[Name: Roy Zoldyck]
[Physique: 23.75 (Note: Average human = 1)]
[Remaining Life Energy: 31]
Night.
Neon lights painted the city as traffic roared below.
After adding his new attribute points, Roy sat at the dining table in a bathrobe, eating dinner. Wutong, having returned from the airport with Huaishi Dourou's ticket, stood by his side.
Tonight's meal was baked mini lobsters with cheese, a whole roast chicken with thin bread, and a liter bottle of fresh milk on the table.
Huaishi had been sent back to his room; they'd regroup in the morning for their flight.
As Wutong packed their luggage, he spoke between tasks. "Since Harrison's death, no one's dared to challenge you, Young Master. The airship tickets are booked for ten tomorrow morning. I've arranged a driver, and Luke's men retrieved our luggage from the airport."
He adjusted his glasses. "Also, we ran into Master Illumi at the terminal. The way he looked at Huaishi was… wrong. I suspect—"
"The test has just begun."
Roy cut him off, calmly slicing chicken with knife and fork. "Leave it. Consider it Huaishi's first trial as a trainee butler."
Many dream of entering the Zoldyck household. Without hardship, how could one earn respect with only words and kneeling?
"Yes." Wutong swallowed his concern and continued. "The family called earlier, asking when you'll return. I've reported your date."
He hesitated, watching Roy's face. "Luke said he'll be waiting in the training hall to welcome you home."
"Welcome me with a stun baton, huh?"
Roy remembered how Luke blocked the door the day he left, relaying orders from someone above. He tore off a chunk of juicy breast meat and chewed slowly.
"Tell him to get one with higher voltage. A million volts—too weak otherwise."
The butler's brow twitched. Was the Young Master picking a fight with the Patriarch?
He forced a reply. "Yes, sir."
Then called Luke.
"I can't decide that!" Luke protested, panicking.
He felt caught between two guillotines—no way out. Finally, he passed the problem up to Silva.
Under the full moon, Silva opened his door, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Kikyo slept behind him, her pale leg dangling from the bed.
Luke bowed deeply and relayed Wutong's full report.
Through the glass corridor, Silva stared into the dark woods, silent.
Luke bowed lower, sweat running down his back.
"How long has he been gone?" Silva finally asked.
"Four days, sir. Five by tomorrow."
"Five days…" Silva paused. "Do as he said."
"Yes, Master." Luke withdrew.
The door closed. A slender hand traced down Silva's chest.
"Who was it?" Kikyo murmured lazily.
Silva said nothing. He turned, pressed her against the door, and drove forward.
That night, the quiet manor trembled.
Elsewhere, in a dim little room, old Maha rocked in his chair watching cartoons. He tapped the armrest in rhythm, smiling.
"Half an hour longer than last time. Good. Stronger."
Age softens all things. A family survives only through continuity.
Many sons meant longevity. Not like Zeno, not like Zigg, and certainly not like himself, who'd only had one child. Silva had done well.
He thought of Milluki, of Illumi, and of the polite boy who always greeted him in passing.
It had been days since he'd tasted that boy's cooking.
"Mmm… when's Roy coming back? Ah yes… tomorrow. Tomorrow's a good day…"
His muttering faded into a gentle snore.
"Master, tomorrow's forecast looks perfect. You should rest early."
Late that night, Wutong finished packing and turned off the lights, lying down on the sofa.
One floor below, a boy sat curled up in the dark bathtub, eyes hollow, watching the ninth room across the hall—waiting for its lights to go out.
In Room 9, Huaishi had just finished a call with his master. He began tidying his luggage, then hesitated, glancing upstairs. Should he say goodnight to his Young Master?
The answer came as soft breathing through the ceiling—Roy's even snores, hands folded across his abdomen.
Hiss—aaah...
A swirl of colors appeared underfoot.
Roy stepped through the tunnel into the familiar sea. Through deep sleep, he rolled up his pants and walked the shore of his consciousness, as always. After lingering a while by the waves, he pushed open the Demon Slayer Gate.
The familiar fall came—then darkness faded.
When he opened his eyes, the girl's bright eyes were nowhere to be seen. He rose, puzzled, scanning around.
Makomo was in the kitchen, crouched beside Urokodaki Sakonji as he cleaned a fresh river fish.
"Fish for breakfast," Urokodaki said without turning. The knife moved rhythmically, slicing sashimi. Makomo's mouth watered.
"Master spoils Sabito too much," she pouted. "Up at midnight, fishing for him. I'm jealous, Sabito!"
The fox-masked boy leaned on a pillar and sighed. "Geniuses earn genius treatment. If we'd reached Reonichiro's level while alive, Master would've fished for us too."
"Hehe, secret—he caught fish for me once!" Makomo teased, tugging at her eyelid.
Sabito froze mid-breath, glaring in disbelief, when he noticed Roy approaching.
Roy leaned on the same pillar, quietly watching Urokodaki work before finally asking, "Master, where is your limit?"
Biscuit's lessons had reminded him of Netero's tale: ten thousand punches a day, compressed to an hour. Excluding prayers, that meant a hundred thousand strikes daily. A human taken to the absolute edge.
Urokodaki's ears twitched, but he didn't reply.
Roy smiled faintly. "I just want to know—how deep does swordsmanship truly go?"
This time, Urokodaki turned, meeting his eyes seriously. He held a plate of freshly sliced sashimi.
"There is no deepest," he said. "Only deeper."
T/n:
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