Chapter 78: Solitude's Elegy × Boy's Ambition
Going home... So another year has passed already...
Sakonji Urokodaki's knife paused mid-stroke as he sliced radish. He raised his head and looked out the window. Heavy snow fell year after year. Nothing seemed to change, yet everything had. After a moment of silence, he simply said, "Good."
The pot on the stove bubbled over, steam pushing the lid upward. The old man hurried to lift it, burning his hand in the process.
"Master." Makomo rushed to his side, pursed her lips, and blew gently on the burn. Then she reached out and took his weathered hands—palms calloused from decades of gripping a blade.
Roy removed the lid and extinguished the fire in one smooth motion, smiling. "Master, let me handle this. You've always been the one taking care of me. I can manage this small task."
The congee was nearly ready. Roy added thinly sliced radish and yesterday's leftover pork leg meat—simple but sufficient. Sakonji Urokodaki nodded silently and withdrew to sit by the kotatsu. Makomo followed, settling beside him on her knees, her expression noticeably subdued.
"Eiichiro's going home for the year-end festival. Master will be alone again."
"What choice do we have? Haven't we spent all these years like this?" Shinsuke sat with a massive lump on his forehead, wincing at every touch. Fukuda looked worse—his face swollen beyond recognition. This was the price for mocking his height.
"Look on the bright side. Once Eiichiro avenges us, he'll pass Final Selection. Then next year, Master will have even fewer visitors."
"If you can't say anything helpful, shut up!" Fukuda noticed Makomo's head lowering, her eyes growing brighter with unshed tears. He opened his mouth to say something, but his swollen lips made speech impossible. Finally, he sighed. They should have passed on long ago. Being able to stay near Master, even as spirits, was already more than they deserved. They shouldn't ask for more.
"But I just want..." Makomo stubbornly bit her lower lip, tears threatening to fall. Her body unconsciously leaned toward Sakonji Urokodaki until a blade suddenly inserted itself between them, separating her.
"Calm yourself." Sabito held the blade firmly, his expression stern as he addressed Makomo. "Master's spirit is too strong. You know this. Getting too close will burn you."
Burn? Was this why Sabito could pull Tanjiro into his consciousness space, yet remained helpless before Sakonji Urokodaki?
Roy, cutting radish in the kitchen, observed the scene with quiet understanding. He could see what Makomo and Sabito lacked—they needed a bridge built with Nen, a medium to communicate with the living.
Roy didn't hesitate. He would be that bridge, just as he had helped others see their families. He calculated the timing carefully and decided to return before the year-end festival—the perfect day for a family reunion, for celebration, for something complete.
Makomo finally calmed herself, though she remained at a distance from Sakonji Urokodaki. Sabito sheathed his blade and sighed silently, unsure how to comfort her. Fortunately, Roy's voice broke the heavy silence.
"Congee is ready."
The simple announcement shattered the melancholy. Makomo's nose twitched, and she transformed back into that greedy little cat. Roy deliberately dangled the pork leg over her eyes, and the girl's tongue flicked out, her dim eyes suddenly bright again.
Outside the window, heavy snow swirled. Inside, warm steam curled through the air. Nothing happened. Everything happened.
After eating, Roy didn't wait for Sakonji Urokodaki to ask—he actively washed the bowls and chopsticks, then took up Yukigakure and headed outside to practice.
Once Roy left, Sakonji Urokodaki quietly approached his bed and searched beneath the pillows. From under the blankets, he withdrew a sock containing silver coins and transferred them into a small cloth bag embroidered with a fox head.
"Wow, Eiichiro's really lucky. Is Master preparing year-end money for him?" Shinsuke stared enviously as the old man tucked the bag away. His teeth ached again—he wasn't sure if it was from Fukuda's punch.
"Did Master prepare year-end money for you?" Makomo poked Sabito curiously. The fox-masked boy stiffened and shook his head.
Since he and Giyu were adopted, no one had mentioned year-end money. They'd received nothing—Master provided everything they wore and ate. Gratitude was never enough; he had no right to ask for money.
But Makomo's eyes lit up, curving into crescents. "I'll tell you a secret—I got some~"
"That's because Master sees you're a girl child and looks after you specially."
"I don't care. I just know I have, and you don't. That's enough for me."
Sabito pretended to be helpless and followed Roy into the dense forest. At least Makomo is happy. That's what matters.
Sabito held his blade tightly, disappearing into the wind and snow.
"Forty-seven thousand, forty-nine thousand, fifty thousand, fifty-one thousand..."
Roy added a thousand more swings each day—his personal minimum.
Roy's backhand swing grazed Sabito's ear and struck toward the cypress tree behind him. The tree split cleanly down its center axis, each half mirroring the other.
The blade was sharp and accurate. Sabito's hand unconsciously moved toward his sword hilt, but he quickly pressed the impulse down.
Roy exhaled deeply and sheathed his blade, pretending not to notice the young boy's barely contained battle intent. That night, he returned to the house, ate a simple dinner, and lay down fully clothed.
Night deepened. Fatigue pulled him under.
Through sleep, Roy withdrew from the Demon Slayer world and returned to Kukuroo Mountain.
Roy rose, went for his morning run, and returned for breakfast. While eating, Gotoh reported the day's schedule.
"Poison resistance training continues today," Gotoh said, adjusting his glasses. "Also, Master Maha has requested that you prepare dinner this evening. He'd like to taste something you've made."
Roy glanced up. "Great-grandfather Maha?"
Gotoh nodded. Over the months of training, his physique had become noticeably more defined. "Yes, young master."
Probably just curious about my cooking. Roy considered for a moment. "Braised mushroom chicken and cucumber salad."
Gotoh noted it down, cleared the table, and left. Roy grabbed Yukigakure and headed to the training room.
The day unfolded as usual: poison resistance training, Sun Breathing practice, and Nen (Ren) Training. Underground with Zigg, Roy lasted one minute and forty-three seconds. Barely any improvement.
Maybe Grandfather Zigg is right. Some things only time can refine.
Roy's mood was heavy as he left the secret chamber. Walking absently through the castle corridor, his mind wandered to images of Gon and Killua training under their masters. He paused.
A thin figure stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the night sky.
Eight o'clock. Maha had requested dinner.
Roy smiled sheepishly. "I'll start preparing it now."
Maha tilted his head slightly, looking at him. "Hmm..." He turned back to the window. "The moon is full tonight. Can you taste its color?"
Roy fell silent and stood beside the old man, watching the landscape together.
Maha pointed toward the garden. "What do you see?"
"A cypress tree."
"And?"
"Cypress branches."
Maha glared. "I'm asking what's above."
Roy concentrated, even using Nen to see clearly. "A bird's nest."
"So you do know what a bird's nest is."
"I'm not foolish."
"Yes, you are." Maha gave him a sharp look. "Baby birds cry and beg for food. Their mother brings it to them. Why don't you?"
Roy frowned.
Maha continued, his voice heavy with frustration. "Do you know what Silva hates most about you?"
"What?"
"Your stubborn pride. Your belief that you must handle everything alone. That attitude—it makes Silva feel unnecessary. When a father feels unneeded, his anger only grows."
Roy was silent.
"You're too independent, Roy. Too self-reliant. Because you refuse to get help, because you insist on doing everything yourself, Silva feels excluded. And that exclusion burns him."
A cold wind blew through the window, carrying the image of a mother bird returning to its nest with food, feeding hungry chicks. The nestling that never cried, that never asked—eventually, the parent pushed it out. It fell before its eyes even opened.
Roy understood.
Looking back at my life—the panel, my rebirth, my independence. I've relied on myself so completely that I became arrogant. Self-reliance twisted into conceit, then into blind pride where nothing else mattered.
Roy lowered his head and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Great-grandfather."
Maha turned away and simply hummed. "Leave."
Roy rose and walked toward the stairs, his silhouette lengthening in the lamplight. He was beginning to take on the shape of a man.
In the dark corner, shadows shifted. Zeno emerged and approached Maha.
"Grandfather always knows the right words. Just a few sentences and that stubborn child bends," Zeno said slowly.
"This family cannot afford anyone who won't bend," Maha replied coldly. "Squat."
"Grandfather, let's discuss this reasonably—"
"Squat down!"
"Yes..." Zeno flinched as a chestnut struck his head. "Grandfather, I'm your grandson too!"
"Exactly. That's precisely why I'm teaching you. Authority flows downward, obedience flows upward. That's how hierarchy works."
"You can't just strike people into submission! That approach will never work!"
"It absolutely will. Now shut up!"
Zeno silently endured, accepting punishment from the old Enhancer. Once Maha's anger faded, Zeno carefully smoothed his back and adjusted his posture. The old man eventually grunted his satisfaction.
"I'm hungry. When that boy returns, tell him to prepare something fresh."
Zeno sighed internally. Just as stubborn as ever.
The night deepened.
Roy climbed the stone stairs to the second floor, each step feeling impossibly long. Shadows stretched across the walls, cast by flickering light. Finally, he reached the old bedroom and paused at the door.
Light filtered through the crack. Roy raised his hand, hesitated, then knocked firmly.
Three sharp knocks.
"Come in."
The door opened. A towering figure with silver hair flowing to his waist blocked the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"What is it?" Silva asked flatly.
"I have something to discuss," Roy replied steadily.
"What?"
"About training."
"Why should I teach you?"
"Because you're my father. You should."
"Teach you what?"
"How to defeat you." Roy's voice was serious. "I want you to train me. Starting with Ren."
Silva was silent for a long moment, staring at his son. Then his expression shifted—a smile spread across his face, and laughter began to build. Soft at first, then deeper, wilder, until the sound echoed through the room.
On the bed, Kikyo stirred. "Who is it, Silva?"
Silva stepped into the hallway, standing beside Roy. He extended one massive hand and gripped his son's shoulder firmly.
"From today onward, I'll teach you everything you want to learn. I'll stand right here—no hiding, no running. Come and try to kill me."