"How many days?"
"Eight."
"Still early. I took half a year to find the feel."
Sabito stood on a birch branch with Makomo beside him, quietly watching below…
Roy was hugging the tree. Better than before—this time he lasted two hours without falling asleep.
"Half a year is already fast." Makomo squatted on the fork of the tree, doodling circles. "Master always said I was clever—that after you, I was the quickest to grasp 'Breathing.' And yet it still took me nearly a year."
Sabito smiled. "Your gift lies elsewhere.
"And…" He gazed into the endless mist, voice tinged with nostalgia. "The fastest was Giyu.
"He's truly gifted—learned Breathing in three months, then cut the boulder after three years of tempering. Shame he was a little timid back then."
"What about him?" Makomo's bright eyes shone as she looked down at Roy. "I think he's stronger than all of us.
"Maybe he'll break Giyu-nii's record."
Sabito rubbed his chin, thinking… Will he?
This Rōichirō really is hard to read…
"Sss… hoo…"
Two and a half hours—Roy finally slipped and dozed off against the trunk.
That familiar drop—
He rolled out of bed back on Kukuroo Mountain. Dress-run-eat-shock; then back to the willow in the garden for another tree-hug.
Illumi kept waking in the pit after Roy—numb to it now. He didn't even glance over; as soon as the pins-and-needles faded he went down the mountain.
The grudge over his broken 80-win streak was due to be settled.
He would rip out that opponent's heart with his own hands—to celebrate opening his nodes.
Of course, compared to a certain infuriating someone nearby, that Emitter was just an appetizer. If he could rip out Roy's heart… Illumi figured he'd shake with excitement.
"Reel that malice in… you're grossing me out…"
Eyes closed, Roy hugged the tree, looking asleep…
Illumi's shoulders trembled; a low mutter squeezed out. He flung his arms; his long black hair whipped, startling a flock of sparrows from the willow.
"Heh-heh, is that so… Pray you never have a weak day. I'll lop off your head and make a pillow of it—hug it to sleep every night."
Dead-fish eyes glaring, he stalked off…
Roy called after him, helpful: "Step a little to the left—don't step in Milluki's poop."
Too late. Illumi lifted his right foot, face twisting.
Whose fault? He himself ended Milluki's cheerful childhood, personally custom-made a hell regimen for him. No wonder the kid squatted by his pit to poop in revenge…
"Caa—"
A few crows dragged a cloud across the sun, dropping a few tailfeathers.
Roy could practically hear Illumi screaming inside. Guess Milluki would have it rough for a while. After the morning's hugging practice, Roy headed for the kitchen.
Still no "merge with the tree" feel. He decided to cook a couple dishes to clear his head. He had Gotoh prep the ingredients, then took up the wok.
"Steamed Fish" and "Beef Stir-Fry" were today's lunch.
Unlike last time, he let the chefs watch; in better spirits, he even explained a few tips…
About half an hour later, two homestyle plates hit the table.
Gotoh stood by to serve, but Roy didn't start immediately—he had Gotoh set an extra place opposite. Sure enough…
A familiar "old breeze" swept in…
Roy respectfully greeted Great-Grandfather—and immediately started eating, learning from last time when he'd gotten nothing.
The old man's eyes bulged—unfilial grandson!—and he didn't bother with niceties. His chopsticks struck like thunder; in the end he still snagged a few more slices of beef and half a fish head than Roy…
After, satisfied for once, the old man didn't vanish. He even had Gotoh bring coffee to "smooth the gut"…
Toothpick between his teeth, he asked lazily, "Well, good grandson?
"How's butt-humping trees?"
"Great-Grandfather, it's hugging, not humping." Roy's face went black.
"What's the difference?" Maha gave him the side-eye. "All the time I spent hugging your great-grandma doesn't add up to how long you've been humping that tree.
"What then—planning to marry a tree?"
Roy: "…"
He kept his head down and said nothing.
Maha took the coffee from Gotoh, sipped, and strolled to the window. Looking out at the willow through the sun, he said, a hint of remembrance in his tone: "People are people. Trees are trees. Mistake a person for a tree and people won't like it; mistake a tree for a person and the tree won't either…
"How can a person become a tree?"
Roy pricked his ears.
Maha finished the coffee, clasped his hands behind his back, and went on, "You don't have to treat a tree as a person—and a tree doesn't know how to be one. If you force it, that's straining it…
"People get confused; trees get displeased…"
"Then what should I do?"
"Don't you already have the answer?" The old man turned and smiled. "Let it be—go with the flow."
Go with the flow…
So Great-Grandfather meant: don't deny your standpoint as a human and strain to think a tree's life?
But if you remain a person, how do you step into a tree and merge with nature?
Roy mulled it over, looked up with questions—only to find Maha gone. A lifted corner of curtain proved he'd been there—and the two empty plates on the table.
"Have some coffee, young master," Gotoh offered kindly.
Roy drank his thoughts down, left the kitchen, and went back to the garden. He slid down the willow, leaning his back to it.
The bark bit his shoulders; the drooping catkins brushed his neck and made it itch… Sun-and-mountain earrings on, he decided not to overthink.
Forget "tree" vs "human," Zetsu vs Breathing…
He relaxed—and took a nap under the willow.
Cicadas droned, the breeze kept time…
Lids heavy, he drifted and saw a picture…
A man led a pregnant woman into the garden, dug a hole with his own hands, planted a sapling, and told his wife happily: "It means new life."
A few years later, the tree grew; the man brought a child and taught him how to water it…
A few more years; the child insisted on going to some "Dark Continent"—so the man dragged him to the tree and gave him a thorough thrashing…