"Heard you went to see that Kastro?"
November 17, overcast—autumn into winter, the air turning colder. Luck, too, seemed to dip.
In the corridor to the training hall, Roy walked in the morning light with Yubashiri at his hip; beside him, hands in pockets, wore the eternal dead-fish face of Illumi.
The Zoldyck brothers took opposite sides of the hall, never touching—two parallel lines that never meet.
"What's it to you?"
"It is," Illumi said flatly, glancing over. "He isn't worth your effort."
Roy kept walking, eyes only forward. "Are you?"
Illumi—
Words failed. He watched Roy's back sink into the dawn, then chased after with a muffled grunt. "If you can push the fourth door, so can I."
In any case—don't think you can shake me.
He added the thought silently; a few steps on, he slipped into Silent Gait, not only catching up but slipping ahead to shove open the training-hall door first.
He tipped his chin. "I went in first."
Childish…
Roy stepped in behind him, brushed past without a glance, and looked ahead—Luke was already waiting. No baton this time; instead, two vials.
A full lethal dose neurotoxin (LD50) and a sublethal (LC50)…
"The master said keep the shocks, but add poison resistance," Luke said, sliding the LD vial toward Roy and the sublethal toward Illumi. "Young masters, please."
Illumi flashed forward, snatched the LD vial—and downed it in one go.
He wiped his mouth, glared at Roy—eyes rolled up—and fell like a board.
"I'm not weaker than you," Roy could almost hear in his head.
"Young Master Illumi!"
Luke paled and grabbed him. In moments the foolish otōto's skin was visibly turning purple.
"What is this—Young Master Roy, you'll bear witness—it was Young Master Illumi who acted!"
"There's a camera in the corner. Someone's watching," Roy said calmly.
Sure enough—
Bzzt— The camera's red LED blinked. Within three minutes, two more vials arrived: another LD toxin and one antidote.
The poison went into Roy's mouth; the antidote into Illumi's.
Luke calmed, checked Illumi's breath—ragged to steady—and a few minutes later the boy opened his eyes. He exhaled in relief.
"Young master, that was reckless," Luke muttered, bracing Illumi to prop him comfortably.
Illumi just stared, hollow-eyed, at Roy—eyes closed, digesting the poison. The elder brother leaned on Yubashiri, standing straight—and looking far better off.
"Bury me," he rasped. November's mountain wind had turned knife-cold, cutting through the hall. He needed the earth's comfort.
Luke obeyed—back in the pit, only Illumi's head showed—and he grudgingly shut his eyes toward the training hall.
Inside, Roy savored the numbness and pain chewing through him. After the first adjustment, shiiing—Yubashiri came free, and Sun Breathing began.
Luke had barely settled Illumi when he turned and saw that—and for the first time truly felt his lot was bitter. "You mustn't move, young master—you'll spread the toxin faster," he pleaded.
But—the more it spreads, the more numb, the deeper the pain—the more he trained.
"An enemy won't let you go because you've been poisoned."
Dance… Clear Blue Sky… Raging Sun… Fire Wheel… At the last cut—Sun Halo Dragon Head Dance—flame roared in an arc. The boy tilted the blade at the camera and smiled without sound. "Am I right, Father?"
Upstairs, since Kikyo's pregnancy, Silva's tea had been swapped back to wine.
He swirled his glass and met the boy's eyes through the monitor. His mouth twitched; he called Tsubone. "Double it."
Good—spirited. That only means the dose is too light. "I don't want him standing."
Tsubone: "Then I'll have him lying."
Minutes later, a heavier dose arrived at the training hall.
By afternoon, when pale sun sifted through the bare willow twigs into the garden, Roy stirred awake—Illumi's eyes opened too.
"I thought you were supposed to be impressive," Illumi said evenly.
Roy said nothing.
Luke, who'd kept vigil, served as his voice and told the foolish otōto: the eldest had downed three lethal-dose vials in a row.
Then he went down.
"…"
Illumi tucked his head back under the soil.
Fresh earth didn't smell of Milluki. Rumor was the kid had started poison training and hadn't left the toilet since. Roy's limbs tingled back to life; he clawed out of the pit, shook off dirt, and turned away.
Tap… tap… His footsteps faded. Illumi finally let his head rise and stared after Roy's retreating back. Sunlight cast it as a long slanting shadow. He watched, and couldn't bring himself to blink.
…
"Young master."
"Young master."
At Grandpa Zigg's "brain repository," as always, a boy arrived.
His face was calm. He nodded lightly to Scarface and One-Eye at the door. They bowed and opened the steel door.
A deep, lonely passage stretched ahead. Roy stepped in—then paused, turned back. "Tell Grandpa Zigg—thank you. And thank you both for all these years."
His tone was earnest. "If I can, I'll tell him what you've done."
The two traded a look, then pressed right hands to chests and dropped to one knee. "It would be our honor.
"Please do tell the master the house is well."
Roy stood silent a moment—the line "Whose kid are you?" flitting through his mind. He drew a breath. "I will."
He went on—
Past the neatly kept chrysanthemums at the airtight door; past the writhing tentacle; past the kindly eye—then blackness, and into the Game of the Dead…
"Get down!" Before the familiar shout finished, experience took over—at the very first syllable he dropped flat, fired Ren, and raised the Nen shell—meeting the sandworm's Ren and the debris it hurled skyward.
Ten seconds. Thirty. Fifty. One minute. And at one minute five, a silver-haired hedgehog head popped into view, peering at him. "Whose kid are you, and how'd you get on my boat?"