"Why do you ask?"
Zeno's gaze was cool as mist. He angled his head toward the boy. "What did you see in the illusion?"
Illusory truth, or true illusion?
With the "life energy" from Sajin, Gul'dan, and Daso sitting plainly on his panel, Roy kept quiet a beat, then answered straight: "Orcmen."
"And?"
"Wraiths." Roy had no tidy way to explain "life energy," so he reached for wraiths as a cover. Hands resting on the rail, he looked out across the glittering river. "I keep feeling those things were real, not merely a recorded memory."
When the sham becomes real, the real looks sham; there is and isn't, in the same place the mind calls 'none.'
The world is matter—and void. Like dark matter: no electromagnetic body, no interactions, untouchable, unobservable—yet mass and gravity prove it exists. Already beyond the old definition of "substance."
"Your great-grandfather says he's 'living dead,' but I doubt he's dead at all—still alive, in his way."
Zeno didn't bring up the curse. Hands behind his back, he watched a skiff ferry a father and son across the water. The man guided tiny hands with a dip net; remembrance flickered in the old eyes.
"That 'demon eye' at home—you've seen it. Its structure is simple, not as lively as a human brain… but," he said softly, "carrying your great-grandfather Zigg's memories, it's alive enough."
"Saying he's alive isn't wrong."
Roy frowned. "With Great-Grandfather and Grandfather both there back then—you still couldn't stop Great-great-grandfather from… changing?"
"He never came back. How do you stop that?"
…?
No—that contradicts the "canon" version: Netero's first expedition to the Dark Continent, hired by the Mimbo Republic to find the legendary Trinity Elixir south of Lake Möbius; they blundered into the Gaseous Lifeform Ai's domain and almost got wiped.
Only thanks to Grandfather Zigg wishing on one mysterious Ai did they live and got sent home. The price birthed Nanika; without Zigg as "carrier," Ai wouldn't have left its domain to dwell in the Zoldyck bloodline; Alluka wouldn't be born. If Zeno says "he didn't come back," that's different.
"It was a Nen beast," Zeno said, reading Roy's doubt.
"'Biscuit Soldier'—your great-grandfather Zigg once collected it as a game card, then cultivated it into a Nen beast."
"It was the one that carried the Demon Eye and Zigg's last words home."
He paused, faced Roy squarely. "After you go back, visit Zigg more often. Everything you want to know is there."
Roy said nothing. Side by side they watched the wind ruffle the water, the sun drop and the sky burn red. At length he nodded.
"Grandfather—you played the game too."
"Mhm."
"Clear it?"
"No."
"How far?"
"Dragon, the Giant King's City," Zeno said, regret in his voice. "I had the honor of seeing giants with Zigg. Shame—looked away for one second and a stray dog kicked me to death…"
"Uh—"
"Go on, laugh," Zeno grumbled.
"I'm not laughing. I just… that's a lot," Roy said, lips pressed thin.
The golden crow cocked its head—then "pfft'd" behind a wing.
"…"
Zeno jabbed a finger, mock-angry. "Frog in a well, boy—you don't know how big the world is. On that side, never mind a dog—an ant can kill you."
That Roy believed. One "Strongest Human" detonated himself into a nuclear sun just to blow away an Ant King. Enough said.
Roy patted the bird's tufted crown—be nicer to Grandpa—and nodded. "Lesson taken. I'll do as Great-grandfather says: even if you kill me, I'm never going to a place like that."
Zeno just stared. He didn't need to say, You expect me to believe you?
Roy rubbed his nose and smiled lamely, then excused himself—tests tomorrow. He slipped off.
Sunset chased the boy's back, draping him in a mantle of haze.
When he was gone, Netero drifted up beside Zeno, sleeves billowing. "Enough watching. I know you want to go—but sorry… not our ship, not our era."
"In the end, it's on the young."
"Am I old?" Zeno shot back. "Did you forget I'm thirty years younger than you?"
"How about a little warm-up?" Netero's eyes slivered; a volleyball rolled from his sleeve into his palm.
Wind tugged the eight characters over Zeno's chest—A Kill A Day, Never Retire. He hadn't "worked" today. Why not try his blade on this old goat?
His hidden hand dropped.
"Warm-up, then."
Bang.
The hotel door swung shut.
Roy parted from Zeno, sent Kuraging back to her own room, told Gotoh to hold the hall.
He opened his panel and began to absorb the 40 life-energy from Sajin and Gul'dan.
With "Constitution" up, his tolerance rose too—in pain, in load. He handled the burn better than back in Heaven's Arena where he'd had to sip energy bit by bit.
He stripped to the waist and stepped into the bathroom.
The little gold crow wanted none of it—last time he'd made it bathe. Wings flapping wildly, it refused to go in. Roy set it on the bed.
Alone, he started to add points.
As the prompts rolled—40 life-energy bled to 0.
The familiar pain rose; Roy braced both hands on tile, bit his lip to keep from blacking out.
It felt like being thrown into a furnace and remade.
He could see changes: heart first, then liver, spleen, lungs; bone; vessels; muscle; skin—hair shedding and regrowing…
He opened his mouth, blew out a long turbid breath, lifted his head.
The mirror showed no huge change in frame, though he'd tacked on about two centimeters of height.
[Constitution: 131.8 → 171.8 (note: 1 = average human)
Visible Aura: D (270/10,000) → D+ (3,600/10,000)
(scale vs. Chimera Ants: E = soldier ant; D = elite squad; C = squadron leader; B- = Royal Guard level; B+ = King)
Potential Aura: D (430/10,000) → C- (12,000/100,000)
Evaluation: A thriving apple sapling, ready to fruit.]
He fogged the glass with another exhale. Power geysered through him; the mental deficit snapped full. He rolled his shoulders—crack-crack-crack—new joints popping like frying beans, cheering his new skin.
For a heartbeat he thought: if he met the Orc Warlord again, he might not win—but he'd last longer than a few exchanges. Not a one-hammer paste, at least.
Shh— The shower hissed alive. Oil and fallen hair still clung to him; he reached back to flip his hair and step in.
His eyes dipped to his hand—and froze.
There on the back of his hand, smooth skin now bore a mark.
A round sigil—etched with digits.
Counting down.