The path of swordsmanship stretches endlessly ahead. Master's fish was delicious, just missing some wasabi.
Roy grabbed his training sword from the wall and headed into the forest to practice, just like always. Sakonji Urokodaki followed behind, carrying a basket of gravel through the wind and snow. He told Roy to wait, then hung the basket from the tip of Roy's sword and tied it on with wire. Without showing any emotion, he simply said, "Practice."
Roy felt the weight dragging down his sword and turned to look. The old man walked away with his hands behind his back, his steps lighter than usual. Was he actually humming to himself?
"Hehe, Master's angry." Makomo covered her mouth, laughing. "That's what he gets for asking so many questions. Master definitely thinks that after just practicing a few days, he's already getting cocky."
"The student may surpass the teacher. Is it possible Eiichiro has already reached Master's limit?" Sabito spoke suddenly, his face hidden beneath the fox mask. The surrounding air instantly froze, like ice.
"Impossible!" Shinsuke rolled down from the birch tree, circling Roy. He had to admit, "That Eiichiro guy is truly a monster, but Master has been practicing swordsmanship for over fifty years. He can't be weaker."
"No one said Master's weaker than him." Fukuda leaned lazily against the trunk, legs dangling. "Sabito meant stamina. Master's old. His stamina definitely isn't at its peak anymore. What's strange about being weaker than young people?"
"Can't you go one day without arguing with me?"
"So what? I'm already dead. You're gonna kill me again?"
"I'll strangle you!"
"Come on! Watch me kick your balls off!"
A cold wind blew as Shinsuke and Fukuda started wrestling again. Makomo ignored them and tugged on Sabito's sleeve. "Hey, what do you think Master's limit is? How many swings?"
Sabito fell silent, gazing toward Eiichiro struggling to swing without spilling gravel. After a long while, he said carefully, "Definitely not as many as Giyu can do now."
When Giyu left the mountain, he could barely handle ordinary demons. Now, five daily sessions of ten thousand basic swings were probably manageable for him.
A piece of gravel slipped out of the basket. Roy frowned, bent down to pick it up, and put it back. He paused to catch his breath, realizing that swinging with weights and keeping the gravel inside was much harder than he thought.
"The steadier the hand, the sharper the blade, the truer the strike, the fewer mistakes."
By evening, Roy returned with sore arms. Sakonji Urokodaki sat on a tree stump in the yard, calmly carving a mask. He said those words without looking up.
Neither asked nor mentioned how many swings had been completed. They ate dinner quietly, then each went to their own corner and lay down on their warm beds.
Night fell. Several sparrows landed on the window eaves, preening their feathers. Roy lay with his hands cushioned behind his head, looking at the beam where Shinsuke curled up, beaten into a swollen mess. Suddenly, he heard Sakonji Urokodaki say, "Eiichiro, don't rush."
Roy hummed in response, then closed his eyes.
Despite the late hour, Makomo arrived, lying sideways beside him again. On the corridor pillar, Sabito stood with arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed in meditation. Occasionally, the cold wind rustled the window paper.
Roy started to feel sleepy. Before he knew it, the snowy world faded away. That familiar falling sensation came over him. When he opened his eyes, Gotoh was already up and going about his morning routine.
"What time?"
"Four o'clock."
"What's happening outside?" Roy stood at the window with his toothbrush, noticing people shouting below. He could faintly hear piercing sirens from downstairs and turned to glance back at Gotoh.
Gotoh prepared breakfast, explaining, "There was a fire. Just as the young master said, Kastro's test has begun."
Flames devoured room 1989, adding heat to the already sweltering summer. Roy finished washing up and put on athletic wear to start his morning run. Gotoh used this time to prepare breakfast. Master and servant each had their tasks, while Kastro frantically fled for his life with Illumi doggedly pursuing him.
'This madman... how did I provoke you? At least tell me! Coming straight to burn the room without a word, and it's not even mine...'
Kastro's hair was singed, and he had a stab wound in his back, spurting blood. He glanced at his watch amid the chaos—four and a half hours until the airport meeting. He steeled himself, then leaped forward, crashing through the glass window. Mid-air, he extended his right hand in a claw shape, gripping the wall and rapidly sliding downward. Soon he disappeared into the chaotic crowd.
Roy jogged past below, glancing up to see Illumi leaning out. Their eyes met. Roy calmly looked away. Illumi stared after him, unblinking, tracking his every movement.
Then he vaulted over, following Kastro down.
"Oh my, look, someone else is jumping!"
The chaotic crowd grew more confused. Firelight flickered as sirens wailed.
Roy kept a steady pace as he ran around Heaven's Arena a few times, getting back to his room just in time for breakfast. When he walked in, he saw his door was open.
A young girl was sitting in his seat at the table, complaining that Gotoh wouldn't give her any food. Roy raised his eyebrows as he walked in.
"Oh, Roy, you're here. I kindly came to say goodbye, and look at him..." Biscuit pointed at Gotoh accusingly. "Won't even give me a sip of porridge."
"Good job," Roy said, patting Gotoh on the shoulder. He pulled out a chair and sat across from Biscuit, ignoring her as he started eating breakfast while Gotoh served him.
Today's breakfast was avocado spread with fried eggs and bacon, plus buttered toast. Not luxurious but nutritionally complete.
Biscuit bristled at Roy's remark but wasn't annoyed. Watching Roy alternate bites of egg and bacon, she swallowed hard. "Share some with me."
Roy didn't share; he just ate faster.
Biscuit glared at him indignantly. "Come on, I paid for it!"
'Anyway, this whole trip's food and entertainment is Wing's treat. But the disciple's money is also my money, right? Very reasonable,' she thought.
Roy was too lazy to bother, devouring the last bite of toast and washing it down with milk before finally glancing at her. He pulled out a napkin to wipe his mouth methodically. "Speak. What is it?"
Biscuit pouted in frustration. "Can't I talk to you without a reason?"
"No."
"..."
Biscuit started ripping off her clothes.