"The child's yours," Roy answered plainly.
Zigg flicked a glance at the boy's thick black hair and split a flying plank with a hand-blade.
"Kid, my son wasn't this green. Your Ren is sloppy."
Emitters excel at Ren and Hatsu—especially a monster like Zeno whose single "Dragon Meteor Shower" could blanket all of East Gorteau.
Vmm…
Under the sandworm's Ren, Roy's Nen shell wobbled like a soap bubble on the verge of popping.
Zigg was right—he was about to break. 1:10—that was his ceiling…
"Idiot—this isn't how you use Ren.
"Where the hit comes from, you raise that side. Throwing a whole dome over yourself sounds clever, but it's the biggest waste of Nen there is."
Too late—a beast carcass slammed into him. The world went black; the link snapped. He opened his eyes—back in the cognitive sea, as expected.
Sand underfoot, endless sea at his side. He rolled onto his back and chewed on Zigg's words. They sounded familiar. He turned them over until it clicked—
Nen morphology.
Nen can be stretched or compressed. You can shape it as a film over objects—that's Ten. So you can also flatten a sphere into a plane—improve utilization by imagination.
Thoughtful, Roy rose and pushed through the Dark Continent door again.
"Get down!" The shout came. This time he hit the dirt but didn't rush to blow every node. He focused, drove aura from the soles up—knees, belly, chest, neck—crown—and jetted it forward into a single Nen shield.
Compared to a shell, a shield ditches three sides to brace one. Utilization and density—dramatically better.
Ten seconds… thirty… one minute… ninety seconds…
Zigg glanced over. "Not bad, kid. You get it."
A step beyond 1:10—finally, progress.
Roy felt the load lighten a shade; he smiled. "All your teaching."
Time to pull Great-Grandfather's notebook from the drawer before it mildews.
"Don't get cocky. The big one's coming." Zigg's shield was thick and wide—an iron-gray slab ringing like steel as it took the storm.
At his warning, Roy looked forward—
"ROAR!" Sky and earth flipped. A tail smashed the landing craft, the sky-towering sandworm lunged. Its ground-hugging gale and Ren spiked another tier.
On his shield it was simple—
the panel he'd just condensed was shaking apart again, cracks spidering.
He gritted his teeth and poured on aura. Zigg, behind his "iron shield," seemed to bear it easily.
"Why's your shield so thick? What's the trick?"
No shame in asking.
"Twenty years," Zigg said. "That's the trick."
All stats and sweat.
Roy went quiet. The shield shattered—and a broken mast caught him and flung him away.
Darkness closed. With the last flicker of consciousness he thought:
Sweat… you can't 'insight' your way to that…
This time he lasted 1:40.
Then in and out he went—Dark Continent, cognition—seven more loops. Max 1:45. He cut the link and, worn thin, came back to reality.
Clack… clack… The airtight door sealed behind him. The corridor's damp air kissed his face.
He dragged a breath, crouched, plucked a chrysanthemum petal, and chewed it—bitter juice snapping mind and body back in line. He stood and left the basement.
By eight the sky was long dark. Overcast made the night heavy.
Gotoh lit a few candles on the table—soft light for a calmer meal.
He was thoughtful. Roy ate well.
He forked a cutlet, flipped Zigg's notebook for entries on Ren, and let the food smooth him out. After a bit he looked up. "Gotoh—show me your Ren."
"Eh?" The young butler was wiping candle drips. He straightened and said crisply, "Okay."
Vmm…
A milky shell flared, wrapping him head to toe. Roy studied: color and shape were like his—worlds off from Zigg's. A flick of disappointment—hidden, as any killer would. "That's enough."
He was already thinking of getting Gotoh a Water Breathing track.
Family is family—you don't spoil Kastro and forget Gotoh.
He finished, lay down with his clothes still on. Gotoh tidied, blew out the candles. The dark kept him company.
Under that quiet, Roy measured the ceiling with his eyes and turned over ways to harden Ren until sleep washed over him.
The drop—the prism tunnel—and the familiar sea.
He didn't linger. He pushed the Demon Slayer door. Makomo's bright eyes filled his view.
"Hey~ I noticed something—Rōichirō's growing fast!" She measured her height, then his—he'd shot up in just months—envy in her eyes.
"What's odd about that?" Shinsuke dangled a leg from the beam. "At that age—eat, grow—normal."
"Then why are you so short?" Fukuda said.
Bullseye—straight to the sore spot—
A gust of yin wind; the bickering started again.
Sabito only shook his head and fixed on Roy. He saw the boy rise from the warm bed—taller now. "That's a genius—strong in every way. Like the 'Stone Hashira' Giyu spoke of… Himejima Gyōmei."
"Pah—Rōichirō isn't a monk," Makomo huffed.
"I didn't say he was."
"That's what you meant."
"I did not…"
Their squabble colored the stormy morning.
Roy glanced toward the kitchen. Urokodaki was alone at the pot—his back a little bleak. His dearest disciples hovered at his side, yet he bore his solitude in silence.
"Master—the year is nearly here. I'm going home a few days."
But…
Before that, I have a gift for you, he added silently, eyes flicking to Sabito and Makomo.
~~~
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