He spun back and thrust for Roy's neck!
The carotid at the neck is one of the body's weakest points. Aside from ripping out a heart, it's one of Illumi's two favorite moves.
Roy caught the rush of air and, without turning, stabbed back with a hand-blade of his own—except…
Unlike Illumi, he sheathed his hand-blade in Nen.
Beyond the four basics of Nen—Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu—there are many advanced applications:
En, to expand perception…
Shu, to imbue objects…
In, to conceal one's aura…
Ken, to reinforce the body…
Roy hadn't formally learned these yet, but nothing stopped him from pooling aura onto his hand to temporarily sharpen the "blade."
The effect was immediate.
Both using "The Snake Awakens"…
Two slashes flashed past each other—Illumi's strike was checked, and he sprang back at once.
He melted into the corner shadows, left arm raised to guard against Roy—yet his right hand wouldn't stop trembling.
Too hard…
Assassin's instinct had him swing from defense to counterattack in a blink, but the target of his ambush seemed not the least bit interested.
After all, Roy considered himself human—and humans don't bicker with dogs. Especially not a sneaky cur that only skulks in the dark.
Tap… tap…
The soft soles of his sneakers clicked lightly on the ancient, mottled stone floor. Without looking back, Roy flicked out his hand and kept walking, as if he'd just swatted a fly. In a moment he'd vanished from Illumi's sight and reached the training hall.
Afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, still scorching—perfect for practicing Sun Breathing.
He wasn't about to let a dog or two sour his mood, much less delay his training.
He shifted his stance—and began to dance.
From then on, the Zoldyck training hall often hosted a strange sight: a boy in close-fitting training wear "dancing" day and night, constantly jangling the household's nerves.
"He's still dancing?"
"Yes, still…"
"Has he skipped his regular drills?"
"No…"
On a tiger-skin sofa, Silva propped his chin on one hand, listening to Tsubone's report on Roy's recent training, lost in thought.
Under the old butler's startled gaze…
He stood up and copied Roy's moves, trying a few forms.
First "Dance," then "Clear Blue Sky," then "Raging Sun," "Fire Wheel," "Burning Bones, Summer Sun"…
When the last form—"Sun Halo Dragon Head Dance"—ended, Silva stood where he was, savoring the feel, motionless for a long time.
Beside him, Tsubone stood with hands at her sides, silent.
Her "healthy" self-awareness reminded her constantly that as a dog—an old one loyal to the Zoldycks for decades—she must never bark while the master was thinking.
Even so, she couldn't hide her shock. It was the first time she'd seen the head of house imitate someone else—and that someone was the very son he'd judged to have limited potential.
A long breath left him.
About five minutes later, Silva moved again. Face unreadable, he sat back down and waved. Tsubone took the hint and withdrew.
The heavy wooden door creaked shut.
From inside came a voice that made the just-departed butler jolt.
"Tell Roy to compile his insights on those forms and send them over."
No room for refusal.
Tsubone: "…"
She stood before the door a moment, right hand to chest, and bowed.
That evening she found Roy soaking in the training hall. Hearing the message, Roy wasn't surprised. He simply stopped, glanced up toward the master bedroom on the second floor—and refused.
Sun Breathing was his trump card, nourishment he'd drawn from his cognitive world via Nen. Out of respect for Tanjuro and to protect his own privacy, he couldn't—and wouldn't—teach it out.
What's more, the more he trained it, the more he realized how shallow his own understanding still was. Four hours that afternoon—twenty full rounds—and only in a moment or two had he truly sunk into the flow. The rest felt "wasted."
So where would he find the time or energy to teach anyone else?
And besides, that wasn't how you ask for a favor—even from your own father.
"I believe I have the right to say no," Roy said, wiping sweat from his neck—playing it straight.
Tsubone blinked—she hadn't expected refusal. This wasn't "someone else," after all; this was Silva, the head of the Zoldycks.
She blurted, "Can you give me a reason?"
Roy smiled. Narrowing his eyes, he took a good, long look at this fellow Nen user—her "Perfect Girl Seven Transformations" could conjure all kinds of rideable mounts; clearly the training had her a bit addled…
"A reason?" He slung the towel over his shoulder and looked up at her, a touch of mockery in his voice. "Since you call yourself a dog, then be mindful like one.
"The master's business is best left unasked."
Tsubone: "…"
Frozen on the spot. Bewitched, neither leaving nor staying made sense—until at last she slunk away.
True to the source, she cared for none of the Zoldyck children but Killua. Naturally Roy didn't bother with courtesy. He simply braced himself for Silva to come knocking.
Unexpectedly, days passed and the episode evaporated as if it had never happened. No word from Tsubone; Silva never brought it up. The two even crossed paths in the meantime.
Only when Gotoh returned from recovery did Roy catch a hint of what had happened.
"She cut herself three times. She's convalescing now." The young butler adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses as he served Roy dinner. "She got off easy.
"If it were me, for offending the young master—I'd kill myself."
Right. You're even fiercer…
For a moment, Roy didn't know what to say.
All he could do was sigh—so very Zoldyck.
In this family, butlers are acknowledged as property, as death-vowed retainers—as dogs. Even if Roy naïvely refused to see them that way, they saw themselves as dogs and wore it like a badge of honor.
You could see as much from the crowd forever camping at the butlers' villa, shaving their heads to beg for a place in Zoldyck service.
So Roy simply changed the subject. "How's the thing I asked you to handle?"
When he felt his "dancing" losing efficiency, Roy thought it through and identified three reasons:
First, Sun Breathing is, at heart, a sword dance—you need a blade to dance it.
Second, he lacked Total Concentration training.
Third, he had no master to guide him.
The last two he'd have to seek in his cognitive world.
But the first…
With a metallic shwing, Gotoh drew a katana from his waist, lifted it in both hands, and presented it.
"No news yet on the Nen-forged weapon you requested, young master. But there is a fine katana in the storeroom."
"What's it called?"
"Yubashiri."