips curve upward.
He didn't move, didn't get angry, didn't tell a bandaged Tsubone to switch off the set. Instead he waved for her to fetch a blade from storage.
When he rose, that slightly-curved katana was already locked in his hand.
His aura changed—domineering, brutal, like a beast about to tear everything apart.
It shook the heart.
Tsubone wisely backed two steps toward the wall, giving him plenty of space.
Her face looked calm, but her mood was complicated. She'd keenly noticed—the family head had become overly focused on someone lately.
'When did that start?'
Probably from the moment the figure on the screen began that strange "dance"...
Whoosh—A gust off the blade sent a chill skimming her lashes, snapping her back to reality.
Silva moved.
With both hands on the sword, he imitated Roy's dance. The blade came alive—cleaving, lifting, thrusting, hewing—paired with "Silent Step" beneath his feet, and in an instant—
The bedroom turned otherworldly, all flying blade-light and sword-shadows.
Until the last cut—
"Sun Breathing — Solar Halo Dragon · Flame Waltz," ending in a keen ring.
Silva halted, sheathed the blade, and stood, letting out a long breath.
"Hnh-hnh-hnh..." A low, suppressed laugh reverberated from his chest.
Eyes narrowed, he confirmed one thing—
"This isn't a dance. It's budō."
Tsubone's pupils tightened. Silva's words made her think of a certain man...
An old master with a palm-tree topknot who loved volleyball.
As humanity's strongest, a grandmaster of the martial way, he had used ten thousand daily straight punches brimming with gratitude to define budō.
It is the distilled intent born of pursuing the self beyond itself... the breadth to observe heaven and earth and embrace the myriad things... the reverence for life that sets death and rebirth at ease.
And now, in this small bedroom, inside a nearly millennial castle, a trace of it had appeared.
It was staggering.
"Take it and maintain it." When the dance ended, Silva tossed the blade.
Tsubone caught it mechanically, mind still lost amid the flying steel of moments before...
Dazed, she glanced at the television.
Where was the youth's gallant figure on the snowy screen now?
Only that line—"Aren't you a dog too?"—kept echoing through her mind.