Kikyo's belly grew by the day; most evenings you could see Silva steadying her on a walk through the garden after dinner to help her digest.
At such times, Silva shed the unsmiling "father" and played the part of the attentive husband to perfection.
Roy had just come back from Grandpa Zigg's chamber—this time he'd lasted three minutes.
Leaning on the window sill, he watched quietly, letting his mind unwind while waiting for Gotoh to bring dinner. Footsteps echoed closer… white hair swaying, Grandfather Zeno came with hands clasped, standing beside him to watch the night. Down in the garden, Kikyo was grumbling about something and thumped Silva's chest in mock complaint.
"Your great-grandfather asked me to tell you—our line's been single-sons for three generations; no brothers around to give you advice, so…"
"From now on, if you need to beat him, beat him; if you need to scold him, scold him. So long as you don't kill him, the family has no objections."
"He went too far," came Illumi's voice—he was still hanging from the willow. He'd declared that unless Roy personally untied him, he'd hang there forever—might as well die swinging.
Roy pretended not to hear. Silva and Kikyo pretended not to see. Milluki, however, had wandered by at dusk and peed under him; if he'd been tall enough he'd have peed on his head. Even that Illumi endured.
"Manipulators are all the same—what they can't have, they want to possess even more. Roy," Zeno said with a sidelong, teasing glance, "I reckon you'll be the one to suffer for it later."
Is that so… The sun sets, but it never disappears. The sun never belongs to any one person—what's there to "possess"?
Roy didn't mind. "Not a big problem.
"Every time he crosses a line, I'll hit him.
"Until he doesn't dare reach again."
Crude, simple—and effective. Zeno agreed. He cast a glance at Illumi: the foolish otōto shivered in the cold wind. Then Zeno turned to business. "I denied your request to tap the family intel service."
"If you know some lines must not be crossed, you should be the first to keep them," he said calmly.
The Hunter world isn't only killing and fighting; more often it's intelligence. His talk with Tanjuro over New Year still fresh, Roy decided it was time to act:
Not only to study Conjuration for Tanjuro's treatment, but to secure a reliable, stable intel pipeline. The Hunter Association's official website was a good start.
"I understand." Only successive heads can command the intel service. That's iron law.
In the original, Milluki becoming a computer prodigy wasn't unrelated…
"You're sensible." Zeno turned, pleased. "If you chase freedom, earn it yourself. I look forward to hearing your name across the continent."
"You will," Roy smiled. "I won't let you down, Grandfather."
"Heh." Zeno smiled, patted his shoulder, and left.
It was cold; the old man spent more time holed up in his room. Zeno should check in—if only to knead the old muscles now and then.
Tap… tap… Zeno's steps faded.
In the garden, Kikyo got the ice cream she wanted and clung to Silva's arm, satisfied…
Roy watched a while, then went back to his room—just as Gotoh rolled in with the cart. The young master stared at his face a bit too long; Gotoh, puzzled, touched his beard and laid out the dishes.
"This morning, Illumi disguised himself as you—and got in my bed…"
Roy bit into an onion-topped meat pizza and said it lightly.
Gotoh: "…"
He didn't know how to respond. In his face… in bed… No wonder the young master was furious. Clearly—punishment was due.
But since it involved Young Master Illumi, a servant knew when not to pry. He served and reported: "The tickets you asked for—booked ahead.
"Depart Dec 27, transfer once in Glam Gas, depart Dec 29, arrive Jan 2 in the United States of Saherta—boat to Whale Island."
Roy had expected denial of his intel request. Plan B: use the Association's site—get a Hunter License first…
"Glam Gas—the show business capital?" Roy wiped his hands.
"Yes. The circus there is famous. We have a one-day layover. You could have a look." Gotoh adjusted his glasses.
Roy only hummed. The circus made him think of someone—expert apple grower, mean with playing cards—their starting patch was in Glam Gas… that troupe known for "Sky Swimming" performances—Moritonio.
"Hundred-Face John Doe"… a psychopathic killer… Roy glanced at the panel—Life Energy at zero, in dire need of replenishment.
"Go prep. Don't be late for the Jan 7 Hunter Exam."
"Yes."
Gotoh cleared the table and left…
In the days that followed Roy ate and trained as he should. December came—
The cold deepened. Unlike ever-summer Whale Island, winter on Kukuroo had stripped the hills bare.
Mornings: poison drills and Sun Breathing to harden Physique. Afternoons: poison crashes and sun-baths—visualize the sun. Dusk: pull himself off the ground to pay respects to Grandpa Zigg. Busy, full days.
In that time, Illumi hung in his tree for days, then cut the rope in the night and slipped down… and, like clockwork, emerged from the earth, hands in pockets, to trail Roy toward the basement.
Left and right along the corridor, never touching…
After a bit he asked, "How did you see through my disguise?"
Clearly the question had been stuck in him for days.
"Because your eyes had no light."
No light is an insult to the sun, Roy said plainly.
Illumi: "…"
He stopped and touched his face, petulant—who says no light?
Every night he became Roy, comparing himself in the mirror. He definitely had light then!
"Hey," he called after his brother. "Even if you spot me—you won't shake me. Even if you run to the Dark Continent!"
Roy didn't stop or turn—not even to answer. He flicked a glance at the corner—
The camera winked red, capturing the boy's boast cleanly.
So, my foolish otōto—mind yourself first.
That night—
"Report, sir—Young Master Illumi says he's going to the Dark Continent…"
"Does he now?"
Midnight. Illumi had barely cut himself down before he was hung up again…
Maha gave the order; Zeno carried the word; Silva did the work; Milluki did the peeing.