The ones who appeared were the girl he raped and the Nen users Harrison tortured to death…
Roy understood. As Grandfather Zeno said, the wrongly killed carry heavy malice. The girl wasn't even a Nen user, yet among them her figure was the most solid.
This is the power of hatred. Roy lifted his right foot and crushed Harrison's skull. Without Nen reinforcement, diamond turns to mud.
The girl and the Nen users bowed to him, then straightened, took one last lingering look at the world, and dissolved into fireflies of light that flowed into Roy.
"What was that?" Wing asked, baffled, turning to Bisky.
The old woman said nothing, her gaze fixed on Roy as she sank into thought.
[Notice: Life Energy +10]
Less than expected—perhaps that's the difference between a fugitive and a terrorist; the latter's harm is far greater.
Roy felt it was too little—unsatisfying, even irritating. He rested his cane blade on his shoulder, planted a foot on Harrison, and swept a cold gaze over the stands…
"Gunsaint" and "Ninja" dropped their heads at once, pretending to see nothing.
"Trash," Gotoh sneered.
"You—!" Guy and Kikuta flared with anger—then felt the seats under them grow hot, and bolted, tails between their legs.
"Wing-chan, ninety days may not be enough," Bisky said, chin in hand.
Wing pushed up his glasses. "Then we'll add another ninety."
His mindset was good; he smiled. "A wise man knows the times. Whenever Master says fight, I fight."
"Good boy." Bisky ruffled his hair and winked. "I won't send you up there just to get beaten for free."
"Iro… Iro…" With the "bettors" storming out, the chant for Roy swelled again. He watched Guy and Kikuta leave, then flicked a glance toward a shadowed corner—
Two boys stood side by side—one calm, one jaw clenched. When he looked their way, both turned their backs and disappeared into the crowd…
Yes—it was time to go.
Roy drew back his gaze. Under the lights and ten thousand eyes, he stepped off the ring.
Wing stood from Roy's seat when he reached him. "Congratulations."
Roy paused, looked at him calmly. No time like the present. "You can challenge now."
Wing cleared his throat—but Bisky cut in: "Hey, Roy-chan, how about joining Shingen-ryu under me?
"You know—our Master is humanity's strongest."
"No." Roy thought of the dream under the willow—of Netero's sorry escape over Zigg—and decided. If he "changed factions" and the old man took it badly… he might get killed.
He wouldn't bet on that.
"What a pity. Who knows when we'll meet again." Bisky squeezed out two tears and flung her arms to hug him—
Roy palmed her face mid-dive; she pawed the air, kicking.
He had no patience for her antics. "We're leaving," he told Gotoh.
He let go and walked out. Killing Harrison meant he qualified for 200F; 1991 was no longer his. He'd move once the Arena assigned him a new room.
Tap… tap… Master and valet strolled the corridor. Nearing their door, they stopped. An unexpected—and yet entirely expected—figure stood there.
"Please take me as your student!" Thump. Kastro knelt at Gotoh's feet and slammed his forehead to the floor—smooth as if practiced a hundred times.
Gotoh visibly stiffened and glanced at Roy. "Young master, we should just kill him after all."
Roy said nothing—leaving it to him.
The young butler looked again, then raised a brow, hooked Kastro's chin with his toe, and asked with disdain, "Can you transform?"
The young master said he wanted someone no worse than Tsubone—someone who can fly, run, jump, and swim.
"?"
Kastro was utterly lost.
After a long beat he stammered, "How does a person transform… like that rubber man, Maurice?"
He stole a glance at Roy and nodded hard. "I can—if you teach me, I'll do it!"
Preferably into a tank—one shot to blow you away, he added silently.
"Young master?"
"Your call."
As an Enhancer, was Kastro doomed to "training the wrong type"?
Roy walked past the boy, amused. At least one thing was certain—once you enter the Zoldycks, dying won't come so easy…
Click. The door opened; Roy went in first.
Seeing that, Gotoh lowered his foot and followed, tossing over his shoulder, "Start as an intern butler."
"Yes!" Kastro clenched his fist, rose, exhaled, and stepped inside.
Light from the sconces dragged a long, slanted shadow…
At the far corner, a pallid face peeked out. Watching Kastro enter Roy's room, the dead-fish eyes narrowed…
Once the hall was empty, a chunk of plaster came away under his fingers—exposing the concrete beneath.
"Dance… Clear Blue Sky… Raging Sun… Fire Wheel…"
Evening fell. Roy was alone. Gotoh had only booked two seats; now with a tagalong, and worried to leave Kastro to "watch over" Roy alone, he took him to change tickets—and pick up dinner.
It gave Roy time to add points.
He finished a set of Sun Breathing, exhaled, and started to undress—then froze, eyes cutting to the window. He leveled the cane blade in a straight thrust—stopping it at—
Illumi, hanging upside down outside.
Only a pane of glass between blade-tip and nose. In the dying light, Illumi could smell the steel of killing intent.
He stared without a word, then rasped, "Who is he?"
"Who?"
"The one you took in today."
Roy lowered the blade. "Oh—him. Kastro."
"Kill him," Illumi said.
"Give me a reason."
"No reason."
"Then it's none of your damn business." Shff—
Roy yanked the curtain closed and left Illumi outside.
The sunset faded. The foolish otōto hung like a spider in the wind, dangling over a long drop—looking… about… to… crack.