"I also want to study Ren!"
November 23rd, night. Silva had just returned from executing a task with Zeno. Worried about disturbing Kikyo with his restless energy, he ordered hot water to be prepared in his private training room. He sank into the tub to wash away the weariness of travel.
This mission had taken him to the Kakin Empire. The target's background was complex—connections ran deep and tangled everywhere. The situation was far more delicate than it initially appeared.
The aristocracy, criminal organizations, and political gangs controlled the nation as one unified system. Even accustomed to death, Silva found their methods remarkably convoluted compared to his family's. His family was almost disappointingly straightforward—simple enough that no one could find fault with it.
He thought of Roy and Illumi, hoping they wouldn't stray down such twisted paths. His hands rested lazily on the barrel's edge, silver hair drifting across the water's surface.
His eyes sharpened.
A pale face pressed against the window outside, hollow eyes staring directly at him through the glass.
Silva's mouth curved upward. "Come to kill me?"
Illumi's expressionless face betrayed nothing externally, but internally, an unbearable itch crawled beneath his skin—one he couldn't scratch.
Black hair fell like a ghost's shroud as Illumi's hoarse voice emerged. "First, I'll kill Roy. Then you."
Silva's shoulders shook. He was laughing.
He reopened his eyes and concentrated Ren into his fingertip—a single hair-thin projectile. He flicked it precisely. The glass shattered. Illumi crashed through the window into the night.
Some occasions require correction, disobedient son.
Silva's cold anger settled like ice in the night.
That same night, in the northern room of Kukuroo Mountain's ancient castle, Roy studied by lamplight, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
Grandfather Zigg's words had provided guidance on asking his heart—no problem there. Finding a worthy reference point—the sun itself—solved that too. But applying it through action? Expressing it physically? That's where everything fell apart completely.
His current-stage aura simply couldn't withstand the sun's heat. The transmutation consumed him within minutes. He couldn't sustain prolonged combat.
Three open notebooks lay spread across the table: Silva's notes, Zigg's, and Biscuit's. Roy had even pulled in Heart Source Flow as a reference system, comparing everything carefully to find answers.
He finally identified two fundamental problems:
One, his aura lacked both quantity and quality. He needed to strengthen his constitution to increase his reserve capacity.
Two, his understanding of the sun was too shallow. He could only manifest concrete properties: heat, burning, scorching. But the deeper layers remained beyond him—the creation of all things, the movement of tides, the eternal cycle that sustains existence.
"Young Master, drink some milk and rest."
Eleven o'clock. Gotoh appeared with a warm cup, concern etched across his face. After days of continuous study, the young master needed nourishment and care.
Roy rubbed his tired eyes, accepted the milk gratefully, and moved his neck in slow circles. "There are places in these notes I don't understand. Let's discuss them together."
Gotoh had copied sections over these past days, studying them carefully whenever he had time.
"I won't lie to you, Young Master," he said, pushing his glasses up methodically. "I've actually discovered something important."
Roy's attention sharpened immediately. "Tell me."
"That night," Gotoh recalled, his voice steady, "I saw something among the stars. One meteor streaked across the sky, just for a moment, it split the darkness and vanished."
He smiled, showing his teeth. "I made a decision then. Once you face real danger, I'll activate my self-destruct protocol. It will release a hundred times my normal aura output, forcing a massive surge of Ren. I'll make up for the talent gap and help you through the crisis."
I'll spend my life creating one final moment of light.
Roy stared at him, unable to form words.
Gotoh's smile never wavered. "When the time comes, Young Master won't need to search for me in the dust. I'll have already become ash."
Silence. The late wind teased the window curtains with soft rustling sounds.
"Go," Roy finally said, his voice hollow and distant.
"Yes." Gotoh collected the cup carefully and left, walking down the mountain toward the butler's villa with practiced care. He moved quietly, afraid the deep night might disturb the sleeping master.
Yet he didn't realize that a gaze followed him all the way—tracked him as he left the flower garden, descended into the mountain forest, and vanished from sight completely.
Roy remained at the window. The moon hung almost directly overhead, closest to midnight—its brightest moment. He watched until Gotoh disappeared entirely, then slowly raised his head.
A meteor dragged a long tail of flame across the starfield, bloomed briefly beneath the sky, and was gone.
Roy inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.
He planned well. Only... I won't let it happen.
A cold wind swept through the chamber. Roy turned from the window, rubbed his face roughly, and forced renewed focus. He returned to studying, refusing to give sleep even a moment's opportunity.
One day. Two days. Three days.
Through conversations with Silva and consultations with Maha, a solution gradually emerged: strengthening his constitution to increase aura reserves. Adopt Zigg's training method—refining aura through concentrated imagination—using detailed mental visualization to reshape aura into finer forms, deepening his command over transmutation.
As for understanding the sun more deeply... Roy thought of Tsugikuni Yoriichi, of Demon Slayer breathing, of full concentration breathing. He closed the notebook and extinguished the lamp.
First, I'll inherit Tsugikuni Yoriichi's understanding of the sun completely. That understanding alone will suffice.
He lay in bed and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to finally claim him.
Throughout Kukuroo Mountain, various people occupied their night:
One hollow-eyed boy sat in a soil pit, alone, licking his wounds in quiet anger.
One old man rocked his chair contentedly, absorbed in an animated film that held his complete attention.
One silver-haired man carefully tucked the blanket corner around his pregnant wife. He gently rubbed her small belly, and she hummed softly in her sleep, wrapping her arms around his neck in comfort.
Around midnight, Roy finally surrendered to exhaustion and drifted into deep sleep. He passed through the colorful dream passages and entered his cognitive world.
The azure sea stretched endlessly. Roy stripped his outer coat, ran two quick steps, and dove in—swimming until his tangled thoughts cleared completely. Only then did he dress and walk ashore.
He glanced at the locked Dark Continent Gate, then turned and pushed open the Demon Slayer door.
The familiar falling sensation arrived.
When his eyes opened, he saw his own reflection in Makomo's bright pupils. He calculated the days carefully—after tomorrow came the year-end festival. Tomorrow he had to return home.
And today, I'll finally give Master that gift I've been preparing.
Roy's gaze passed over Makomo, Sabito, Shinsuke, Fukuda, and all the others gathered there. He climbed from his bed and rose to his feet, ready for what the day would bring.