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Chapter 57 - Chapter 57: Bisky

"Sir, your dinner's here~"

The sweet voice at the door made Roy frown. He stayed silent.

He hadn't ordered anything, and if Gotoh hadn't reported it, he wouldn't have either—too cautious for that. Which left one possibility—

An uninvited guest.

Ding-dong… The bell again, the girl repeating herself.

Mid-upgrade, his track suit couldn't contain him. Rrrip— The fabric tore into strips, half-hiding the hard, handsome lines beneath.

"Leave it at the door." He gritted through the pain and reached for the cane blade.

If whoever-it-was made one wrong move, he'd cut without hesitation.

Silence. Then the server chirped, "Okay!" and footsteps faded away.

"Whew." He exhaled and pushed on. A minute later, he stood and caught his "new" self in the full-length mirror: a hair taller, broader; black hair regrown, glossy in the sunset.

"Good."

The pain was bearable; the change subtle enough not to spook anyone. He'd keep to the "three points a day" plan.

Gurururu…

A fresh body needs fuel. His stomach growled.

Dinner sat just outside, aroma teasing through the door crack.

He had no intention of touching it. He called Gotoh—bring more food. Then he slipped into Zetsu, padded to the door in Shadow Step, checked the peephole—empty hall. He cracked the door for air—

"Waa~ what a handsome little shota!"

The squeal came from above; twin gold ponytails crashed the door wide and the girl dove for him—

In: Zetsu's advanced form—casting Hatsu without notice; she'd hung translucent aura from the ceiling.

Bisky swung down, eyes blazing like bulbs—nearly blinding him.

Careless… Even fresh from a breakthrough, a "girl" tackle like that pinned him—wrists seized, body locked.

"Ehehe…" Bisky stared and drooled. Full modesty is boring; full nude loses mystique; this half-torn, half-hidden tease was perfect.

So strong—I can't move at all! Roy snapped, "So this is Shingen-ryu hospitality?"

"Master, cut it out," Wing entered, apologetic smile, pulling Bisky off him. He pushed up his glasses and offered a hand. "Long time, Roy. Sorry for the prank—please don't mind."

"Not much of a prank." A voice from the hall; Gotoh with two bulging bags. He scowled, shrugged a new jacket onto Roy, and stepped forward to stand between them.

Barely thirty minutes gone and the young master's clothes were in tatters—his failure as a valet.

Milk-white aura burst from Gotoh, anger staining it red, flooding toward Wing—

Strong Ren, Wing thought. His fringe fluttered; he took a step back—and felt a small hand stop him.

Bisky dropped the fangirl act, pulled a pitiful face. "Maa, maa—no fighting. 'A loyal butler doting on his young master' is very shippable, but be kind to the girl, ne?"

Old hag, playing young again! Roy touched Gotoh's shoulder—stand down—and ignored Bisky. He stepped up, cool eyes on Wing. "You invited. I came.

"Jokes aside—cover the travel. Not a cent short."

"Of course." Wing didn't dither. He handed over a card. "Two million inside; PIN is XXXXXXX."

About ¥120,000—enough to wine and dine a month at Heavens Arena. Sincere enough.

Roy flipped the card to Gotoh and gave him a long look. "See them out."

Cold-faced, Gotoh pointed at the door. "This way."

Wing offered another apology-smile and pushed Bisky into the hall. Door 1991 shut hard.

They strolled the corridor in silence until the breeze stirred Wing's fringe. He finally said, "You were right, Master. The Zoldycks don't raise mediocrities.

"That butler… feels strong.

"I can't beat him."

Honest boy, honest words. Bisky worried one day Wing would be sold and smile all the way—Shingen-ryu picks for character first.

Twin tails swinging, the veteran said, "Don't sell yourself short.

"Your apparent aura is lower than his—but your potential is higher."

Apparent aura is what a Nen user has developed and can control. Potential is the total—developed and undeveloped. More potential, higher ceiling—barring Vows & Conditions.

"And Roy?" Wing pushed his glasses, glancing at Bisky. "You insisted I 'borrow' him—now you see why."

"I do." Bisky inhaled. "He's a freak."

"?"

She knit her brow, unwilling to elaborate. But her gut screamed:

Just now, Roy's potential spiked—years of growth compressed into a minute. He caught up to other people's years of grind in sixty seconds.

Calling him a "freak" was being kind.

~~~

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