The nerve of this kid!
Is he made of ice? Warm him from outside or in—no effect.
Bisky told herself to breathe and pulled a small notebook from her bosom, sliding it over.
Roy took it, skimmed a page—an old notebook, unlike Great-Grandfather's; this one was carefully bound—downright elegant. Inside were Bisky's training notes from her youth. He shot her a doubtful look. "For the record, I'm not agreeing to become your disciple."
"No need to emphasize it!"
She huffed, twin tails flicking as she turned away. "Just treat it as a freebie from me."
If that's how it is… Roy glanced at Gotoh. "Go downstairs and buy Bisky-sama breakfast. Make it… hearty."
"Yes." Gotoh eyed Bisky once, then headed out.
The old lady pouted. "Who says I want to eat?"
But when Gotoh actually set the tray before her, she flipped faster than a page—wolfing it down with a stunning appetite. Muscle mass means you eat; simple as that.
Between mouthfuls she still lectured Roy: "Good thing you've got some sense. On account of old ties with your elders—don't say I didn't look after you. Read it well, learn it well."
Roy turned the pages. "Aren't you worried Wing will mind you teaching me?"
"What would he mind?"
Did this brat think Shingen-ryu was a dime-a-dozen pamphlet?
Bisky shot him a glare. "By the time you actually understand what 'heart' is—it'll be ten years at least."
Roy let it pass and kept reading. The more he read, the more familiar it felt; plenty of the "insights" echoed Buddhist thought. Thinking of Netero's prayer with every punch and how his Hundred-Type Guanyin borrowed the bodhisattva's legend, Roy nodded. "Act with the heart, rejoice and commend—that's not simple at all."
"Good—you know it's hard. Wait…" Bisky froze; half a chicken leg stuck in her throat, then plop—onto the table. Gotoh's brow twitched; he restrained the urge to shove it back in.
"Roy-chan, what did you say?" she stared.
Roy closed the notebook. "That you're right—Shingen-ryu isn't simple."
"The line before that."
"Act with the heart?"
"No—rejoice and commend!" Bisky was rattled. She was sure she'd left that line out on purpose—hoping he'd grasp it himself:
Following your own heart is easy; praising others from the heart is hard.
Why did Netero pray before every punch? Because he knew people are flawed; few truly wish you well. In the end, only the "martial art" he'd practiced his whole life never betrayed him—always urging him forward and feeding back growth.
So he kept "bearing boundless gratitude for the art that raised him and repaying it with all his power."
With that sincerity, he taught her as a kid to admire others' success, to praise sincerely—truly see what in others deserves praise—so you don't twist yourself with jealousy and sink into a dark mire.
"So… did your grandfather teach you that line too?" Bisky recovered, calm again, and finally remembered the chicken leg. Following the "three-second rule," she popped it back in, making Gotoh frown anew.
The meticulous Virgo mentally moved her to "people to avoid at all costs"…
Roy noticed the face and only smiled. As for whether Grandfather told her—Bisky's picture of the Zoldycks was too shallow.
The Zoldycks don't act by "heart"; they act by payment. Pay enough, they'll pinch their noses and kill even if they hate it. And if they regret it later? As his supposedly dead Grandfather Zigg said—if you're not happy, kill the client. Simple.
Looks like I guessed right. Seeing Roy neither confirm nor deny, Bisky relaxed and kept eating.
Soon she slumped back with a full little belly…
"When are you leaving?"
Breakfast was good, just a bit dry. She waggled a hand for Gotoh—more water—and tossed Roy a look.
Roy pushed back his chair and stood. "Now."
"Not staying a few days?"
"No. Father's waiting to beat me. Can't disappoint him, can I?"
He flashed a grin—white teeth glinting.
Last night Luke had called with the man's exact words:
"The baton's ready. Whatever voltage you want—you'll get it. Aura-driven."
Bisky: "…"
Mouth open—no words. As expected of the Zoldycks.
She waved a hand. "Well then—good luck!"
Gotoh set down the water, shot her a reluctant glance, grabbed the bags, and followed Roy out.
In the hall, Wing stood with arms folded, leaning on the wall like a statue. He'd been there a while. As Roy came out he nudged his glasses and smiled. "Sorry my master troubled you."
Trouble?
"I think she enjoyed the food. And… it wasn't my money."
"A-ha… ha." Wing, just as proper as the first day, extended a hand. "Safe travels."
This time Roy didn't hesitate. He took it, gave a nod, and turned away with Gotoh.
Down-light threw a slice of white across the corridor, as if trying to hold him in place…
Wing watched him go, and when Roy rounded the corner called, "Hey—wait for my challenge!"
Roy didn't turn or slow; he raised two fingers and waved back once—and vanished.
"Quit staring—he's gone…" Two minutes later Bisky hopped off the chair, hands behind her back, twin tails bouncing as she skipped up.
Wing drew back his gaze and smiled at his master. "Aren't you… aiding the enemy?"
She popped him on the head. "Idiot. With your master teaching you, what's the problem?"
"Right, right—just a joke." He feigned pain and followed her back to training. At the end he glanced at the now-empty 1991. Next time they met, it would be another place, another day. By then—
time would move on. And who knows how far the other would have grown.
~~~
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