Urokodaki nodded—asked nothing, said nothing more.
Only: "Let's eat something good today."
He went to the cellar and brought back a wild boar leg.
Smoked, a boar leg keeps well; sliced thin it's perfect for hot pot or sukiyaki. Too bad the mountain cabin had no skillet; otherwise a stir-fry of smoked pork with foraged greens would've been divine.
Gurururu…
The pot bubbled on the brazier. Master and disciple sat facing one another, eating quietly… ringed by a circle of greedy little ghosts.
Slurp— Makomo squatted by Urokodaki's side, watching him savor bite after measured bite; drool betrayed her…
"It smells so good, Sabito—think of something, I want some."
We know it's good—you don't have to chant it every time. Sabito spread his hands. Without bodies, they were helpless.
"Master's playing favorites, if you ask me," Shinsuke muttered from the beam, legs dangling. He shot Roy a jealous glance. "Rōichirō says he wants a day off and Master not only agrees, he makes him something special—afraid he'll sneak home and not come back?"
What "overbearing father"?
When honest Tanjiro was here he'd almost spilled the whole family drawer. Because Tanjuro's frail and often ill, the Kamado brothers sell charcoal. And now… Rōichirō wants to "fight" his father?
What—afraid he won't die fast enough?
"You're just jealous," Fukuda sneered, not bothering to hide it. "Let him go home. He's still a kid—it's normal to be homesick."
"I didn't say don't go. I said that excuse is ridiculous.
"Even if he said it plain, no one would mind. Who hasn't missed home?"
"I don't have a home," Sabito said suddenly. "This is my home."
"Mine too," Makomo added. "I was adopted."
"Same here…"
"And me…"
"Me as well…"
Roy ate in silence and listened—glancing across the table.
Urokodaki focused on his food as if nothing else existed.
Only after did he brew tea, hand Roy a cup, and ask, "Do you have confidence?"
Steam fogged the air…
Roy rolled the cup between his hands, grave, and for a time said nothing—no firm answer. There's no such thing as a sure pass—especially not when his father is the one delivering the test.
"Seems your father's no small matter," Urokodaki sighed, unsurprised. "As it should be—there are no 'born geniuses' in this world. Only strong fathers who raise strong sons."
"Aren't you curious, Master?" Roy didn't comment further. He sipped and gave Urokodaki a meaningful look. "You must have heard our family situation from Tanjiro… Aren't you worried I might slip—and kill my sick father?"
"Will you?"
"No."
"Then what's to worry?" Urokodaki stood, hands clasped behind him, and gazed out on the endless white. "People lie. A blade does not. Your practice sword has told me everything you say is true—
"about the fight, and about your overbearing father."
He turned back, hope in his eyes. "Square your shoulders, Rōichirō.
"Even if it's your father—treat him as the enemy and defeat him fair and square."
"I will." Roy drained the cup.
The next morning he rose with that promise.
Dong— four a.m., the clock chimed.
He stroked Yubashiri on the pillow, pulled on a tank and shorts, and ran.
4:20—run; 4:25—stretch; 4:30—shower; then sit for breakfast, unhurried.
"Knowing today's your test, the kitchen made a strawberry shortcake—wishing you victory."
Sandwich, milk, salad—and cake. "Gotoh—you're thoughtful."
"Your kindness, young master—it's our duty." Hand to chest, Gotoh bowed.
Roy nodded and accepted the goodwill—no crumbs left behind. He wiped his mouth, took up Yubashiri, and strode out.
Sun blazed—the morning painted his shadow long. Passing the dim little room, Roy paused and bowed.
The old man rocked to cartoons, pretending not to notice. After Roy left, he rolled over and grumbled toward the corner, "What're you gawking at—get over here and pound my back."
A shadow wriggled—Zeno stepped out. Sixty, seventy years old—and still summoned like a grandson.
His face didn't show a hint of displeasure. He strolled behind Maha and began to work his shoulders. "Heard the kitchen say you won't eat breakfast, Grandfather, so I came to check."
"Won't kill me…" the old man snapped. "You raised a hell of a son—up all night, what, tearing the house down?
"That wife of his squeals louder than a sow—why not get a boar to stud her!"
Crude Enhancer meathead… Zeno suddenly recalled the way Grandfather once described Netero stealing his father, and found it fit Grandfather himself here…
He covered with a straight face. "You know there's been no result. Silva and Kikyo are anxious."
"Anxious—so he runs off? I ain't deaf or blind. Looks weak to me." Maha drummed the armrest and drawled, "Why not give Roy the head of house? The kid's diligent, grounded—looks better than the two of you."
A few dishes and you're smitten?
"You're joking. Let him get past Silva first," Zeno said, glancing out the window. Down a gallery, the boy walked with Yubashiri, sun-and-mountain earrings swaying…
Ten meters from the training hall, he stopped.
Bzzmm… Killing intent thickened the air, almost bending space.
He tightened his grip on the blade and "measured" through the door—inside…
A man lounged like a king on a stone pedestal, idly playing with a soft whip, chin propped on a hand—looking over with lazy interest. His overwhelming Ren surged and eddied, nearly blowing hollow-eyed Illumi, arms folded against the wall, off his feet.
The foolish otōto stabbed a hand-blade into the wall and hooked a finger to keep from sliding down. Then—
the door swung open—
and Roy stood there, calm as a lake.
~~~
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