Nothing under the sun is new; all scheming counts for nothing before absolute strength.
If Netero had been young enough—or a bit stronger—even without using "Poor Man's Rose" he would still have slain the King, and not at the price of his own life.
Roy watched Pariston with an easy smile; their gazes crossed and the air seemed to crackle.
Behind them, Gotoh had both hands in his pockets, pinching a few coins; the thin bodyguard silently recited scripture, fingers tight on the cross at his chest.
Doo—doo— an old lady trundled past on a floor scrubber, polishing the tiles…
Pariston glanced at her, clapped once, and broke the stalemate first: "What a pity~ Congratulations, Roy Zoldyck. You win."
"This game is called 'YES or NO'. Whoever chooses 'NO' wins."
"Since you rejected my proposal," the blond boy bowed and gestured politely, "please—be my guest."
Roy eyed him with amused interest… one move calculated, then the next—quick-witted to a fault; already a vice-chairman in the making…
He stood: one step, two, toward the gate. The cleaning granny purred by again; he even had time to tease, "Granny, no need to mop this early, is there?"
"Gotta, sonny—flat salary. Boss sees me loafing and it's coming out o' my pay."
Put-put-put… She hummed past on the scrubber.
Roy nodded and waved. "Take your time."
He took a few more steps and brushed Pariston's shoulder to reach the checkpoint. Pariston kept his bow, true to his word. Behind him the thin-and-fat duo tightened, eyes locked on Roy, not relaxing an inch…
Gotoh came up with the satchel. "Young master, you forgot your cane."
Roy "remembered." "Ah, right."
He reached back—Gotoh drew the cane—and shing! the blade leapt free!
It screamed through the air, a white flash skimming Pariston's handsome cheek and carving a red line—then slapped into Roy's palm and stopped.
"Hill-chan/Pariston! You—!"
"Don't move!"
The bark froze his men. Pariston straightened, took a folded pocket square from his breast pocket, dabbed the blood, and looked at Roy calmly. "Why?"
He'd already adjudicated Roy the winner—why this?
"You don't play by your own rules," the blond boy said flatly.
"Because my young master never had you in his eyes to begin with," Gotoh said, coming up with the scabbard; his right hand clicked coins into place, ready. He bowed slightly. "Forgive the presumption, young master."
"You did well." Roy twirled the blade once, sank the tip into the floor, and leaned on it, gaze steady on the trio. "No need for introductions—you know who I am. That being the case…"
"I'd like to ask the three of you for a favor."
Pariston's brows knit.
Roy smiled. "Please withdraw from this year's Hunter Exam and ensure I advance."
Whoosh— A cold draft swept the hall and took all the noise with it. The boomerang he'd thrown out had come spinning back; silence fell.
The thin guard's face sagged; the fat one giggled, "nyo-ho-ho." Flanking Pariston, they stared while the blond boy picked at his face and chuckled…
Soft at first, then rising, then bursting into loud laughter—cut off in an instant.
His face went cold. He glared at Roy and hissed, "And… if I say no?"
No?
Roy smiled.
Fwoop— Two suns leapt in his eyes; his black hair stirred without wind. A single sweep of his gaze and both bodyguards stepped back at once—their hearts ringing alarm—like being stripped naked in the street and seen through to the bone.
Hatsu: Eye That Shatters Illusion—pierce the false.
"I'm not unreasonable."
Roy gripped the cane blade and, with the tip of his shoe, drew a straight line on the floor.
"I take the next flight. If anyone crosses this line…"
"Hands—cut. Feet—stomp." At the end of the line he rolled the blade to rest on Pariston's shoulder.
Still smiling: "What do you think?"
Pariston: "…"
The bite of steel was plain. Every instinct told him that if he dared say "no," the next instant the edge would be at his throat.
He took a long breath. For the first time in his life he tasted defeat; his face shifted through stormclouds. Then he raised both hands. "Now, now—it's a misunderstanding… Clark, Gaal—what are you waiting for? We're leaving…"
He edged backward, only relaxing when he could see the blade tip again. He cast Roy a long look, turned, and left; the fat and thin followed—tail between their legs, the swagger gone.
"Young master, they've pulled their aura in," Gotoh said, offering the scabbard. Roy slid the blade home with a silky draw and an indifferent grunt, then turned to board.
Gotoh pushed up his glasses, gave the three a last glance, shouldered the bag, and followed.
The fine line lay three paces before the gate. No one dared step across…
Whirr…
Propellers bit air.
Ten minutes later, the airship lifted.
Outside, Pariston leaned on the rail and watched the craft climb to a red dot and vanish. He spread his arms to the wind, bangs fluttering, and a crooked smile cut his face.
"Ah… so this is what failure feels like… Roy Zoldyck—you're magnificent. I really… really… want to play you to death…"
"Heh-heh-heh—hahahaha…"
His laughter speared the sky; his shoulders shook and scattered a line of birds.
A passing traveler spat, "Nutcase," and scuttled off when the bodyguards glared.
A moment later, the blond boy calmed. The fat one grinned. "Hill-chan, we still taking the exam?"
"Of course." Flat, certain. "From now on—where Roy Zoldyck is, I am."
"And the others?" The thin one scanned the candidates drifting back after rebooking—the mummy, the snake handler, the bow boy, the bald ninja. "We could have some fun—again…"
"Anyway, he's already gone…"
"No." Pariston's lip curled—bored.
"They're garbage—not fit to carry Roy Zoldyck's shoes. Not worth the time."
So said the boy.