Clean-Up Squadron continued to run smoothly under Chrollo and Sarasa's direction.
The original creator probably never imagined that in a place the world treated like a trash heap—its dumping ground for all unwanted things—there'd be a bunch of half-grown kids clinging to his work, clawing out a living in Meteor City while squeezing out these tiny scraps of joy.
After Machi came on, Uvogin, Nobunaga, Feitan, Phinks, Franklin and the others followed, taking turns on stage. Pakunoda, still young but already showing her future "assets," rested her chin on her hand in the audience, watching. They sang, they laughed, they threw themselves into the play.
And as the host, Chrollo sometimes caught himself thinking—
If only everyone could stay like this forever.
"Hey—! Damn it, old man, you hit too hard!" Uvogin took a slash from Nobunaga and immediately suspected the bastard of holding a grudge and getting payback on stage. He stopped acting his "bear monster" role and almost started brawling with Nobunaga again.
"What did you call me?"
"Old man. Got a problem?"
"I'm only one year older than you!"
"One year older is still older!"
"Hit him—go on, hit him hard! Uvo, smack him! Nobunaga—damn, this guy's dirty, he went for the crotch!"
Chaos. The nice little "play" degenerated into a scuffle, but the kids in the pews were even more hyped up, shouting and egging them on. The hall was bedlam, and they loved it.
"Hohoho…"
In the corridor by the window, an old priest stood watching.
He smiled as he took in the scene, a veiled young woman in gauzy clothes standing at his side.
"Renko, look how good this is…"
These kids were overflowing with that reckless, pounding energy of youth. Not like him—old bones, two steps and he was already short of breath, time clearly running out.
The young woman's eyes were cool. She didn't respond to that, choosing instead to bring up something else entirely. "There's another crew of slavers in from 'outside' recently."
Through the glass, Renko watched Uvogin "bear-rub the tree," pinning Nobunaga to the floor, and said evenly, "We'll see how many of these children are still here by the time they're done."
"Trash." "Weapons." "Corpses." "Abandoned babies."
That was the real Meteor City under all this—cruelty in raw red.
The priest let out a quiet sigh. "Respect other people's fates. Let go of your savior complex."
"All we can do is offer them a small stage. Beyond that, who knows how far any of them will go?"
Life is long. Whether you die early or late, in the end you're just a scoop of dirt.
"Just like Kikyō. Did your teacher ever imagine she'd end up living the way she does now?"
"That woman…" A flicker of emotion rippled through Renko's cold gaze.
She fell silent.
The old priest chuckled to himself. His thoughts drifted, carried on the wind, over mountains and seas, spinning their way to Kukuroo Mountain and landing in a garden.
…
Night. A man with long silver hair down to his waist was walking in the garden with a heavily pregnant woman on his arm. Maybe dinner had been too much; she suddenly sneezed, which made her belly jiggle. It startled her so much she gasped.
"Baby, I'm sorry. That's my fault," she murmured, clutching her stomach and apologizing to the child.
With the due date near, Kikyō's nerves were stretched to the limit. She was far more sensitive than usual.
Silva gently patted her back and soothed her quietly. Over her shoulder he noticed Zeno's old maid, Tsubone, standing under a lamppost, pink pigtails swaying, head bowed, waiting without a word.
Silva said nothing, simply led Kikyō back to their room. Only after some fuss and coaxing her to sleep did he head to the study with the old butler.
"Master, Scarface sent word. Young Master passed the first stage smoothly," Tsubone said, pushing her glasses up. "He managed to stay in the basement for two full hours this afternoon."
Silva pulled out his chair and sat. Fingers interlaced, chin resting on his hands, he didn't answer.
Tsubone opened a folder Scarface Ihle had compiled and slid it across the smooth desk toward him. "It has all of Young Master's clear times for paying respects to Zigg-sama. Please take a look."
Silva stared out into the night beyond the window and waved her off lightly.
Too fast. Far too fast. Even without checking, he knew the numbers: fewer runs than him, fewer than his father Zeno—but in those fewer runs, the boy had already surpassed both of them, clearing the sandworm trial in a fraction of the time.
You don't know how expensive firewood and rice are until you run a household. You don't know how terrifying the sandworm is until you've stood in front of it.
What did that say about his son?
Silva pinched one of his own hair strands, holding it up to the lamplight to see the glint of silver. He stayed silent for a long while, then opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a thin booklet, and tossed it over.
"Give him this."
"Yes, sir." Tsubone accepted it in both hands and left respectfully.
The door closed with a soft creak.
Next time she appeared, she was standing in front of Roy.
Both hands held out the booklet. "Young Master, this is from the Master."
"Dong—" Nine o'clock. The little wooden clock in the corner chimed the hour.
Roy had been hunched over his desk scribbling, planning how to spread his "gospel" in Meteor City. He looked up at Tsubone, took the booklet with a smile, and said, "Get some rest."
For a moment she froze, those old eyes behind her glasses sharpening in surprise before softening again. She bowed her head and murmured, "Yes, Young Master."
Just as she had with Silva, she pivoted on her heel and backed out, closing the door softly behind her.
Out in the corridor, Tsubone stood facing the door, back to the night, for a long time.
She suddenly remembered something she'd said to Gotoh some days ago—and realized the Young Master truly had changed.
He wasn't twisted away from the family anymore. The distant chill was gone; he cared more, belonged more. It was as if, in a single instant, he'd grown up.
At the very least, the previous him wouldn't have smiled at her or dropped the occasional word of concern.
Old age makes people sentimental.
She rubbed at the corners of her sore eyes, exhaled quietly, and slipped away on soft feet. At the end she turned to look once more through the window, at the boy sitting under the lamp, before leaving him alone in the warm pool of light, opening the booklet his father had given him.
It was small. Thin, too—only a few pages. Roy flipped through and quickly realized: this was part of Silva's own "strategy"—a set of personal notes from his time inside re: Game of the Dead. Sketched maps, event logs, little write-ups on key NPCs.
Then, suddenly, a name he recognized.
Benjamin Frederick. The same "Benjamin" who'd used Frank Becky's corpse as an anchor to descend a projection.
Roy's brows knit—and below it he spotted Silva's evaluation:
[Benjamin Frederick – Member of the "Houseless" Security Knights, honest and brave, someone you can rely on.
Note: "Houseless" is the general name for a territory carved out in the Maotsuki Great Forest by exiles banding together to protect themselves from beasts. The lord, Colin Wilson, is extremely powerful, suspected Transformation type.
Recommendation: Start with "Houseless." Try to pass the knight selection, join the security corps, and stabilize there before venturing deeper into the Dark Continent.
Attached: Map of "Houseless" and surrounding famed beast territories…]
Roy saw Silva had even circled Benjamin's name in red.
So that was it.
Silva, Zeno, even Grandpa Maha probably still believed re: Game of the Dead was just a training sim—Zigg's nen ability wrapped around a Dark Continent-themed dungeon, built for their descendants to hone themselves in.
Maybe, years ago, it was exactly because Maha would sniff out something off that Zigg had locked him out via a Vow and Constraint. Partly to stop Maha from seeking revenge and going too far, partly out of a twisted sense of protection for the Zoldyck family.
Unfortunately…
People change.
The man Silva once trusted to fight beside him, the knight he'd marked as "honest and reliable," had ended up the priest-turned-butchering-quisling Roy had just watched through Frank's memories.
Roy didn't know what had happened between "then" and "now." But after learning this, he felt only a bitter irony.
Zigg had written: the world of humans belongs to humans, and the world of beasts to beasts. He'd never added:
Humans can lose their minds and fall into the beast's path.
Roy thought of little Mary. He thought of that thunder lance. His chest felt heavy and sour, every emotion tangled together.
Outside, the wind stirred; the curtains rustled and lifted a little.
He leaned back in his chair, about to force out a breath and let it go when a prompt chimed in his mind—
[Faith +1]
Source: Rengoku Kyojuro
Note: "Flow with the times; move when the moment moves." Your follower Rengoku Kyojuro's fate has shifted. He sincerely thanks you for saving his alcoholic father and guiding him back onto the right path.
Roy: "..."
A laugh slipped out of him. The knot in his chest loosened, just a little.
Yeah. Time rushed by like a startled horse's shadow. People changed along with it—bodies, hearts, the very angles they used to look at the world.
There would be men like Benjamin who sank, and men like Rengoku Shinjuro who—because their son wouldn't give up on them—climbed back out.
And me? Roy thought. What I have to do next is simple: shine warm sunlight into their hearts and guide them upward.
His lips curved. With his mind made up, the world felt wider.
He shut the booklet and the memoir both, turned off the lamp, and went to sleep.
"Sssnrrk~"
Soft snoring rose and fell in the cool night.
...
Demon Slayer World
Since the day he parted ways with Roy and spoke heart-to-heart with him, Rengoku Kyojuro—flame-patterned haori over his shoulders, sword at his hip—had made a quiet decision.
Before he headed out on the mission he'd taken, he went home to see his father Shinjuro and his little brother Senjuro.
This time, he'd finally decided to do something that had been lodged in his chest for a long, long while—
Draw his sword against his father.
~~~
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