In the end…
…he was shooed out, dusty and disheveled.
His face showed no displeasure—only mild surprise. It was his first time seeing an old man "guard food" so fiercely.
Under that influence, Zeno did something rare: instead of returning to his room, he wandered the other way. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced the silent corridor, feet whispering over worn stone until he reached Roy's window.
Dark Step, honed to his level, had long since entered the realm of "great sounds are seldom heard." He appeared without a ripple, watching the boy inside through the glass.
Roy noticed nothing, absorbed in the book in his hands.
"Nen isn't anything mystical…
"The Shingen-ryu names [Ten], [Zetsu], [Ren], [Hatsu]. Among the general populace it's also circulated as [Ten], [Zetsu], [Ren], [Hatsu]…
"All of it is expression in the opening practice of Nen.
"By turning inward and observing the self, organizing 'aura' into language, then refining it with imagination, and finally releasing it—this is the essence of Nen in use.
"As for derived applications like [Shu], [Ken], [En], [Zetsu], they're simply deeper processing on the foundation of imagination.
"Take [Zetsu]: erasing one's presence is just drawing all aura dispersed on the surface back into the body. Naturally your existence fades to a minimum—but the consequence is…
"Without aura's protection on the body, you cannot withstand a Nen-user's aura attacks…
"Summed up, Nen training lies not in tricks, but in Nen itself—in the user's recognition and understanding of aura.
"Grasping Nen's morphological and qualitative changes is what every practitioner should focus on."
Swish, swish. The night breeze worried the curtains.
At some point Roy finally pulled himself free from the pages. He glanced out the window—Zeno was gone. In his place hung a full moon, as if it were reading him back, giving Roy the illusion of seeing himself anew from a different angle.
Perhaps that's the difference between guided and unguided learning…
'Systematic study may not guarantee brilliance, but it won't be bad. By contrast, a self-taught Nen-user, unless monstrously gifted, may spend a lifetime without touching the edge of the top tier…'
Roy closed the book, something clicking into place. After a moment's thought, he took out paper and pen and wrote three words on the blank page:
[Numbers]… [Operations]… [Mechanisms]…
"Numbers" stood for total aura; "Operations" for applied technique; "Mechanisms" for Vows & Limitations.
For a mature Nen-user, all three must be strong—and advanced together. For now, strengthening his physique to raise the numbers… at least the direction was right.
Dong… Ten o'clock. The old clock in the corner chimed, reminding him it was time to sleep.
To extend the duration of focused breathing and deepen Sun Breathing, he'd need sleep to fill the gaps. Roy shut the notebook, stretched, and let himself fall into the soft bed.
The cicadas hummed as always, lulling him under…
Midnight. A hollow-eyed little gremlin on the grounds dug a pit and left only his head above it. A fat child dressed as a daughter dreamed of gnawing chicken legs. One floor up, a woman screamed; the electronic eye snowed out.
Roy set his phone to white noise, folded his hands over his belly, and emptied his mind…
He slipped through that rainbow corridor into his sea of subconscious. Once more, the row of wooden doors stood along the horizon.
This time, he didn't rush to the Demon Slayer door. Instead, he walked the line, studying each door in turn. One bore the mark of the sea… another a paper dragonfly… another had a single staring eye above the lintel—so familiar. Up close, a stab of pain throbbed from it…
It made him think of a pitiful soul.
Someone, like him, who couldn't command his fate—played with by shackles upon shackles.
'So it's still not enough strength… If you were truly strong, you could pass your pain to the whole world—let all others bear it rather than you bearing them.'
He murmured, turned away from pain, and put his hand to the Demon Slayer door.
The falling sensation returned—
He opened his eyes to Tanjiro's face, the scar echoing the pattern to come.
"Niisan, wake up—we're going down to town to sell charcoal today."
You mine a day, sell a day. With good legs, you make it back before dark; if not, you camp on the mountain or find a kind house to stay the night. In the original, Tanjiro often borrowed a futon at Koizumi Shinzaburo's little hut below.
"Why are you that close?" Roy slapped Tanjiro's face aside and crawled out from under the quilt.
Takeo and Shigeru snored on. Roy stepped lightly out of bed, the smaller version of himself trailing him, aggrieved. He opened the door to the endless snow country—and to the wall where their father had stood last night.
No footprints remained… but—
Tanjiro's words still rang clear.
As if by tacit accord…
Roy turned toward the main house. Under the eaves along the wooden corridor, Tanjiro's father was looking back. The brazier's place by the corridor held bowls already set.
"Reiichiro, Tanjiro—come eat."
"Coming!"
Tanjiro trotted ahead, tossing his grievance into the snow. Roy followed unhurriedly, slipped off his shoes, and—seeing only Mother Aoi and Nezuko—knew Hanako must have kept them up; Grandmother was napping with the baby now. He kept his voice low as he spoke with his parents.
Breakfast was rice balls with miso soup simmered from last night's pork cutlet.
Knowing Roy would be selling charcoal today, Aoi had risen early to pack plenty for the road, enough for him and Tanjiro to eat on the way.
Roy had no objections. But when he noticed the patch on Nezuko's sleeve as she lifted her arm to eat, he sipped his soup and said, "This trip might keep us two days."
"First, I want to get Nezuko, Takeo, and the others a set of new clothes…
"Second, I'm going to Sagiri Mountain."
The former Water Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki, lived on Mount Sagiri as a trainer, cultivating swordsmen for the Demon Slayer Corps under the Ubuyashiki family.
Roy decided to pay him a visit along the way. If he could receive instruction from the man himself, all the better.