"Master Zeno accepted a Public Security Bureau bounty—he's heading to the neighboring Mimbo Republic to deal with a terrorist called 'Clown.'"
"Tsubone will drive him to the airport and handle his day-to-day while he's away."
At 4:30 a.m., fresh from a shower, Roy sat at the table chewing a beef burger while Gotoh briefed the day. This time Roy had specifically asked for well-done.
"The chef who made the medium one has been fired; please don't worry, young master." Gotoh continued: "I booked our tickets the day before yesterday. Today we'll see Dr. Bennett at the Provincial General Hospital in the city, then we can airship to Heavens Arena."
"Tell me about this 'Clown,'" Roy cut in, suddenly recalling someone—good at growing apples, clownish getup, just without the red nose.
"He killed a whole ship of people!"
"What ship?"
"A pirate ship ride at an amusement park…" Gotoh pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up and said gravely, "Per the Mimbo PSB, nearly two hundred people died because of him. It even made TV. You can look it up."
If that many died and it didn't make TV, Roy thought, then the top brass in Mimbo are blacker than crows.
"What else?"
"Besides us, the Hunter Association is watching it."
"Not surprising." Roy washed down the last bite with milk and dabbed his mouth. "Terrorists should be handled by terrorists. If the PSB pays, of course they can hire others."
The Association is a famously force-forward outfit; even Porter White's anti-terror unit isn't for show. None of that concerned them now…
"Pack it up—let's go." He drained the milk and stood.
Tickets, hotel, toiletries—Gotoh had it all. Roy could travel light: he reached for Yubashiri on the rack—
"Young master, airport restrictions—no bladed weapons." Gotoh reminded, passing over the item he'd prepared in advance: a wooden cane.
Roy eyed him, drew the cane—and out slid a hidden blade.
"Don't underestimate it," Gotoh said quickly. "It's solid ironwood—hard as steel—and not on the airport's banned list."
Policy up top, workaround below?
Roy tested the Shikomizue—heavier than Yubashiri; black flame patterns along the blade. Good enough in a pinch.
Zing—
He sheathed it back to an ordinary cane and took it in hand. With Gotoh trailing two suitcases, they crossed the quiet gallery toward the main doors—and Roy stopped.
Luke stood with hands folded over his stomach, clearly waiting a while. He bowed. "The master says—training doesn't stop just because you travel. What you skip these next days, you'll make up when you return."
"How?"
"Double."
"Oh."
Roy walked past him. Luke bowed deeper, sneaking a glance as the boy stepped through the door and looked back toward the second floor—
There, at the vast window, a broad-shouldered man stood bare-chested, silver hair down his back, idly turning a glass of red, staring down in silence…
From behind him a slender hand slid over his chest and down; the man's body visibly stiffened, the wine stilled…
"Tch…"
Busy. Everyone's busy. Good—let them be.
"Gotoh, let's go." Roy turned away and left without a backward cloud.
Gotoh hurried after. Passing the garden they saw a head under a parasol, sleeping peacefully—
then heard it speak:
"Two minutes fifteen seconds. I passed too." Illumi opened his eyes.
"Congrats," Roy said without turning, leaving only a not-so-broad back and a steady stride.
Gotoh, a suitcase in each hand, gave Illumi a small nod and followed. Master and valet vanished into the Kukuroo green.
All of Kukuroo Mountain is Zoldyck land; only the sun above—and the sunlight blocked by the parasol—aren't theirs.
Illumi watched Roy go, seeing clearly that his aura was that same cold gray: keeps people a thousand miles away, cares and doesn't care, habitually distant.
"Next time—when you get back—I won't get shocked out."
Roy's silhouette disappeared; Illumi closed his eyes again.
Over the wall in the dim little room, the old man drifted back to sleep and mumbled, "Time to eat crap for a few days…" Rolled over and farted. The older you get, the looser the… well.
Ten minutes later Zebro returned from the toilet to find Roy and Gotoh at the Testing Gate. He hustled, flexing a proud bicep. "No need to strain, young master—I'll open it for you."
"No." Roy tossed the cane-blade to Gotoh, rolled up his sleeves, stepped up and pressed—one leaf… two… three…
The gate yawned to three doors; the fourth shivered a hair and held tight.
Four doors—32 tons of force, roughly seventy grown men; in "Physique," +70. Long road ahead…
He stepped back without frustration—he'd expected as much—exhaled, took the cane, and walked on.
A black sedan idled at the gate; a red tour bus sat a hundred meters from the perimeter. In front of it, people with long lenses were shooting the Testing Gate.
Then the doors slid open and out walked a handsome boy, a tall butler with bags in tow—everyone froze.
Someone shouted, "That's the Zoldyck heir!"
A burst of flash hit him; Roy squinted.
"Gotoh, your timing might be… sub-optimal?"
"Apologies, young master." Gotoh waved the driver to open up, seated Roy, stowed the luggage, and climbed in.
"They're just commoners besotted with your looks…
"If you're displeased, I can kill them all right now."
No need to shout "kill" every five minutes. Roy sank into the plush backrest, lazy. "Forget it—it isn't the first time.
"Pick a few who post my photos online and sell them—teach them a proper lesson."
"Yes." A shard of ice flashed in Gotoh's eyes.
The young master is too kind to bother. Those pests dared list his photos for ten thousand jeni—so cheap it's an insult to Gotoh. They'll be taught properly.