Even loyalty has an object.
Tsubone devoted her whole life to the Zoldycks—serving Zeno, then Silva, and even Killua before he was born—always the true heir or heir-apparent.
So that day she didn't think she'd done anything wrong. On the contrary, she believed she'd been fighting for Silva's interests. If the father couldn't swallow his pride to ask his son, then servants like her had to step in.
Now… there was no need. Young Master Roy had dared skewer a surveillance camera with one stroke, and Silva-sama hadn't reacted with anger—he'd even seemed a little "pleased"…
Which meant it was time for Tsubone to change her stance.
Cradling a sword, she left the master bedroom. Near dusk, sunlight through the corridor's glass was no longer as harsh as at noon.
A butler's job isn't easy. It wears down flesh and blood. Beyond managing daily life and recovery training, you have to read faces—and when needed, provide emotional ballast. Few people in the Zoldyck estate earned Tsubone's respect.
Gotoh was one of them.
And on the corridor to the storeroom…
The veteran butler and the young one she respected happened to meet. The former was going to oil a katana; the latter, Yubashiri in his arms, was headed there for the same.
Katanas are hard yet brittle; they need regular oiling to keep air from oxidizing the blade and causing rust. Ironically, swords and such usually sat neglected in the storeroom; now this was about to become the haunt of the estate's two most famous butlers.
It was 5:49 p.m. Gotoh had already finished oiling Yubashiri and stepped out. He'd barely cleared the door when he saw Tsubone approaching with a sword in her arms. He nodded, shifted aside, and walked past.
"I thought you'd hate me," Tsubone said suddenly.
Gotoh stopped.
He didn't turn around. "I thought, after you slapped your master's face, you'd do something on his behalf. I've been waiting these past few days."
The rule "beat the dog, look at the owner" works in reverse in the Zoldyck estate, too.
To be honest, when he heard the young master had been pressed to "give a reason," Gotoh had been livid—bad eyes or not, he'd nearly gone to confront Tsubone. But when he cooled down… he stroked Yubashiri, paused two seconds, and said firmly, "I choose to trust the young master.
"Just as he trusts me, I will always stand at his side and never make trouble for him."
"His hair isn't silver," Tsubone reminded, after a two-second silence. "So he's destined never to be head of the family."
"So what?" The young butler pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and shot her a wry look. "At least—
"The young master treats me like a person."
He left her there and headed for the kitchen, worrying as he went. The young master said he's cooking tonight. Heaven help us—what is he thinking? Is that any place for you to be?
He hurried his steps. A moment later he peeked into the kitchen—
Roy, apron on, was already swinging a spatula like a pro.
On the worktable: minced scallion, ginger, and garlic; peeled tomatoes; beaten eggs; minced meat; blanched eggplant; and a premixed thickening sauce.
Two dishes—tomato-and-egg stir-fry and minced-meat eggplant. In his previous life, they were two of the few homestyle dishes Roy actually knew well. He hadn't cooked in nearly ten years; he had no idea how rusty he was.
But to satisfy his "taste" and upgrade the Kamado kids' meals, he gritted his teeth, grabbed the wok, and did something Zeno, Silva, Illumi—even old ancestor Maha—would never touch: flip a wok and stir-fry.
Whoosh—the burner flared.
The cooks he'd shooed out were now peeking around the doorframe, craning for a look. The sun must've risen in the west today; someone even said they saw a mouse rushing off to wish a cat Happy New Year… How else do you explain the Zoldyck heir turning up in the kitchen and insisting on cooking?
He wouldn't even let his own valet Gotoh in to help—just handled the ladle and wok himself, minding the heat—feeling his way back from clumsy to smooth to easy, hitting his stride at last.
With one stylish sweep of the ladle, both dishes—tomato-and-egg and minced-meat eggplant—came out one after the other.
"Aroma—never smelled anything quite like it…"
"Look at that color—bright and full without losing freshness. Bet it tastes great…"
"What are you two even saying? Isn't it obvious the young master's technique is good? The ladle work, the wok flip, that final pull—no beginner does that. Honestly…"
"I suspect even those famous Gourmet Hunters might not match the young master's skill…"
The cooks whispered—insiders spot the real craft. Gotoh heard them, pressed to the door, no less astonished.
He'd watched Roy grow up—from swaddling to now. And yet he hadn't known the young master could cook. Dereliction of duty, plain and simple.
He was still berating himself when Roy called him in to serve the rice.
Food is meant to be shared. A cook's happiest moment is watching others devour what you poured your heart into—best if they lick the bowl clean so there's less to wash.
Roy didn't mind eating with Gotoh, but the young butler—steeped in hierarchy—refused to sit. He filled the bowl, then folded his hands and stepped back behind Roy.
Roy wasn't surprised and let it go—pity, though, to miss a rare chance to taste cuisine from another world. All the more for him.
What he didn't expect was—
A gust blew, and someone walked in, beat him to the chopsticks, and popped a bite of tomato-and-egg into his mouth.
Roy frowned, looked up—his pupils tightened. He stood at once and bowed.
"Great-Grandfather."
~~~
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