Even loyalty has its chosen object...
Tsubone had devoted her entire life to the Zoldycks, serving from Zeno to Silva and then to Killua yet unborn—always the true heir or heir-apparent.
So that day, she didn't think she'd done anything wrong.
On the contrary, she believed she'd been fighting for Silva's interests.
If the father couldn't swallow his pride to ask his own son, then such things had to be handled by servants like them.
Now… no need. Roy had the nerve to skewer a surveillance cara with a single cut, and Silva hadn't reacted—he even seed faintly "pleased"...
From here on, Tsubone would have to change her attitude.
Cradling the sword, she left the master bedroom.
Near dusk, sunlight through the corridor's glass no longer burned like midday.
A butler's work isn't easy. You grind down flesh and blood all the sa: tending to the master's daily needs, training and recovery, reading the room, and when necessary, supplying emotional ballast.
So there weren't many in the entire Zoldyck estate whom Tsubone acknowledged.
Gotoh was one of them.
And along the corridor to the armory…
The veteran butler and the young man she respected happened to et today.
She was headed to oil a katana. He, holding Yubashiri in his arms, was headed to do the sa.
Blades are hard yet brittle, and must be oiled regularly so the steel doesn't oxidize and rust.
Ironically, no one usually cared about these swords and such, leaving them to gather dust in storage—yet now this would beco the haunt of the two most renowned figures in Zoldyck butlerdom.
It was 5:49 p.m.
Gotoh had just finished oiling Yubashiri and stepped out of the armory.
As he exited, he saw Tsubone approaching with a katana in her arms. He nodded, shifted his path by half a step, and walked past.
"I thought you'd hate ," Tsubone said suddenly.
Gotoh stopped at once.
Without turning around, he said, "I thought, after I embarrassed your master, you'd do sothing on his behalf. I've been waiting these past few days."
The rule of "punish the dog for its master" works in reverse in the Zoldyck estate too.
Truth be told, when he heard the young master was being ordered to give a reason, Gotoh had seethed that day—nearly blind with pain yet ready to confront Tsubone for an explanation.
But once he'd cooled down… He stroked the Yubashiri at his chest, paused two seconds, and said with quiet resolve, "I choose to trust the young master."
"Just as he chooses to trust —I always have and always will stand at his side, and I won't cause him trouble."
"His hair isn't silver," Tsubone reminded after her own two seconds of silence, turning her head. "So he is fated not to be the head."
"So what?" The young butler pushed his gold-rimd glasses up his nose and shot her a sardonic glance. "At least—"
"The young master treats like a person."
With that, he ignored her thoughts and strode toward the kitchen…
'The young master said he's cooking tonight… heaven help us—what is he thinking? Is that any place for you to be?'
Worried, Gotoh quickened his pace and, monts later, peered into the kitchen—
Roy had an apron tied at his waist and was wielding a spatula like he ant it.
On the counter before him: minced scallion, ginger, and garlic; peeled tomatoes; beaten eggs; ground at; blanched eggplant; and a premixed slurry for thickening.
Two dishes—stir-fried tomato and egg, and eggplant with minced at. In his previous life, these were among the few ho-style dishes Roy could cook—and the ones he did best.
It had been nearly ten years since he'd last touched a stove; he didn't know how much his skills had withered.
So he followed his instincts—soothing his Chinese stomach, and planning to improve the Kamado kids' als—and, bracing himself, started tossing the wok, doing the one thing Zeno, Silva, Illumi, and even ancestor Maha would never touch: cooking at the stove.
"Whoosh." The fla leapt from the burner…
The cooks Roy had shooed out were crowded at the doorfra, craning their necks to peek in…
The sun must have risen in the west today, soone joked; another swore he'd seen a mouse volunteering New Year's greetings to a cat…
Otherwise, how do you explain the Zoldyck first son appearing in the kitchen, insisting on cooking for himself?
He wouldn't even let his own valet, Gotoh, co in to help—just kept stirring, tossing, managing the heat—
Finding, bit by bit, the old rhythm: from clumsy to practiced to effortless, until he hit his stride.
At last, with a neat flourish of the ladle—
Two ho-style dishes—Tomato & Egg and Minced-at Eggplant—slid from the wok in succession.
"The aroma—never slled anything like it…"
"Look at that color—full and bright, with a lively sheen. Must taste good…"
"What are you talking about? Isn't it the young master's technique? The way he stirs, that wok toss, the final ladle pull—those aren't moves a novice can do. In fact…"
"I suspect even those fad Gourt Hunters might not match the young master's skill…"
The cooks whispered. Insiders see the craft; so it goes.
Listening at the door, Gotoh was no less astonished.
He'd watched Roy grow up—since the swaddling cloths, he'd been by his side. And yet—
He hadn't known the young master could cook. A major dereliction!
Gotoh fud at himself…
Roy gave him no ti for self-reproach. He called out and pulled him in to dish up.
Good food is ant to be shared. For a cook, the happiest mont is seeing others wolf down what you labored over—best if they lick the bowl clean so there's less to wash.
So Roy didn't mind eating with Gotoh. But the young butler, rigid about his station, refused to sit at the sa table…
As today: after serving Roy's rice, he folded his hands and retreated behind him.
Roy wasn't surprised and didn't press him—rely pitied him for missing—
A rare chance to taste cuisine from another world.
Which was why Roy didn't expect—
A gust of wind swept in…
Soone stepped through the doorway, beat Gotoh to it, and lifted a chopstick of Tomato & Egg straight into his mouth.
Roy's brow pinched. He looked up, pupils tightening, and hurried to his feet with a bow.
"Great-Grandfather."
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