Even loyal subjects must choose their objects of loyalty.
Tsubone had dedicated her entire life to the Zoldycks. She'd served from Zeno to Silva to the yet-unborn Killua—always the true heirs or prospective heirs of the Zoldyck family.
That day, she didn't think she'd done anything wrong. On the contrary, she'd always fought for Silva's interests.
When a father was too proud to humble himself and ask his own son for guidance, such matters could only be handled by servants like them.
Now it was no longer necessary. Since Young Master Roy dared pierce the camera with one strike, yet Master Silva showed no reaction—even seeming somewhat "delighted"...
Next, it was time for her to change her attitude.
Tsubone left the bedroom carrying the sword. Near evening, sunlight streaming through the corridor's glass windows no longer felt as scorching as midday.
Being a butler wasn't easy work. It required grinding away with flesh and blood. Daily duties included caring for the master's life and training recovery, reading expressions, and when necessary, providing emotional value.
Throughout the entire Zoldyck household, there weren't many people Tsubone acknowledged. Gotoh was one of them.
In the corridor leading to the warehouse, the old butler and the young man she acknowledged had an unexpected encounter today.
The former was heading to the warehouse to oil a katana. The latter held Yukigakure in his arms, also heading to the warehouse to oil his katana.
Katanas were inherently both hard and fragile. They required regular application of blade oil to prevent the steel from oxidizing when exposed to air, which would cause rust.
Ironically, normally such weapons would be left unattended in the warehouse. Now this place was about to become frequently visited by the two most renowned butlers in the Zoldyck household.
It was 5:49 in the evening. Gotoh had already finished oiling Yukigakure and emerged from the warehouse.
Just as he stepped out, he saw Tsubone approaching with a katana in her arms. He nodded to her, slightly shifted to one side, and walked directly past her.
"I thought you would hate me," Tsubone suddenly spoke.
Gotoh stopped in his tracks.
The old butler didn't turn around. "I thought that having embarrassed your master, you would do something about it. I've been waiting for you these past few days."
The principle of considering the master when beating the dog applied equally in reverse within the Zoldyck family.
When he'd heard the young master was required to provide a reason, Gotoh had been furious that day. Despite his eye pain, he'd wanted to confront Tsubone for an explanation.
But after calming down, he gently touched Yukigakure in his arms. After two seconds of silence, he said firmly, "I chose to trust the young master."
"Just as he was willing to trust me, I have always and will always stand by his side. I'll never cause him any trouble."
"His hair isn't silver," Tsubone was equally silent for two seconds before turning her head to remind Gotoh. "So he's destined never to become the family head."
"So what?" The young butler pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and gave Tsubone a mocking look in return. "At least—the young master treats me as a human being."
With that, he ignored Tsubone completely. He didn't care what she thought either.
He stepped toward the kitchen. 'The young master said he wanted to cook something himself tonight. Good heavens, I don't know what this master is thinking. Is that a place for you to be?'
Gotoh hurried along worriedly. Moments later, he reached the kitchen and peered inside.
Roy tied an apron around his waist and gripped the spatula like an old friend. Muscle memory kicked in as he surveyed his prep work.
Minced scallions, ginger, and garlic waited in neat piles. Tomatoes glistened beside beaten eggs, while blanched eggplant sat next to ground meat and starch slurry.
Tonight's menu was simple—dishes that had never failed him in his previous life. Tomato scrambled eggs and minced meat with eggplant. Comfort food that could soothe homesickness.
Ten years. Had it really been that long since he'd last cooked? His fingers flexed around the spatula's handle, testing whether the skills were still there.
Now he could only follow his heart, soothe his nostalgic cravings, and improve the meals for the Kamado family's children. Steeling himself, he raised the spatula and performed actions that Zeno, Silva, Illumi, and even great-great-grandfather Maha would never attempt.
Tossing the wok and stir-frying!
"Whoosh~" Flames leaped from the stove.
Several cooks whom Roy had expelled curiously peered through the doorway, craning their necks to look inside. The sun must have risen in the west today—someone had also seen a mouse rushing to pay respects to a cat.
Otherwise, there was no explaining the bizarre sight of the Zoldyck family's eldest son appearing in the kitchen and strongly insisting on cooking himself!
He hadn't even let his personal butler Gotoh come in to assist. He handled the ladle, tossed the wok, and controlled the heat all by himself.
Bit by bit, he regained his previous cooking instincts. He progressed from awkward to skilled to effortless mastery, gradually entering an optimal state.
Finally, with Roy's graceful final flourish of the ladle, two home-cooked dishes emerged from the wok one after the other.
"Fragrant... it's a smell I've never encountered before..."
"Look at that color—full and bright yet retaining freshness. It should taste quite good..."
"What are you all talking about? Isn't it obvious the young master's skills are excellent? Whether wielding the ladle or tossing the wok, and that final flourish—those clearly aren't movements a novice could make. In fact, I suspect even those famous Gourmet Hunters might not match the young master's skills..."
The cooks whispered among themselves. Experts recognize expertise, nothing more.
Gotoh, who'd been expelled and was listening to their assessments by the door, was no less surprised than the cooks. He'd genuinely watched Roy grow up and had been with him since swaddling clothes.
The fact that the young master could cook was something he didn't know—what a great dereliction of duty! Gotoh was filled with remorse.
However, Roy didn't give him time for self-reflection, directly calling him in to serve the rice.
Good food needed to be shared. As a chef, the happiest moment was watching others devour the dishes you'd labored to create—preferably licking the bowls clean, saving the washing.
Roy didn't mind eating with Gotoh, but the young butler maintained his lowly status. His class consciousness was rigid; he was unwilling to sit at the table.
Just like today, after serving Roy his rice, he crossed his hands and retreated behind him.
Seeing this, Roy wasn't surprised and didn't concern himself with it. He could only pity him for missing this rare opportunity to taste otherworldly cuisine.
All the better for him.
But what Roy hadn't expected was a gust of wind blowing in.
Someone entered through the doorway ahead of him, taking a chopstick full of tomato scrambled eggs and putting it in his mouth.
Roy frowned and looked up. His pupils contracted, and he quickly stood to bow respectfully.
"Great-great-grandfather."