What is water?
It's surf and stream and river and sea, it's the thin gruel we drink, the source that keeps the body alive.
Everyone's understanding is different, yet all thoughts of "water" inevitably flow back to human perception.
Urokodaki sat on a stump carving a mask. He stripped away the rough bark, smoothed the edges—one could faintly see a fox taking shape. He focused on his knife, yet in his mind's eye he held the figures of Tomioka Giyu and Roy.
One—cool, taciturn, few words. One—brimming with vigor, edge bared. He'd often imagined who might push Water Breathing further, beyond his own reach—before, it was Giyu; now there was also Roy.
No mystery: the boy learned too fast—far beyond the norm.
By the falls.
Giyu stood point-to-point with Roy across the spray, balanced on a treetop.
Hearing the boy claim he had "one more cut," those cool eyes flickered; he refocused on Roy.
The youth propped his short blade, composure colored by a faint smile—he wasn't joking.
Yesterday he learned Breathing; today he's created a new form… Giyu groped for a grain of reality in the absurd.
He did something rare. He smiled.
"Eh—Giyu-nii smiled? That's bizarre… the sun must be rising in the west today!" Shinsuke squawked, leaning forward—slap, slap, slap—Fukuda cuffed him back to verify this wasn't a dream. It wasn't. He'd really smiled.
Master said Giyu-nii hasn't smiled since his sister died… so why now? Makomo glanced at Sabito.
The fox-faced youth blinked too, then watched the two below; after a beat his brow eased and a smile touched his face.
"What do you see, Brother?"
"Happiness," Sabito murmured. "The happiness of finding a worthy match—and a worthy successor."
He said no more. He knew Giyu had long believed he hadn't passed by strength back then, and thus was unworthy of the title Hashira. That was why—canon remembered—he always kept to himself, apart from the other pillars.
Now… "He feels someone fit to bear 'Water Hashira' has appeared."
"Roy?"
"Roy."
All eyes gathered on Giyu. He really was happy.
His gaze blazed on Roy. "Good."
His blade slanted toward the treetop—drip—a drop fell. From the point of his Nichirin, ripples spread in measured rings toward Roy.
Shinsuke and Fukuda didn't notice at first. Then they saw a sparrow passing over Giyu's head suddenly sliced in half. They realized something—the wind seemed to still; even the rustle of swaying branches vanished.
A chill crawled their backs. They looked—
Giyu walked along the ripples toward Roy. Everything he passed was cut cleanly in two by the high-speed mesh of his slashes.
"Water Breathing, Eleventh Form: Dead Calm."
Near now—Roy felt the killing hush that made all things fall silent.
Two suns bloomed in his pupils. He narrowed his eyes—Giyu had woven an interlocking guard of cuts, the reason he'd snuffed Rui's Thread Rotation so easily.
But the calm of a physics trick would never be true stillness.
True stillness lies in the heart's lack of ripple. Drip. A drop fell on the tip of Roy's blade. He let the point rest upon the treetop, recalled the dawn he'd watched during the storm—the sun split upon the sea's mirror—and released his Illusory Blade.
Woon…
Ripples swelled and sheathed the world, swallowing everything—Giyu, the onlookers Sabito and Makomo in the trees, the bewildered Shinsuke, Fukuda, Shimizu, Watanabe… all of them.
For an instant, time itself seemed to pause; all lost the power to move.
Nothing remained but the sight of a red sun climbing out of the sea—and the boy resting his blade gently upon Giyu's shoulder.
Hua-la— nine in the morning.
The mountain wind tore the mist and threw down a shaft of light.
Urokodaki paused, looking out of the yard—
Giyu walked back in his red–yellow–white haori, a faint smile on his cool face.
The old man blinked. "You're back."
"Back."
"How was it?"
Giyu sat beside him; his lake-blue eyes shone brighter than ever. "You were right, Master. Roy will be the answer."
Urokodaki startled, then picked up his knife again and muttered, "Then I'd best hurry, or I won't finish before he goes down the mountain…"
Chnk… chnk… chnk… shavings fell.
In the parallel world, after dueling Giyu, Roy did six more sets of ten-thousand cuts before sleep, chatted idly with master and senior, then lay down on the warm bed and slipped into a deep slumber.
Soft snores drifted…
He dove back through the dream channel into the Hunter world.
A red sun unfurled its morning glory, painting the sea a warm, rosy gold.
"Sir, breakfast~"
Six in the morning.
Kuraging—dark circles and all, hair tied back—pushed the cart to the bow and passed the tray to Gotoh.
Even without thinking, Roy knew: the butler had crammed her with a brutal, force-fed crash course on Nen.
As the young butler would say, "If you can't learn it, look to yourself. Did you listen? Did you think? 'It's hard'—where is it hard? Every nen-user came up through this."
In short… with Gotoh around, Kuraging shouldn't expect mercy.
"Sir—your meal." Gotoh took the cart and began peeling shrimp.
Roy admired the dawn; from the shadowed gap, the "weirdo" (Illumi) peeked, met Roy's glance, and ducked beneath the deck.
Faintly, Captain's raging voice drifted up: "Which bastard did this? Don't learn the good—learn rats tunneling! If I catch you I'll disqualify you!"
Days now… if not a hole here, then a hole there; patched, then torn again. Captain nearly spiraled into the heavens with rage.
But the "rat" hid too well. With Zetsu, even his presence couldn't be felt; when you weren't looking, he'd pop up. Exhausting, unending.
Thankfully, after ten days' sail, Dolle Harbor loomed near.
The captain pinched his nose and held on for one more day. The coastline showed at the meeting of sea and sky…
Boo-ooot—
The horn sang.
After a rough journey,
anchors dropped; lines were fast; the gangway went down; the ten who survived the points battle gathered from their corners.
There were the bandaged man, the snake handler, the archer, the bald ninja… and the weirdo, Kite, Kuraging, Gotoh, and Roy.
They clustered at the gang, none willing to go first—stealing glances at the bow.
"Sir…" Gotoh called.
Roy tossed him the branch, picked up the staff-sword that lay across his knees, and rose to his feet.
He came at an easy pace; behind him, Gotoh and Kuraging kept stride.
The sun was just right. Out of respect—or fear—no one moved before he did.
As eyes watched him approach, the crowd split to either side and opened a path.
Very well.
Roy didn't dawdle. He set his foot to the gangway and went down first.
Hoo—
A collective breath loosed behind him. Then the weirdo, then Kite… they filed down in turn.
Captain lingered, pipe in mouth, watching the trio recede; his gaze stuck a heartbeat longer on Roy, Gotoh, Kuraging; he drew a cheap phone from his pocket and placed a call…
Ring… A child's voice came down the line.
"Nana—It's Captain from the Kaijinmaru…"
"Captain?"
"Heh-heh-heh… The boy's arrived?"
An old woman braced on a cane, a string of green prayer beads at her throat, grinned—a few sparse teeth showed when she laughed.
She took the phone; sure enough the captain's gravel came through.
"Hey, old hag. Still not dead?"
The old lady's eye twitched; she chuckled, "What a pity—this crone's got a tough life. Not dying just yet. Sorry to disappoint."
"Heh, heh…" Captain puffed a smoke ring. "If you're not dead, you will be…"
He spoke pointedly. "This year's candidates aren't ordinary, Ma'am. Best take it easy. When it's time to let the water through, let it through…"
He'd barely seen Roy off and already missed his ship. A few strokes more and the kid would've split the keel. He could only sigh that the boy had some sense—and sheathed his edge in time.
"Don't fret, old bones I may be, but not as feeble as you think," the crone said. "At least—one hand's enough to school you."
She rapped her cane on the floor.
A cluster of children in white robes and masks gathered round, chanting riddles that made no sense at first blush—yet nen swelled strong about them.
"Doge… doge…"
"Iron and cotton are both a ton— which weighs more?"
"Iron."
"Wrong. The same—both a ton."
"Who's older, the older brother or the younger?"
"Answer: unknown—they're twins."
"…"
"It's those 'kids'!" Captain heard the murmur behind the voice and wasn't surprised. He sucked a drag and frowned.
"Old woman—I've warned you: don't be too stubborn."
At least—his tone sank, "If you meet a boy with a staff-sword and a male and female attendant, let them pass. Because…"
"That boy is a monster who trains his blade under a storm. I've never seen a candidate like him. There's nothing he won't push through. Not even you—and the Kiriko family—could stop him."
Wait… a storm?
The old woman had age, not infirmity; eyes and ears were keen. "Hey, don't you dare spook this old gal."
The words were literal.
"In any case, consider yourself warned. Remember—a boy with a staff-sword…"
Beep—
The line died.
The crone frowned, phone still in her hand. A ring of children encircled her. At some moment, her ear twitched—ever so slightly.
Footfalls approached— steady, measured. Heartbeats joined them.
Thump… thump… thump…
They were coming.