Three seasoned vets plus Kastro… Gotoh went out to confirm the challenges and returned with the official match card.
"Per your instructions, your bout with Harrison is scheduled after Wing's fight."
"'Gunsaint' Guy rolls to the next day. I pulled Harrison's file—cruel by nature, loves torturing opponents. Before Heavens Arena he freelanced under a Hunter license as muscle for a mob—then raped and murdered the boss's daughter and got put on the dark web's wanted list."
A licensed Hunter?
One cut… two… three. The cane blade stopped at the tip of Gotoh's nose.
Roy had just run through Sun Breathing. He took the towel from the young butler and wiped the blade.
[Notice: Physique +0.2]
Without looking up: "And the last one?"
"'Ninja' Masaru Kikuta—not in the same class as Harrison and Guy." Gotoh, remembering the long-haired youth they'd seen at the front desk, adjusted his glasses and warned: "You refused Kastro again. He won't take that well—likely to stir trouble."
"Best to kill him," Gotoh said flatly.
Roy finished wiping, lined his eyes with the tip, admired the "new" edge glittering under the light, and said, noncommittal: "You're late."
Ding-dong… The bell.
Gotoh frowned, pulled the door open—Kastro's clean face.
"Why won't you accept my challenge?"
"Why should I?"
Roy didn't even look at him—just turned the cane blade in his hands, building rapport with it.
Hua narrowed his eyes. "Afraid I'll beat you?"
Roy snorted and flicked him a glance. Gotoh took one step forward, towering over him—and let his killing intent pour out without disguise.
BOOM!
Killing intent—malice layered over Ren—crashed down.
A storm of Nen slammed into place.
Hua's pupils pinched; for a heartbeat he was falling straight into hell. Every instinct screamed—
Can't win—run—don't run, die!
His legs wouldn't obey. He managed one stumbling step back and fell on his ass in the corridor.
"Huff… huff…" He gasped for air—then heard, from the rival he'd sworn to surpass, a voice drift out:
"Fools are fearless. Now you should understand."
Bang. The door shut.
"You" and "I" were now two worlds apart.
Hua sat there, legs sprawled, a long time before he got up and slunk away. The corridor light stretched his shadow thin and long. When he was gone for sure, Gotoh tilted his head. "Young master, you're too kind. Simpler to kill him."
Killing solves most problems—but not all. Roy slid the blade home; in his hand it was just a plain cane again. Sun-and-mountain earrings at his ears, he looked calmly at Gotoh. "If we draw the sword just to stop a pest, how are we different from your Harrison?"
Gotoh is loyal—everything weighed against Roy's interest. He wouldn't factor in "conscience" or "morals." That was his master's job.
"I'm hungry. Prep dinner."
Four p.m.—time to add points.
He sent Gotoh off under cover of hunger, opened his panel, stripped down, and slipped into the shower.
A muffled grunt—the change began. A minute later he stepped out—taller than yesterday, features cut a touch sharper.
When Gotoh returned with the cart, Roy ate well and recovered. Next day Wing brought tickets personally; Roy took his seat and waited for the show.
Huh—this kid's aura just spiked again? A master watches from the floor when his student takes the stage. Bisky, sharp-eyed, spotted Roy at once—or rather, she'd told Wing to buy adjacent seats. She plopped down beside him.
"Evening, handsome." Twin tails swished. The "girl" nodded to Gotoh's icy stare, then leaned in, beaming: "Roy-chan, have you eaten?
"Onee-san brought candy—want one?" She fished out lollipops, clamped one between her lips, and pushed another at Roy.
Seeing him not refuse, she kicked her heels and grinned.
The ring announcer strutted out; ten thousand people surged with her, heat rising.
Caught in it, Roy found himself amused.
"You look happy," Bisky said, peeking at him.
He smiled and ignored her.
When Wing and Maurice entered and the place hit fever pitch, Roy drummed two fingers on the armrest, enjoying himself.
Bisky blinked, then said, "Showing joy on your face—like that, you'll never be a proper assassin."
Roy didn't bristle. Watching Wing roll up his sleeves, he said dryly, "I just don't like to pretend."
"That's not pretending—it's deception," she sniffed. "Yes—deception!"
"Whatever." He wasn't going to argue. The old lady's moon had likely stopped ages ago. Let her be happy—it wasn't his business.
"The match… begins!" the announcer howled—
And the fight opened.
Wing and Maurice moved at once; Nen-wrapped fists and palms clapped and broke—one clean exchange and separation.
A simple probe. Wing, an Enhancer, versus Maurice, a Transmuter—with ten years' age between them, and they both slid back three meters. Bisky does know how to build a student.
"Heh-heh…" She kicked her legs and shot Roy a look—See? My pupil. As Wing landed a straight and a whip kick, taking the edge, her twin tails nearly flew off; she pumped a tiny fist at Roy. "Behold—the power of the heart!"
Shingen-ryu—heart first. By raw strength, Wing couldn't match the taller, heavier Maurice.
But Maurice kept falling back.
Roy thought of Netero—
A prayer with every punch…
"Ah—so that's it," he said aloud, "hold boundless gratitude for the art that raised you—repay it with all you have."
Bisky froze, mid-preen.