"How many days has it been?"
"Eight."
"Then it's still early. It took me half a year to catch the feeling."
Sabito stood on a birch branch with Makomo at his side, silently watching below…
Roy was hugging the great tree. Better than before—he'd lasted two hours without dozing off.
"Half a year is already fast." Makomo, bored, squatted on the fork and doodled circles. "Sensei always called me clever, said I was the quickest to grasp 'Breathing' after you. But I still needed nearly a year."
Sabito smiled. "Your gift lies elsewhere."
"And…" Sabito gazed into the endless mist, a hint of nostalgia in his tone. "The fastest was Giyu."
"He truly had talent—learned 'Breathing' in three months, honed three years and cut the boulder. A pity he was a bit timid back then."
"What about him?" Makomo's bright eyes dropped to Roy. "I think he's stronger than both of us."
"Maybe he'll break Brother Giyu's record."
Sabito rubbed his chin, sinking into thought… Would he?
This Eiichiro fellow was really hard to read…
"Hiss… exhale…"
At two and a half hours, Roy finally couldn't hold out; he slid down the trunk and fell asleep.
That familiar falling sensation swept in—
The boy rolled out of bed again and returned to Kukuroo Mountain.
Dress, run, eat, electrocution; then back to the willow in the garden to hug.
Illumi was still waking up in the pit. For days he'd roused later than Roy and seemed numb to it—didn't even look his way, just waited for the tingling to fade before heading down the mountain.
It was time to settle the grudge over his eighty-win streak being broken.
Illumi would rip out that man's heart with his own hand to celebrate opening his pores.
Of course, compared to a certain hateful someone beside him, that Emission-type Nen user was just an appetizer. If he could really… rip out Roy's heart… Illumi felt he'd shake with excitement.
"Reel in your malice… it's grossing me out."
Roy hugged the tree with eyes closed, as if asleep…
Illumi lowered his head, shoulders quivering with a reined-in murmur. He flung out an arm; his long black hair whipped wildly, startling a flock of sparrows from the willow.
"Heh heh, is that so… you'd better pray you never have a weak day. When you do, I'll chop off your head and make a pillow of it, and hug it to sleep every night."
Illumi glared with those vacant dead-fish eyes and stalked off…
Roy kindly reminded him, "A little to the left. Don't step in Milluki's poop."
Too late… Illumi lifted his right foot, face twisting into something indescribable…
Whose fault was that?
He'd personally ended Milluki's happy childhood, custom-built a hell regimen for him. No wonder the kid took revenge by pooping at his pit…
"Kraa—"
A few crows dragged a patch of light-dimming cloud and dropped several tail feathers.
Roy could practically hear Illumi raging inside. Guess Milluki was in for a rough few days. So, after finishing his morning tree-hugging, Roy headed to the kitchen.
Still no trace of that "merge with the tree" sensation. He decided to clear his head with a couple of dishes, so he'd asked Gokotō ahead of time to prep the aromatics, then took up the wok spatula.
"Steamed Fish" and "Stir-fried Yellow Beef"—today's lunch for himself.
Unlike last time when he chased the cooks out, this time Roy let them watch; in good spirits, he even explained a few key points…
About half an hour later, the two homestyle dishes hit the table.
Gokotō stood by to serve him.
But Roy didn't dig in immediately. He had him add another place setting across the table. Not long after—
A familiar "old wind" swept through…
Roy respectfully greeted his great-grandfather, and the very next second started eating—lesson learned from last time when he'd ended up with nothing.
The old man's eyes bulged—grandson lacking filial piety!—and without further ado his chopsticks moved like thunder. In the end he still nabbed a few more beef slices and half a fish head than Roy…
Afterward, full and satisfied, the old man didn't leave right away. He even had Gokotō bring coffee to "smooth the gut"…
Toothpick in hand, he leisurely picked his teeth. "Well, good grandson?"
"Fun, is it? Humping trees?"
"Great-Grandpa, it's not 'humping,' it's 'hugging'." Roy's temples throbbed.
"What's the difference?" Maha slanted him a look. "All the hours this old man hugged your great-grandma don't add up to how long you've been humping trees."
"So? Planning to marry one?"
Roy: "…"
He kept his head down and said nothing.
Maha took the coffee from Gokotō, sipped, and, ignoring him, drawled, "People are people, trees are trees. Mistake a person for a tree, and the person won't like it; mistake a tree for a person, and the tree won't agree…"
"How can a person become a tree?"
Roy pricked up his ears.
Draining the cup, Maha clasped his hands behind him and went to the window. Sunlight poured over the willow in the garden. With a touch of reminiscence he said, "So, don't force people to be trees, nor trees to do what people do. Push it, and it's 'forcing'…"
"People get confused, trees get displeased…"
"Then what should I do?"
"You already have the answer, don't you?"
The old man glanced back with a smiling squint. "Let things take their course…"
Let things take their course…
Roy turned the words over. Was Great-Grandpa telling him not to deny his stance as a 'person' by forcibly thinking a tree's life?
But if that's so—if a person can't become a tree—how do you enter the tree, merge with nature?
He pondered a moment. When he looked up again, Maha was gone from the window. Only the curtain's lifted corner proved he'd been there—and the two empty plates on the table…
"Have some coffee first, young master." Gokotō thoughtfully handed him a cup.
Roy drank it along with his tangle of thoughts, left the kitchen, and returned to the garden. He slid down the willow, leaning his back to it and sitting.
The bark bit a little. The thousand drooping catkins brushed his neck itchy in the breeze… With the sun-and-mountain earrings at his lobes, the boy didn't overthink this time.
Forget 'tree'… 'person'… [Zetsu]… 'Breathing'…
He simply relaxed—and took a nap against the willow…
"Zzz… zzz…"
Cicadas droned with the clear wind as company…
Drowsy, Roy's lids sagged. In a haze, a scene came into focus…
A man led a pregnant woman into the garden, dug a pit with his own hands, planted a sapling, and told his wife happily: "It means new life."
A few years later, the sapling was taller; the man brought a child and taught him how to water the tree…
A few more years, the child grew up and kept clamoring to go to some Dark Continent—so the man dragged him to the tree and gave him a thorough spanking…