Chapter 83: Final Meeting × Big Bad Guy Eiichiro
"Wait a moment. The meal will be ready soon."
Sakonji Urokodaki worked in the kitchen, frying tempura. The day after tomorrow was the year-end festival. The child would go home, unable to spend the new year at his side.
For an old man alone, today had become the new year.
He prepared festive cuisine—pork ramen paired with tempura, supplemented with black beans scattered throughout. The fragrance drew Roy to the kitchen, where he helped. Behind him, Makomo poked her head around the corner, licking her lips greedily.
"During the day, you practice your sword. Tomorrow I'll wrap some dumplings for you to eat on the way home. In the evening, we'll slice some wild boar meat and make sukiyaki."
Tempura floated up from the oil, and Sakonji Urokodaki spoke with unusual talkativeness—not the taciturn master Kyojuro had known, but something had shifted, something warmer. Before leaving home, Kyojuro's mother had entrusted the young cultivator with similar care. Now, that same care had transformed into Sakonji Urokodaki.
Roy listened quietly without interrupting. Behind the corridor pillar, Sabito stood with both arms wrapped around himself. His thoughts remained hidden beneath the fox mask, but his expression had darkened. He wasn't a naturally emotional person, yet his mood always sank during the year-end festival season. Like Makomo, Shinsuke, and Fukuda—the other disciples waiting for their master—he felt it too. Only, he wouldn't show it, because he was the eldest. He had to support this family's foundation.
Soon, the noodles were ready.
Master and student sat across from each other at the kotatsu, each with a bowl before them. But unlike ordinary days, Sakonji Urokodaki had brought out special chopsticks from the window cabinet—placing them carefully along the kotatsu's edge. One bowl matched one set of chopsticks, arranged neatly. He counted carefully: exactly thirteen sets.
Corresponding to Sabito, Makomo, Shinsuke, Fukuda, and the others. Thirteen disciples in total. Thirteen who had passed away.
"During the year-end festival, I think of them unable to eat. Underground, they know, don't they? Perhaps they can see us. Even if they can only smell the food... that would be something."
Sakonji Urokodaki lifted his own bowl. One by one, he placed portions into each of the thirteen bowls alongside his own. Roy watched in silence. Makomo's eyes reddened as a choking sound escaped her throat. She set down her chopsticks and grasped Sakonji Urokodaki's hand firmly. "Master, don't hold back with them. Our brothers and sisters—they're watching us now."
Watching? How can they...?
Sakonji Urokodaki went rigid. Then he felt it—warmth flowing through Roy's palm into his own, spreading up his arm, across his chest, through his neck, reaching his eyes.
The former Water Pillar, who had become like frost-weathered stone standing alone over a broken watchtower, suddenly had a disciple returning home to show filial piety. His eyes widened behind his mask. His frozen heart began to thaw.
"Makomo?" His voice trembled as he reached out carefully and touched the girl's small head.
Makomo stiffened, then froze completely.
Then Sabito froze. Shinsuke froze. Fukuda froze. The entire gathering of disciples—raised by this man—sank into stunned silence.
The next moment, a strange cry erupted. Shinsuke, in his excitement, forgot he was a ghost and could fly. He fell directly from the house beam to the ground. Unable to get up, he crawled on his hands and feet toward Sakonji Urokodaki, grabbing his leg and wailing: "Master! Father! It's me—Shinsuke! You can finally see me!"
The accumulated wrongness. The endless period of being present yet receiving no acknowledgment. "Life" and "death" are separated by only a paper-thin distance. That layer alone explained what it meant when closeness gave way to distance.
"Master." Sabito's spirit returned to focus. Tears streamed freely down his face. He removed his fox mask and dropped to his knees at Sakonji Urokodaki's feet. Fukuda followed. Watanabe. Shimizu. One by one—they knelt, surrounding him in a circle.
"I... You all... Shuichi..." Sakonji Urokodaki was overwhelmed, disoriented by the sudden arrival of this moment.
Decades of accumulated resolve were shattered in an instant. Makomo rushed forward and threw her arms around him, her cry breaking free. "Master... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Outside, cold wind swept across the house. Large snowflakes fell in sheets. Roy sat by the stove, watching quietly. Through his own body as a medium, he maintained the Nen output—connecting life and death, sustaining this liminal space so Sakonji Urokodaki and the disciples could share one final meal together.
The soba noodles cooled slowly as they spoke of years of longing.
"Master, all these years, I hoped you could see me. When you made meals, I stood beside you. I could only watch, never taste."
"Master, every time you carved wood, I was there. To make you notice me, I deliberately blew the wood dust away—you thought it was the wind."
"Master, whenever you made offerings at the shrine, I blew out the candles to remind you I was present."
"Master..."
"Master..."
One face after another. One sentence after another poured from their hearts, striking directly at his core.
The old man's face, hidden beneath his mask, was wet with tears that had fallen freely. His trembling hands touched each disciple in turn, wishing he had twenty arms to hold them all.
"I think of you," he said, his voice breaking. "I've always thought of you. I know you've been here all along."
Joy and sorrow merged in tears. Gradually, the wooden house grew quiet. Everyone wiped their eyes dry. An uncomfortable realization dawned on them—someone was still here.
Sakonji Urokodaki, Sabito, Makomo, Shinsuke, Fukuda... all turned to look at Roy.
The young man finished his tempura, popped another piece into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and smiled. "Continue. Don't mind me."
Sabito, acting as the eldest, cleared his throat quietly and stood. His eyes brightened as he studied Roy. "You did the right thing, Eiichiro."
Or rather... "You knew we existed all along, didn't you?"
The fox-masked youth's eyes grew sharp, and his voice carried an edge—something dangerous. Sakonji Urokodaki, his Nen-enhanced body able to experience the warmth directly, regarded Roy with a piercing gaze. What he didn't say seemed to say everything.
Shinsuke's form shifted like wind around Roy, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing playfully. "You got us good, Eiichiro. You buried it deep. We almost thought you'd fooled us completely."
At the mention of hiding, Makomo suddenly remembered something. She peeked out from Sakonji Urokodaki's embrace to look at Roy, caught the knowing expression on his face, and quickly buried her head again in his chest.
He knows. He saw everything. Me... and me... How will I ever look at people again? This is Eiichiro's fault!
Big bad guy Eiichiro finished his meal in silence. He neither admitted nor denied anything. He said nothing, yet seemed to say everything.
Finally, he set down his chopsticks. "One thing needs to be said: I can't turn dead people into living people. What you couldn't eat before, you still can't eat now. I'm talking about the food itself."
"No," Sabito inhaled sharply, his expression becoming serious. He approached Roy and bowed deeply—a genuine, respectful bow. "I, Fujita Shuichi, represent the departed disciples in expressing our gratitude for your effort."
So... your name is Fujita Shuichi.