Chapter 79/80: Asking the Heart × The Sun Still Rises
"Ren is will. Hatsu is action," Silva began, his voice measured in the darkness. "Those with strong will and clear thought can command their aura. Through momentum, they win battles. Even without moving, they can force enemies to retreat."
"When studying Ren, your will must be firm first. If your mental strength is insufficient, stubbornness takes over. You'll cling to wrong thoughts and never correct them, leading down a dangerous path—one that can cost you your life."
"This is why studying Ren isn't just about manipulating aura nodes. The real work is deeper. You must 'ask your heart.'"
"Ask yourself what you truly want. Where do you intend to go? Confirm your path carefully before you begin training. There's no rush."
Deep in the night, moonlight washed over father and son, draping them in silver. Kikyo carefully supported herself as she descended from the bed, moving to the window. There, she saw them standing together—two figures silhouetted against the night, one tall and broad-shouldered, one still growing into his frame. They gazed out at Kukuroo Mountain, and despite their differences, they created an unexpected harmony.
Am I imagining this? Kikyo's electronic eyes flickered. Roy leaned slightly toward his father, listening intently. In his mind, a phrase surfaced: When skill reaches its peak, it approaches art. When art reaches its peak, it approaches the divine.
"So the essence of Ren," Roy said slowly, "isn't about controlling aura nodes on a physical level. It's about arming your mind with will—using thought to direct action, making willpower itself the edge of the blade. You strike not just at the body, but at the spirit."
Silva paused, studying his son. The youth was deep in thought, his expression intense. Whether it was the lamplight from the open door or the moonlight itself, something made him glow with an otherworldly intensity.
"Your grandfather was right," Silva said finally, his voice carrying a note of something like approval. "You do have strange ideas. But they're not empty."
He turned toward the bedroom. "Kikyo, bring the notebooks from the drawer."
The door opened wider, and Kikyo emerged, handing over two leather-bound journals. Silva extended them to Roy.
"These are notes I compiled years ago—my understanding of the Four Principles and how to train them. One is yours. Give the other to Illumi."
Roy accepted them with both hands and bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Father. I won't disappoint you."
"We'll see."
A gust of wind swept across the balcony, lifting Silva's silver hair like a mane. Roy straightened, nodded to Kikyo, and turned to leave. His silhouette disappeared into the castle corridors, leaving Silva and Kikyo in the moonlight.
"He's grown," Kikyo murmured.
"Yes," Silva agreed, watching the spot where Roy had vanished.
He guided her back inside, closing the door softly behind them.
But blood runs deeper than walls and doors.
Roy walked through the castle's ancient corridors, his mood transformed. The heavy depression from an hour earlier had lifted entirely, replaced by quiet determination.
"You seem happy. Did you finally find Kastro?" Illumi's voice stopped him mid-step.
The "lethal dose" neurotoxin was proving stubborn. Even after drinking the antidote, residual poison still coursed through Illumi's system. He'd spent the entire day regaining his strength, and now, meeting Roy on the way to his bedroom was almost convenient.
"Here," Roy said simply, tossing the journal. "From Father."
Illumi caught it reflexively, flipped it open, and froze. His neck stiffened as he glared at his brother. "You are training your non-affinity Nen type?"
Roy didn't even glance back. "Father gave it to me. It's his notes."
He continued walking, leaving Illumi standing alone in the corridor, the journal clutched in his hands.
I thought it was a gift from you, Illumi thought, watching Roy's retreating back. The disappointment was suffocating.
He stood there like a statue, facing the direction Roy had gone, before finally turning toward his own room. His steps were slower, heavier.
High above, the moon hung perfectly centered in the sky. From that vantage point, the two brothers appeared as parallel lines—one departing left, one departing right. They would never meet.
When Roy reached his bedroom, he found Gotoh waiting outside, white gloves in hand.
"Young Master, Master Maha ordered that you attend to your responsibilities. What needs to be learned must be learned. What needs to be eaten must be eaten. And promises made to others must be kept," Gotoh said, mimicking Maha's tone perfectly. "He's hungry. Now we must eat."
Roy couldn't help but smile. "Alright. Let's go before he sends us both to bed without dinner."
"Yes, Young Master."
They headed to the kitchen together. Roy pushed open the door to find Maha sprawled across a chair, one foot propped on another seat, lazily gnawing on sliced cucumber.
"Sliced cucumber doesn't need preparation," Maha grunted upon seeing Roy. "Make braised chicken instead."
Roy glanced at Gotoh, who nodded knowingly. In the Zoldyck household, "Enhancers" were notoriously known to be hungry. One chicken would never be enough.
"I'll prepare six," Roy said.
Within minutes, he'd borrowed the large earthenware pot—the kind used for feeding the household staff—and set it on the brick stove. While Gotoh fed wood to the flames, Roy worked methodically, and Maha lounged contentedly, occasionally peeking over to inspect progress.
Between tending to the pot, Roy began explaining his confusion about Ren. Maha listened with half-closed eyes, occasionally glancing sideways at the youth.
"Your father isn't enough, so you come appealing to this old man's door too?" Maha said with amusement. "Child, your greed is showing."
"It's not greed," Roy replied seriously. "You taught me that calling someone 'master' means they provide meals. So far, I owe two debts."
Maha's eyes narrowed slightly, then he actually laughed. Well played.
"'Ask your heart' doesn't mean spouting philosophical nonsense," Maha said at last. "Thought must be practical. It must have weight. Without form, yes, but hidden deep in your heart, in your memories, it must have a reference point."
"Your reference point is everything you've experienced," he continued, gesturing with one wrinkled hand. "Every blade you've swung, every strike you've landed, every moment you've survived. These become your anchors."
"Then the key to 'asking your heart' is finding that reference point," Roy said slowly. "The one memory—the one experience—that defines everything."
Maha didn't answer. He simply bit into a piece of cucumber and indicated the pot. "It's ready."
Roy turned off the fire and began plating the food. The old man descended on the meal like a whirlwind, his movements so fast that Gotoh's eyes couldn't track them. Five chickens disappeared almost instantly, leaving only one for Roy.
"Too fast," Gotoh muttered in disbelief. "Every time Master Maha eats, I think my eyes are playing tricks."
After finishing, Maha vanished as abruptly as he'd arrived, leaving Roy alone in the garden with Gotoh.
The young master looked up at the sky. Midnight approached. The moon hung like a perfect white plate.
He reached out, pinching a thread of moonlight between his fingers, lost in thought. Gotoh stood silently behind him, keeping vigil.
"What never changes?" Roy asked suddenly.
Gotoh considered carefully. "Perhaps the stars?"
Roy gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Fireflies challenging the moon's light? They're not worthy opponents."
"Then the moon itself," Gotoh suggested firmly. "East to west, it rises and falls. No matter how the world changes, it does so faithfully."
"Is that so?" Roy's voice carried an edge of revelation.
He opened his fingers, letting the moonlight scatter. When he turned to face Gotoh, his eyes blazed with inner light—brighter and brighter until they almost glowed.
"It's the sun," Roy said, his voice heavy with finality. "The sun. Below the sky, above the earth—wherever my eyes reach, that's where my light falls. The sun never bows to darkness."
He placed a hand on Gotoh's shoulder and turned toward his bedroom, his silhouette receding into shadow before disappearing entirely.
Gotoh stood alone, replaying the conversation in his mind. The words echoed: Wherever my eyes reach, that's where my light falls.
He didn't move for a long time.
The next morning, when Roy emerged for breakfast, Gotoh looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept.
"Master Silva has given you a two-day reprieve for personal reflection," Gotoh reported, placing the meal before him.
"I don't need it," Roy said, biting into his hamburger. "Training continues. As for reflection... I've already found my direction."
"If Master asks—"
"Tell him: the sun."
Gotoh met his eyes, remembering the glow, the intensity, the absolute certainty. He nodded slowly. "I understand, Young Master."
After Roy finished breakfast, the young master pulled open a drawer and retrieved Silva's journal. He spread it on the table.
"This original belongs to Father, but you can copy it. When you finish, you can leave this house," Roy said to Gotoh.
"But Young Master, that's—"
"It's mine now. Father gave it to me. What's mine, I can share as I wish."
Gotoh accepted the journal carefully, his hand trembling slightly. "I will not disappoint you, Young Master."
"The sun needs stars to guard it," Roy said simply. "Work hard, Gotoh. I don't want to search through dust and shadows for you later."