"Heh heh… the kid's grown, and his wings have hardened…"
In the dim little room, Maha rocked in his creaky chair, smiling as he listened to the cartoon. For a moment his ears seemed to swell a size, then snap back—odd enough to make one blink.
On the screen was The Stubborn Father and His Stubborn Son…
The two were brawling over a toy; just as the father, losing the argument, reached for the belt at his waist—
Creak. The door opened. Zeno, white hair swaying, pushed in a small serving cart.
"Grandpa's in a good mood today."
He stopped the cart and lifted the covers. Besides the old man's usual favorites—beef bourguignon, vegetable soup with bread—there was an extra plate: minced pork with eggplant.
"The kitchen worked up a new dish today—said that kid Roy invented it. Since you liked it, I brought a plate."
Zeno had just sampled it in the kitchen. It was good—a flavor he'd never tasted before.
"Heh… what an honor for this old codger—getting a bigwig like you to deliver my meal. Amazing… amazing…"
Maha feigned a nap, eyes for neither food nor man, humming as the rocker squeaked…
Zeno took no offense. He ladled a bowl of vegetable soup, tore bread to soak in it, pretended not to hear the acid in those words, and stepped behind Maha to knead his shoulders.
"Kikyo was poisoned. It was a new butler."
"Silva had it looked into. The culprit's background is clean—a dutiful sort, no blood grudge with us. Pure coincidence…"
"You know how it is for people like us. We don't fear being targeted—we fear coincidences."
Rarely, Zeno explained a few things. His long fingers worked from the nape to the shoulder blades, drawing another pleased hum from Maha.
"So in the end you're worried the 'curse' is landing?"
Maha arched his back so Zeno could reach more; eyes half-lidded, he murmured, "If it's misfortune, you can't dodge it. Worry's useless…"
"Grandpa is right."
"I'm not 'right.' I'm annoyed. At you."
"Do you feel that way about Roy?"
"He's my good grandson. You compare?"
"I am too…"
"You?" The old man jerked his chin toward the door. "Out."
And Zeno got tossed out, dusty and undignified.
Grandpa was still Grandpa. That was all Zeno needed to know.
He wasn't angry; if anything, a faint smile tugged his lips. He stood there a while outside the door, then, hands clasped behind him, strolled down the timeworn corridor—unknowingly drifting toward Roy's room.
Roy had just given Wutong a few instructions and picked up Yukizō. Rounding the corner, he spotted Zeno head-on.
He dipped slightly at the waist. "Grandfather."
The boy's black hair fell sleek and glossy; lit by the dawn it gleamed—so like Zeno's own when young, it stirred a momentary illusion, as if he'd stepped back into those green, aching years he missed most upon waking.
"Hmm." Zeno's eyes ran over Roy, paused on Yukizō, then he just grunted and walked past.
"Good blade in your hand. Pity it served a poor master. He offered me a hundred million to kill his teacher—I judged the value low and killed him instead. Here's hoping it won't choose wrong again…"
A flicker, a flicker—Zeno's back receded; a few steps and he was gone, like teleportation, out of Roy's sight.
Roy had heard Wutong tell Yukizō's history. He stroked the spine, stood there a moment; when the red wash of dawn warmed his neck, he finally moved, turning away from Zeno's path and heading to the training hall.
Morning drills as usual. Luke, the butler in charge of shocks, was already at his post. When Roy opened the door, Luke swapped the 500,000-volt baton for the million-volt one.
"Master Silva says your training load doubles starting today," Luke said with his habitual bow.
"I thought morning training was canceled?" Roy's gaze was calm.
Wutong had just told him: the brothers were slated for Nen-type diagnostics this morning. He didn't believe Luke didn't know.
"Only Young Master Illumi is excused. You are…" Luke kept it terse.
Roy held his eyes for a long beat—then suddenly felt a gaze on his back. He whipped his head toward the window…
Silva stood there, silent, watching. His tall frame loomed, as if blotting the newly risen sun.
In that instant Roy understood—
The man had heard his exchange with Wutong before Wutong came.
'So this is the "punishment"?'
Roy stared right back, unblinking.
The air crackled, as if current leapt between them…
Poor Luke was wedged between father and son, frozen mid-bow, hardly daring to breathe—until Silva finally spoke.
"What do you call me?"
"Father."
"That's not what you called me before dawn."
"So you knew it was before dawn." Roy drew a long breath. Let the sunlight climb over Silva's head and spill across his face. "It's morning now."
Silva fell silent, then: "Shock him."
Luke straightened, took up the baton, murmured a "forgive me," and pressed it to Roy's chest.
Bzzzz— arcs spat.
A million volts poured through him; Roy's lips twitched visibly, his body shuddered—
But he stood ramrod straight, refusing to drop, staring at Silva with stubborn eyes.
Until—
Blackout.
…
9:00 a.m.
Roy came to.
Turns out that after being knocked out by current, there's no slipping into "deep-sleep mode."
Finding himself not in the shrine but on the training hall floor, he rasped to Luke, who was tipping water to his lips, "How long was I out?"
"Thirty minutes and three seconds, sir."
That long, huh…
Roy turned his head toward the window. Sun steamed the earth, heat pooling—
But Silva's silhouette was gone.
He forced himself up, staggered two steps back, then plopped down again—his body lagging far behind his waking will.
"Careful not to sit on Young Master Illumi," Luke said after the water, hurriedly warning him.
Roy realized the cushion under him was a bit… soft. He looked down—
Illumi lay on the floor. His pin-straight black hair had frizzed into an afro.
"Why is he here?"
"Young Master Illumi finished his typing, then came to the hall. When he heard you'd switched batons, he insisted on switching too. I couldn't stop him, so… well, you see the result."