When too much authority concentrates in one person, maladies follow.
1. The organization grows slow to adapt—unable to respond quickly to a changing world. Information and problems arrive late or distorted, leading to bad calls.
2. With little oversight, concentrated power invites corruption—and abuse.
Netero had begun to see the cracks. In recent years he'd mulled building a new bench—bringing in the best Hunters across fields to help run the Association. Of course…
…it was not because he was bored and wanted a few sparring partners for his downtime. Absolutely not.
Whummm… The airship chewed the wind, easing toward the venue…
…
At dusk, aboard the Kaijinmaru bound for Dolle Island:
The sea mirrored the afterglow, glazed and glittering. As on the night before, Kuraging pushed the cart to the bow to bring Roy his meal.
She'd learned—kept her mouth shut, didn't snatch chores, and let Gotoh serve Roy. A cold tickle at her neck made her flinch. She glanced at Gotoh—he was focused on shelling shrimp for Roy, no time to glare at her. She rolled her shoulders and scanned around…
Nothing. Just nerves?
She didn't see, when she looked away, a plank shadow darken and the deck pop—nor the nail-pinned face poking out, staring, expressionless.
A woman… alive… who is she?
Illumi hooked his fingers into the planks; a leak of killing intent slid from his hollow eyes.
Roy's gaze flicked across. The boy's head snapped back down, and he vanished below…
"Young master?"
"It's fine."
Roy drew his eyes in, accepted the shrimp Gotoh had peeled, and spoke without looking up. "A task for you."
"Name it, young master."
"Open her Nen."
"Who?"
A chill ran down Gotoh's back. He turned—Roy lifted his chin toward Kuraging. Gotoh's body locked up.
"Don't overthink it.
"If Kastro can't be 'ridden,' pick someone who can."
Affinity is innate—Enhancement is Enhancement; Conjuration is Conjuration. Forcing it would only waste Kastro's gifts…
"Yes." Gotoh narrowed his eyes at Kuraging. "Done before we dock."
The girl started, swallowing hard.
That night, beneath a zenith moon, Gotoh began lecturing her on Nen.
Roy folded his legs, set the cane blade across his knees, and slept like a monk—mind blank, listening to the surge of the sea on the Kaijinmaru—and slipped into dreams.
He passed the prismatic tunnel to his familiar sea and pushed open Demon Slayer's door.
The drop—he blinked awake into a kitchen where someone new stood beside Urokodaki, helping. He paused, rolled off the futon.
"Awake… the porridge is almost ready." Fish congee simmered; Urokodaki was slicing pickled radish, speaking without turning.
The other who turned was—Tomioka Giyu's cool, spare face.
"Tomioka Giyu," he said.
"Kamado Rōichirō," Roy answered.
A cold wind walked between them, lifting both forelocks…
"Rōichirō," Urokodaki said. "Take your Giyu-nii to see your seniors."
Giyu's cool eyes flickered. A hand settled on his shoulder—and warmth climbed his arm and spread up into his eyes.
Then he saw it—the fox-faced boy lifted off the mask, smiling. "Giyu."
Giyu's body shook. He crossed the room in two steps and pulled Sabito into a hug, burying his face at his shoulder, greedy for the scent.
How many years? In the dead of night, he'd always see his brother's face.
It was Sabito who comforted him after his sister died…
Sabito who pushed him on when he was too tired to practice…
Sabito who, when he'd been scolded by Master, spoke words to shield him…
And Sabito who, on Fujikasane, shielded him and died in a demon's belly…
All these years Giyu had done nothing but regret. If only he'd been stronger, maybe his brother wouldn't have died. Maybe the juniors wouldn't have fallen in turn…
He clutched Sabito tight. He had so much to say—but when he opened his mouth, only a choked, "Brother… I missed you," came out.
Plip. The tear passed through Sabito's soul and spattered the floor.
Shinsuke, on the beam, went glass-eyed and grabbed Fukuda, howling; Fukuda booted him off.
"Cry somewhere else! I swear you're using me for a snot rag—"
"You two!" Makomo wiped her eyes and shot them a glare—nearly laughed, curse them. If Sabito saw, how embarrassing would that be…
She shot into the kitchen to hide.
Roy watched quietly—just as he had when he sent Minamino Hirochi home—standing by, letting the surge of feeling hammer the room, deepening his grasp of Nen.
After a time—
At the brazier table, master and two students sat.
As at New Year, Urokodaki took bowls and chopsticks from the cupboard and set them all around.
This time not just Sabito, Makomo, Shinsuke and Fukuda—there was Giyu as well…
"Master, this is the first time in years everyone's been together," Makomo said, nestled at his side, eyes bright.
Sabito and Giyu exchanged a look—and then Urokodaki sighed.
The day he "took" a blow from Roy and set aside the tengu mask, he'd often wondered if he would live to sit like this—to eat something simple and talk nonsense. Now—
Dream made real.
He lifted his bowl and, from across the table, held it toward Roy. "To Rōichirō."
Sabito smiled. "To Rōichirō."
He raised his bowl; his hand passed through it; he didn't mind.
Then Makomo… Shinsuke… Fukuda… Watanabe… Shimizu…
All eyes turned; one by one:
"To Rōichirō."
Giyu raised his bowl last, looked at Roy with care, and said, "Thank you, Rōichirō."
Roy laughed easy and lifted his own. "To all of you."
He tipped it back; the congee went down in one go.
"Careful—it's hot." Makomo rolled her eyes. Only a boy with a body like his could drink like that. Look at Giyu-nii—small sips—much more prudent than a certain someone.
Sabito set his bowl down, still smiling. "Don't worry—he's the man who can heat a blade red."
The words were barely out when—
Clack!
Giyu's bowl fell from his hands and rattled on the bed.
The Water Hashira had no time for dignity—he whipped to Sabito. "Brother—what did you say?"
He looked to Roy—face set, graver than ever.
~~~
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