Kite slipped into Zetsu, damped his aura, and shadowed Roy quietly.
Ging had once told him: "A good Hunter is naturally liked by animals."
After learning Nen, he realized that was a gift for blending into nature—and the technical term was Zetsu.
A top Hunter like Ging, if he wished to hide, could make himself utterly undetectable.
Kite hadn't practiced long enough to be that perfect, but he wasn't bad. Keeping his distance and using cover—trees, poles, signs, rocks—he figured he could tail the two just fine. As they headed into the trees, he slowed, ready to pull back—when the boy with the cane suddenly stopped, and—
—a pressure dropped out of nowhere, buckling his knees and nearly planting his face in the dirt.
[Magnetism]
Roy turned, cane blade braced, and pressed out with one hand. It felt like a boulder had slammed onto Kite's crown; his joints creaked and he was forced to flare Nen.
"A roulette spins in my mouth, numbers one to nine—what comes up, I become."
"That's me—the Crazy Slots. Roll lucky!"
A green pointy hat, red nose, white gloves held to his cheeks, a square mouth clenched around a numbered ball—the clown popped out with a "fwoop" and immediately groused, "Oof—heavy!"
"Brat, who'd you piss off now?"
"What's with this squashing force trying to pancake me?"
"Shut up." Kite opened his nodes and threw up Ten, muscling through the pressure to stay upright. One hand ready to draw, eyes steady on Roy, he said, "I don't mean harm."
The boy breathed in. "I just want to make sure it's safe—for you to leave."
"That's not 'seeing off'." Roy's face didn't change; beside him, Gotoh's was black.
They'd been tailed—and the young master had to point it out. The butler burned with shame and anger. Coins slipped to his fingers, primed and aimed at Kite.
"Don't sugarcoat it as 'tailing'. I clocked your eyes in the tavern—they were wrong!"
Sneaking glances is one thing—but daring to follow? Gotoh tilted his head for permission. "Young master—perhaps we should just kill him."
A film of aura wrapped each coin; a finger-flick and they'd fly—
The air seemed to thicken.
Roy raised a palm—easy, don't overreact—then brought it down harder. Kite felt a second boulder drop onto his spine; he bent, scrambling to draw—
—and then a pull hit. The clown vanished—into Roy's hand. One grab brought Slots up short; the cane blade stood in the earth, unbudging…
Bereft of his anchor,
Kite's mind opened a seam; he couldn't hold it and sank down—crack… crack… The ground spiderwebbed from him and formed a shallow pit. Measured footsteps approached.
He raised his head from the hole, cap rolling off—ragged and breathless.
"I don't want to be your enemy—you are too dangerous," he repeated.
"And?" Roy stepped into view, set the cap on his head again, and, with a wash of Nen, pinned the clown—fingertips testing the texture. Solid—a real object.
He looked at Kite calmly. "You have your reasons. I have my methods.
"If you choose to tail me, be ready to be caught. If I discipline you—even with Ging here—he'd find no fault."
Kite's head snapped up, shocked. "You know Ging-san?!"
He'd never told anyone about his tie to Ging—how did this kid know?
And what was his Nen? Pressure was one thing—what was this pull?
A flood of thoughts, one "Ging" on his tongue—Kite's mind spun.
Roy didn't answer. He let the clown go—let it whine for a spin—lifted his hand to cancel the pressure, straightened, and turned away.
"Nothing new under the sun. Be glad you're not a bad person."
"Let's go." He caught the cane blade, and in a blink was gone, never looking back.
Gotoh spared Kite a cold glance. "Count yourself lucky."
He turned and followed.
A mountain wind came. Kite clawed out of the pit, stared after them a long time—dazed.
A mysterious boy. Terrifying strength…
Ging-san was right—this world is small enough, and big enough.
"I need to grow—and fast!"
After a long moment, he tugged the brim down, dismissed the clown, and left…
January 4th—three days until the Exam.
Leaving Mito's tavern, Roy dove into the woods, snapped a branch for a rod, found a lake, and began to fish.
He sat cross-legged on a big green stone, Zigg's notebook on his knees, the page on "hookless fishing" weighted with a pebble. Nearby, Gotoh stacked kindling and built a fire to grill the catch.
"You know that guy, young master?"
Master… Ging… Kite's reaction hadn't escaped Gotoh's sharp eye.
He snuck a look at Roy's back. A strange feeling pricked him—like the young master could know the world without leaving his room.
More like a "god" or "seer" some tribes consecrated.
"Not 'know'—just know of him…" Roy didn't elaborate. Seeing Kite here had surprised him—but on reflection it made sense. As Ging's nominal only named disciple, if Kite came to sit the Exam, not paying respects at Ging's home would be the odd thing.
At the rod's tip, aura beaded—hinting it might, under its own weight, spin into a line. Roy kept working the Nen line—tightening its feel.
A day or two passed; the small island buzzed more and more…
Here and there, familiar silhouettes appeared about town:
the bald head; the snake handler; the mummy; the bow boy; the Kurta girl in ethnic dress; the blond dandy in a suit with two bodyguards slurping noodles at a stall; and…
a stiff-faced weirdo with thick nails pounded into his cheeks whose every step creaked.