"I want to learn Ren too!"
On November 23rd, night—Silva and Zeno had just returned from a job. Worried about waking Kikyo, Silva had a bucket of hot water drawn in his small training room for a quick soak to wash off the road-weariness.
This time the hit was in the Kakin Empire—complicated lineage, tangled roots, water deeper than deep.
When the royal family and the mafia form a "state–gang fusion" and run the nation together—even someone long inured to blood and death like Silva had to admit: compared to them, his clan was clean enough to leave no handhold.
He thought of Roy and Illumi—wary of them stepping wrong. His relaxed hands hung over the tub rim, silver hair floating on the surface… then his gaze sharpened, sliding to the window—
A chalk-white face slid down the eaves, hollow eyes staring in through the glass, and said:
Silva: "…"
The corner of his mouth lifted; his voice went cold. "You want to take me down too?"
Illumi's face didn't change. It felt like ants crawling on his heart—
itching out of his control—
Black hair falling like a ghost's veil, he rasped, "I'll kill Roy first, then you."
"Heh…"
Silva ducked his head; his shoulders shook.
Then he looked up, aura snapping into a bullet at his fingertip. A flick, a crack of glass—and Illumi was blasted off the wall.
Even asking for instruction needs a time and place, you little bastard.
A father's anger spread…
Night—along with all the cringing—fell dead quiet.
Meanwhile—
On the north side of the first floor, in a medium-sized sunlit bedroom, wavering lamplight outlined a figure bent over a desk, studying hard.
Zigg's words had hit home for Roy: "Ask your heart" wasn't the problem; finding a worthy reference for visualization wasn't the problem; the problem lay in proving it through action.
With his current Nen, he simply couldn't endure the sun's burn…
In minutes he'd burn out—no endurance for a long fight.
Under the lamp, the boy frowned, thinking.
Three notebooks lay open: Silva's, Zigg's, and—Bisky's…
Roy had even folded Shingen-ryu into his reference set, cross-checking them all, hunting a fix.
At last he had two causes—
1. His aura wasn't up to standard—quantity or quality.
2. His understanding of the sun was too shallow—he could only manifest "heat… scorch" into reality, not the deeper aspects: "nurturing all things," "moving the tides"…
"Young master, milk—rest a little."
It was 11 p.m. After days without sleep, Gotoh watched with a pang and brought a hot glass to warm him.
Roy rubbed his eyes, yielded, drank, rolled his neck, and chatted a bit. "Any parts you don't understand? We can work through them."
Gotoh had been copying and reading for days.
Choosing his words, he said, "To be honest, I've had an idea."
"Oh?" Roy looked up, surprised. "Let's hear it."
"Yes," Gotoh pushed up his glasses, remembering the other night—the stars pricking the sky, and a single meteor streaking and gone…
He smiled at Roy. "I set a Vow & Condition yesterday—if you're ever in danger, I trigger a self-destruct: burn out a hundredfold Ren in an instant to force my output up and make up for lack of talent. I believe it could help."
Burn life for a flash of brilliance…
"You—" Roy stared, speechless.
Gotoh grinned, a flash of white teeth. "No need to dig in the dust for me later, young master. I'll turn to ash on my own."
Silence blanketed the mountain. The curtain whispered in the draft…
Gotoh fell quiet.
Roy slumped in his chair, stunned, then waved him off. "Go."
"Yes." He gathered the cup, left the castle, and walked toward the butlers' villa on the slope—careful as always not to wake anyone. He never knew that behind him, a gaze followed him all the way until he slipped through the garden into the trees and was gone.
Roy kept watching—moving from desk to corridor window. The moon was high; near midnight, its brightest moment. Free of Gotoh's eyes, he raised his head—just in time to see a meteor's long tail, weaving through the constellations, blooming against the sky—admiring itself alone…
He drew a deep breath and let it out. Nice idea, he thought—but…
"I won't let you."
A cold gust cut through.
Roy broke his gaze, rubbed his face, forced the alertness back, and returned to study.
One day, two, three… Between consulting Father Silva and Great-Grandfather Maha, Roy gradually found a path—
If quantity of Nen is lacking, keep raising Physique and aura capacity.
If quality is lacking, use Zigg's methods—"hookless fishing"—twist aura into hook and line by imagination—master morphology further.
As for… the sun being too shallow…
Roy thought of Sun Breathing, of Yoriichi, of Total Concentration… He closed the notebook, killed the lamp, and dove for the bed.
First inherit Yoriichi's understanding of the sun—completely.
That night, in the castle: a hollow-eyed boy curled in a floor-pit, licking his wounds alone… an old man rocking, happy with his cartoons… a silver-maned man tucked in the woman, smoothed her belly until she sighed and threw her arms around his neck…
Near dawn—the moon dipping—Roy finally fell hard asleep, crossed the prism tunnel, and entered his sea.
Blue to the horizon—he stripped and sprinted into the water, swimming until the clutter washed clean. Back on shore, he glanced at the locked Dark Continent door, then pushed open the Demon Slayer door.
That drop—
When he opened his eyes, he saw himself reflected in Makomo's bright irises. Counting the days—New Year's in two; he'd go home tomorrow. Then…
Today, he'd give the gift he'd chosen long ago—to Master.
His gaze slid past Makomo to Sabito, to Shinsuke, to Fukuda, to the cluster of senpais. He rolled off the warm bed and rose.
~~~
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