The way of the sword is endless, a pursuit above and below...
Master's fish was delicious—just needed a bit of wasabi.
Roy took his Asadachi from the wall and headed into the forest, beginning his usual sword practice.
Behind him, Urokodaki Sakonji arrived through wind and snow, carrying a basket of stones. He silently hooked the basket to Roy's blade, fixed it with wire, and stated without emotion, "Train."
Roy felt the weight through the blade tip and glanced back.
The old man walked off lighter than usual—maybe even humming a tune?
"Hehe… Master's mad," Makomo giggled behind her hand. "That's what Reonichiro gets for asking too much."
"Master must think he's getting cocky after only a few days of training."
The student need not be lesser than the master. The master need not be wiser than the student.
"Is it possible that Reonichiro has already surpassed Master's limit?"
Sabito's voice emerged from behind the fox mask, still and quiet. The air fell silent, like it froze.
"No way!"
Shinsuke tumbled down from a birch branch and circled Roy.
"Reonichiro might be a freak, but Master's been at this for over fifty years. He's not weaker."
"Who said he was weaker?" Fukuda lounged against a tree, legs dangling. "Sabito meant stamina. Master's old. Of course his energy's not what it used to be. What's strange about that?"
"If you don't argue with me for a day, will you die?"
"Yep. Already did. Want to try killing me again?"
"I'll strangle you—!"
"Come on, I'll kick your ghost nuts in!"
Whoosh. The wind stirred again as Shinsuke and Fukuda brawled.
Makomo ignored them and tugged Sabito's sleeve.
"So, how many swings do you think Master can do at his peak?"
Sabito didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on Roy, who was trying not to let the stones spill from the basket as he swung.
"Definitely less than Giyu now," he finally said.
When Giyu first left the mountain, he could barely fight small demons. Now? With five sets of Manbon Suburi daily, it seemed he'd mastered it.
Clink.
A stone dropped from the basket.
Roy frowned, bent down to pick it up, and resumed swinging.
He paused for a breath, accepting the truth: weighted sword swings—especially with the extra challenge of not letting stones fly out—were far harder than he imagined.
The steadier the hands, the sharper the blade. The straighter the cut, the fewer the flaws.
At dusk, arms sore and heavy, Roy returned to find Urokodaki carving a mask on a tree stump.
He didn't ask how many swings Roy had done. Roy didn't tell him. They simply ate dinner in silence, then lay flat in opposite corners of the room.
Night.
Sparrows perched on the window, preening feathers.
Roy lay with hands behind his head, staring at the rafters.
Shinsuke, now bruised and swollen, was curled up above like a broken puppet.
Then Urokodaki said, "Reonichiro, don't rush."
He gave a soft hum, closed his eyes.
Makomo arrived late and curled beside him.
Sabito leaned against a post, arms crossed, pretending to nap.
The wind brushed against the paper windows now and then.
Sleep took Roy, carrying him from the snowy dreamscape back to reality.
The drop sensation returned.
Eyes opened.
Wutong had already risen and was helping him wash up.
"What time is it?"
"Four."
"What's going on across the way?"
Roy noticed shouting outside the window—and faint sirens below.
He looked out.
Wutong applied balm while explaining, "Fire. Just as you said—Huaishi Dourou's trial has begun."
Flames engulfed Room 1989, adding to the summer heat.
Roy finished washing, changed into his tracksuit, and went for a morning run.
Wutong took the time to prep breakfast.
Each had their task.
Meanwhile, Huaishi was sprinting for his life—Illumi hot on his heels.
"This lunatic… what did I even do to you?! Say something at least! You torched a room—and I didn't even buy that room!"
Huaishi's hair was singed, and a deep wound on his back gushed blood.
He checked the time—four and a half hours till the airport meet-up.
He gritted his teeth, leapt through a glass window, and clawed at the building exterior, sliding down rapidly before vanishing into the chaos below.
Roy jogged past.
He glanced up and saw Illumi peeking over the edge. Their eyes met—Roy simply looked away.
One look.
Two.
Three.
Stupid Ododo watched Roy leave, then vaulted off the building in pursuit.
"God! Look! Someone else just jumped!"
The crowd grew wilder.
Sirens and fire crackled in chorus.
Roy kept a steady pace, circling Heavens Arena a few times, returning precisely at breakfast time.
The room door was ajar.
A girl sat in his seat, complaining loudly that Wutong wouldn't feed her.
"You're here, little Roy," Biscuit whined dramatically. "I came to say goodbye, and look at him—he won't even give me porridge!"
"Well done," Roy said, patting Wutong's shoulder.
He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, ignoring her completely as he began breakfast under Wutong's service.
Today's breakfast: mashed avocado with fried egg and bacon, alongside buttered toast.
Simple, but balanced.
Biscuit pouted. "Share some with me."
Roy didn't. He just ate faster.
"Come on! I paid for this trip!"
She muttered to herself—fine, maybe everything Roy ate and used was covered by Yungu… but that still counted, right?
A disciple's money is the master's money.
Roy didn't care.
He devoured the last piece of toast, washed it down with milk, then finally glanced at her and slowly wiped his mouth.
"Well? What do you want?"
Biscuit puffed her cheeks. "Can't I talk to you for no reason?"
"No."
"…"
Biscuit exploded out of her clothes.
T/n:
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