There were still five hours until midnight,
and thirteen hours until eight o'clock tomorrow morning...
The clock hanging on the south wall kept ticking away the seconds.
At seven in the evening, the sun was setting, and the last red glow of dusk dyed Kukuroo Mountain a deep crimson...
Silva stood bare-backed, loosening up his body. He spread his legs into a split and hooked each foot onto a separate chair. The muscles across his thighs, back, chest, and arms were all swollen with blood, standing out in thick ridges. The great tendons beneath his skin were even more distinct, twisting like coiling dragons. At a glance, the sheer visual impact and pressure he gave off was overwhelming.
At one point, the man turned his head toward the door.
Creak.
The door opened inward, and a head of spiky white hair, every strand standing upright like quills, came into Silva's view. After finishing dinner with Netero, Zeno walked in with his hands behind his back.
In two or three steps, he reached the window and looked out over Kukuroo Mountain, stretched out across the earth like a great dragon. Then he said quietly, "You seem awfully impatient."
Crack... crack... crack...
Silva kept moving his body, and the joints in his elbows, shoulders, and fingers gave off soft popping sounds.
His silver hair spilled across the floor like liquid mercury.
He said nothing.
Zeno didn't care. He just kept talking to himself.
"You waited one year, two years. Silva... did you ever imagine Roy would have a day like this?"
"Did you?" Silva turned his neck, his gaze passing over Zeno's shoulder as he watched the last of the sunset sink below the horizon. Night thickened as the bright moon rose in the east, and he threw the question back at him.
Zeno pulled the window open and let the night wind stir his white hair.
"No," he admitted cleanly.
"At first, I thought he was mediocre. Maybe he had a little talent, but his upper limit would've only barely reached assassin level. Who could've guessed he'd turn into what he is now..."
Zeno looked back at Silva.
"So tell me—when do you think that child started becoming different?"
"From the day he asked me to open his aura nodes," Silva said.
He could still clearly remember the stubbornness in the boy's eyes back then—the unwillingness to remain ordinary, the refusal to sink, the refusal to live an unremarkable life, the fierce hunger to become stronger.
Those had also been the eyes of someone full of fighting spirit and ambition.
As moonlight spilled over Kukuroo Mountain like a thin veil, Silva said in a low voice, "He didn't want to be an ordinary person."
"So..."
"Step by step, he made it to where he is now."
"And came to stand in front of me."
"Yeah... now that I think about it, it hasn't even been three years yet..." Zeno turned his head toward the deepening night, his expression full of quiet emotion.
Silva lowered his gaze and said nothing.
He had almost forgotten.
As his father said, from that day until now, not even three full years had passed.
As his emotions shifted, a gust of wind blew a few loose strands of hair across his face...
At the right moment, Zeno glanced back at him again and let out a meaningful chuckle.
"Looking at you now, Roy is way calmer than you are."
Silva asked flatly, "What's he doing right now?"
"Sleeping." Zeno's expression turned a little strange. Tucking both hands into his sleeves, he gave a suppressed, rasping laugh. "He's pretty heartless. Seems like... he's not taking you seriously at all."
Silva expressionlessly stretched out both arms. Then his hands clenched at the same time with a pop, crushing the air in his palms and sending out a dull burst that echoed faintly through the room.
When he raised his head again, the corner of his mouth curved upward into a cold smile.
"Tomorrow," he said, "he'll learn."
Zeno narrowed his eyes and gave a noncommittal grunt.
"That's what I thought back then too. And the result was..."
"There was no result," Silva cut him off without hesitation.
"I'm not you, Father. I'm not that weak."
Zeno: "..."
With his back still to Silva, the corner of his eye twitched. Then he gave a cold smile.
"In that case, I'll be watching very closely."
There was only one night left, after all.
Zeno could afford to wait.
His white hair swaying, the old man stooped slightly and left Silva's study with his hands behind his back.
Tick... tick...
The minute hand on the clock advanced another ten minutes.
Zeno had changed into a robe. From a distance, he looked uncannily like Maha as he strolled away, muttering, "That kid sure is taking a long afternoon nap..."
Bang!
He slammed the door shut on the way out.
The door shuddered in protest. Clearly, Zeno had put force into it. He was annoyed.
But Silva didn't care in the slightest.
He was only speaking the truth, the same way he had always firmly believed—
that he would not lose.
No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't find a reason or excuse for losing.
And so he kept moving, continuing his warm-up and making preparations for tomorrow.
At eight that night, it had already been a full seven hours since Roy had gone down for his afternoon nap.
Tsubone, who had gone from preparing lunch straight into preparing dinner, had been keeping an eye on Roy the entire time. Taking advantage of a free moment, she sat there with a baby in each arm, soothing them both.
The baby on the left had snow-white skin. The one on the right had very dark skin.
The old head butler pulled up a small stool and sat by the corridor leading to the kitchen, absentmindedly minding the children. At one point, she heard footsteps coming from the other end of the hall.
A moment later, two heads of blond hair appeared—one tied into a high ponytail, the other falling softly over the shoulders.
Kuraging came over with Kurapika, bowed respectfully, and said, "Lady Tsubone."
Still soothing the babies, Tsubone glanced at Kurapika, then gave Kuraging a slight nod.
"There's hot food in the kitchen. Serve yourself."
Kuraging nodded awkwardly.
Then, seeing that Tsubone still had two babies in her arms, she quickly offered, "Then why don't I help bring the young master his dinner?"
Tsubone gently patted Canary on the back.
"No need. The young master still hasn't woken up."
Kuraging froze.
Beside her, Kurapika's eyes shifted slightly, and he looked over too.
A moment later, Kuraging came back to herself and answered respectfully, "Understood."
Then she turned and took Kurapika into the kitchen.
"Sis, what's wrong?"
There was a separate dining area inside for the Zoldyck family's staff and servants.
Kurapika followed Kuraging, got some food, and sat down at the table. After glancing at her, he lowered his voice and asked.
Kuraging said nothing.
She silently finished dinner, then took Kurapika back to the room Tsubone had arranged for them. Only once they were inside did she walk to the window. Looking up through the hazy moonlight at the Zoldyck family castle atop the mountain, she said with her back to Kurapika,
"Pika, didn't you ask me earlier how strong the young master really is?"
"I think... you'll see tomorrow."
Something flickered in Kurapika's brows, and he wanted to ask more. But given his sister's position, and the fact that they were currently living under someone else's roof, he knew it wasn't appropriate to pry too much.
So he only gave a quiet hum.
Then he lifted his head, and together with Kuraging, gazed silently toward the summit of Kukuroo Mountain, counting down the time in silence...
Dong...
At nine that night, the wooden clock in the corner struck the hour.
Inside Roy's bedroom, the curtains shifted with the wind, rustling softly as they let moonlight pour in through the bright glass windows, adding an extra touch of serenity to Roy's sleeping form on the soft bed.
The boy was still asleep.
At that moment, his consciousness was still in the Naruto world, in the southern forest, sitting with Sakumo Hatake while Shisui and Itachi practiced nearby, calmly sipping tea.
There were no tea leaves—just boiled water.
And yet somehow, there was a quiet sorrow of parting hidden in its taste.
Minato Namikaze was heading to war.
Obito was heading to war.
The White Fang in front of him, along with his son Kakashi and Nohara Rin, were all going to war too.
Roy raised his cup toward Sakumo from afar, then tipped his head back and drained the hot tea in one swallow.
That easy, open way of carrying himself made Sakumo experience a strange illusion.
It felt as though the boy sitting before him was his peer—
not a child who wasn't even ten years old yet.
Konoha's White Fang raised his own cup in return, took a sip, and smiled warmly at Roy.
"Then let's hope everyone wins their battles..."
Roy met Sakumo's warm gaze directly.
Then, suddenly, he asked, "Uncle White Fang, which do you think is more important—missions, or comrades?"
Sakumo paused slightly.
Holding the stone cup in his hand, he rubbed it absently and fell into thought.
After a long while, he looked back up at Roy.
"Why are you asking me that?"
Roy answered bluntly, "I'm just curious. I want to know the answer."
Sakumo frowned. He thought it over carefully again, looking down at the ripples on the tea caused by the breeze.
Then he murmured, "In terms of duty, a ninja has to place mission completion above all else. So by that logic, the mission is more important."
"But... in terms of loyalty and bonds, a ninja also can't just abandon comrades and let them be killed by the enemy in order to complete a mission. In that sense, comrades matter too..."
"So?" Roy picked up the stone kettle and poured more tea into Sakumo's cup. Looking at him seriously, he asked, "Which side do you lean toward more, Uncle White Fang? The mission, or comrades?"
Sakumo frowned more deeply.
After thinking it through for a long time, he slowly shook his head.
"I don't know either. But if I had to ignore my comrades and leave them behind... I don't think I could do it."
"Then you lean toward comrades," Roy said, understanding at once.
Konoha's White Fang really was Konoha's White Fang—
a real man who valued his bonds above missions, above even the sky itself.
What a pity that men like that were too rare. Their light shone too brightly, which only made them easier for small-minded people to target and bury beneath filth.
Roy looked deeply at Sakumo.
In the original story, the people who hurt him—or rather, directly pushed him to his death—were not his enemies, but the very comrades he had once saved.
If not for those comrades joining in with the villagers who pointed fingers behind his back, he probably never would have been driven to the point of suicide.
If only someone, anyone, had spoken a single word for him back then—just one sentence—the tragedy might never have happened.
Of course, Roy did not know, nor did he want to know, whether Hiruzen had tacitly allowed it, or whether Danzo, Koharu, and Homura had helped push events along from behind the scenes.
The cup filled.
Roy set the kettle down and smiled at Sakumo.
"Uncle White Fang, want to hear my answer?"
Sakumo froze for a second, then smiled gently.
"Go ahead. I'm listening."
Roy reached out and caught a green leaf drifting down in the wind, turning it lightly in his palm.
"To me, both missions and comrades are important—and neither is. Nothing matters more than me staying alive."
At a thought, flame sprang from his fingers and instantly burned the leaf to ash.
Then he stood and looked over at Shisui and Itachi, who were still steadily advancing through their ten-thousand practice swings.
Narrowing his eyes, he said, "Once you die, even if the world floods, it no longer has anything to do with you. So only by living—by continuing to live—can you ever truly find the answer to that question."
"What do you think?"
"Uncle White Fang?"
Roy turned his head and looked at Sakumo.
Sakumo had visibly fallen silent.
Clearly, Roy's answer had stunned him.
It was obvious that the boy's answer was more selfish, more self-centered, and more extreme.
It didn't fit Konoha's current mainstream thinking.
It also didn't fit the Will of Fire passed down since the First Hokage founded Konoha nearly a hundred years ago.
And yet...
somewhere deep inside, a voice kept telling Sakumo that if he thought about it carefully, the boy's answer was not without reason.
When your own life is already gone, then missions and comrades are gone with it—just like all the ninja who died in war, who in the end turned into nothing more than a handful of dust, some of them not even leaving behind a whole corpse.
Gradually, some light returned to Sakumo's thoughtful eyes.
After a long pause, he came back to himself and said quietly to Roy, "Sometimes I feel like you're far too mature to be a child your age..."
Roy shrugged.
"Lord Hokage says the same thing."
"Does he?" Sakumo laughed softly. The tension in his brow eased as he lifted the cup, copied Minato, and tipped it back, draining the tea in one go.
A few breaths later—
the tea was gone,
the cup was empty,
and the man let out a satisfied breath.
Then he set the cup down, rose to his feet, and looked at Roy with a warm expression.
"Ren, I'm going too."
"When I come back, we'll have tea again."
Roy held out his right hand and hooked out his little finger, blinking at Sakumo.
"Pinky promise, Uncle."
"If I really don't see you when you get back, don't blame me if I take it out on Kakashi~"
Sakumo froze for a second, pointed at Roy, and laughed in disbelief.
"You little brat, threatening me now? Fine. A promise is a promise."
Then he held out his little finger and hooked it with Roy's.
At the side, Shisui had been sneaking glances over at them. The moment his attention wavered, his swing went off by a hair.
Clack.
Two stones tumbled uselessly out of the basket.
The next second, his whole body shivered as a cold draft seemed to blow across the back of his neck...
"Shisui. Add ten thousand more."
"Yes..."
Shisui looked utterly miserable and wanted to slap himself.
He hurriedly fixed his stance and resumed his practice with all the seriousness he could muster.
Before he knew it, the sun had begun to tilt westward, and sunset had dyed half the sky red.
Only after finishing two full rounds of ten-thousand practice swings did the boy finally drag his aching arms home, carried back by Roy grabbing him by the collar.
Caw...
As the night grew deeper, a crow occasionally cut across the sky and landed on a rooftop, using its beak to preen its feathers...
Roy brought Shisui home first, then returned with Itachi. After having dinner with his mother, Mikoto, he went to sleep.
And when he opened his eyes again...
a pair of Buddha-like ears came dimly into view.
"Ho ho ho... you're awake…"
~~~
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