So infuriating!
Was this boy made of ice? Nothing warmed him, inside or out.
Biscuit forced herself to breathe deeply. She reached into her coat, pulled out a small notebook, and pushed it across the table.
Roy caught it, flipped through it. The cover was well-preserved—elegant, even luxurious. Not like the rough one his great-grandfather had given him.
Inside were notes and reflections—Biscuit's personal insights from her youth.
He looked at her, skeptical. "For the record, I'm not becoming your disciple."
"No need to emphasize that!" Biscuit huffed, flipping her ponytail and turning away. "Just think of it as me being generous."
"Fine then." Roy turned to Wutong. "Go downstairs and buy Lady Biscuit breakfast. Make it rich."
"Yes, sir." Wutong shot Biscuit a glance, then slipped out.
"Who said I wanted food?" she grumbled.
But when Wutong returned with breakfast and set it before her, her mood flipped faster than a page—she devoured it. Her appetite was absurd, fitting for someone with that much muscle mass.
Between bites, she lectured, "You're smart to stay polite. Out of respect for your elders, I'll say this—study those notes carefully."
Roy didn't look up. "Aren't you worried Yungu might mind you teaching me?"
"What could he possibly mind?"
Did this brat really think Shingen-Ryu was some common street technique?
She glared at him. "Even if you grasp what 'Heart' means, it'll take at least ten years."
Roy ignored the jab, scanning the pages. The words were strangely familiar. Much of it aligned with Buddhist philosophy—like Netero's habit of praying before every punch and his ultimate technique, 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva, drawn from Buddhist imagery.
He nodded thoughtfully. "Act with your heart. Rejoice and praise. Easier said than done."
Biscuit froze.
Half a chicken leg stuck in her throat. It fell onto the table with a plop. Wutong frowned but restrained himself from shoving it back into her mouth.
"What did you just say?" Biscuit stared wide-eyed.
Roy closed the notebook. "What? I said you're right—Shingen-Ryu isn't simple."
"The line before that."
"'Act with your heart'?"
"No! 'Rejoice and praise!'"
She was stunned. She distinctly remembered leaving that phrase out of the notes—hoping the boy would one day realize it on his own.
To act by one's heart is easy.
To truly rejoice for another and praise them sincerely—that's hard.
Netero prayed before every strike because he knew human nature was selfish. Few truly wished others well.
In the end, the only thing that had never betrayed him was his martial art itself—his life's devotion, his teacher and student both.
Thus he believed: Repay the boundless grace of one's art with every ounce of gratitude you possess.
He had taught Biscuit the same—appreciate others' success, praise sincerely, and never let jealousy cloud your heart.
"So…" Biscuit recovered, calm again. "That line must've come from your grandfather, right?"
She remembered her chicken leg, grabbed it off the table—three-second rule—and shoved it back into her mouth.
Wutong grimaced. In his mind, she was instantly filed under people to avoid forever.
Roy caught Wutong's expression and smiled silently.
As for whether it was from his grandfather? Biscuit's understanding of the Zoldyck family was still far too shallow.
The Zoldycks didn't act from "heart." They acted from contract.
If the payment was right, they'd kill, even unhappily.
And if they regretted it later? As Grandpa Zigg once said—If you're that upset, kill the employer too. Simple.
'So I guessed right.' Biscuit relaxed, reassured by his silence, and resumed eating until she was slumped back in her chair, belly full.
"When are you leaving?"
"Now."
"Not staying a few more days?"
"No. My father's waiting to electrocute me. Wouldn't want to disappoint him."
Roy grinned, flashing white teeth.
Luke's late-night call still echoed in his mind:
"The stun batons are ready—voltage as high as he wants, powered by Nen…"
Biscuit stared, speechless for once.
Truly a Zoldyck.
She waved a hand. "Then… good luck."
Wutong handed her a glass of water, scowling faintly, then picked up the luggage and followed Roy out.
At the door, Yungu leaned against the wall with folded arms, like a statue waiting for dawn.
When Roy emerged, Yungu adjusted his glasses and smiled politely.
"Sorry my master caused you trouble."
"Trouble?" Roy smirked. "She seemed to enjoy breakfast—and it wasn't my money."
"Cough… right."
Yungu extended his right hand, just like the first day they'd met.
"Safe travels."
This time, Roy didn't hesitate. He shook his hand firmly, nodded once, and turned to leave.
The hallway light stretched his shadow long behind him.
Yungu watched until Roy rounded the corner. Then he called out, "Hey—don't forget, I'll be challenging you!"
Roy didn't turn or slow. He just raised two fingers behind his back in acknowledgment and disappeared.
"Don't bother looking. He's gone."
Two minutes later, Biscuit hopped down from her chair, twin ponytails bouncing.
She skipped over to Yungu.
He grinned. "Master, wasn't that a bit like aiding the enemy?"
"Idiot." She flicked his forehead. "You've got your master teaching you personally, and you're still whining?"
"Happy! Totally happy!" Yungu laughed, rubbing his forehead.
As they resumed training, he glanced once more at the now-empty Room 1991.
Next time they met, it would be somewhere else—another place, another moment.
By then, how far would that boy have grown?
T/n:
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