The old man had a pair of Buddha-ears and, from who-knows-where, palmed a volleyball. "Young man, how about a little game with the old fellow?"
Thump… thump… He dribbled the "volleyball" like a basketball—clearly not a two-and-a-half–year amateur.
Roy restarted his stride without a word, slid past the man's shoulder, and ran on. Dawn had just broken; the sky poured on a coat of rose for the boy to wear.
Netero chuckled. Being ignored—now that was a fresh sensation he hadn't had in ages.
Not the least bit annoyed, he rolled his sleeves and pocketed the ball. He didn't seem to move; a toe-tap was all—and a blink later he was running alongside Roy, matching pace along the riverside.
Perched on Roy's head, the gold-feathered crow jostled with each stride, tilting its head to examine Netero.
Netero's eyes crinkled. He remembered that day—gilded fire had eaten half the fox den's hillside. He lifted a finger to tease the bird and—
A tongue of flame snapped from the crow's beak and nearly singed his hair.
"Ho ho… feisty little thing," he said, double-edged, and—hand wreathed in golden light—rubbed the tuft on the bird's head anyway. Whether he meant the bird, the boy, or his own old "bird" self was anyone's guess.
Whoosh— Roy surged, an arrow off the string, leaving Netero well behind.
Harassing people at daybreak? The old coot had no boundaries—what rotten luck.
"Caw~!" The crow wriggled free of Netero's hand, waggled its rump in mockery, and faced forward again.
Netero smiled and, without warning, left a trail of afterimages. In a breath he was abreast again. The crow hopped and kicked in outrage, then clamped both wings around Roy's head. "Caw! Caw!" — Hurry, hurry—
A stumble; another burst—Roy's Advance Silent Gait carried him a long stride further. Netero didn't immediately chase. He watched the boy's back for a while—gradually overlaying it with a younger, reckless silhouette from long ago.
Just like him… no doubt you're his grandson, Zigg… (great-grandson or not, "grandson" was close enough.)
Save for the hair.
Memory flared in the old man's eyes. Sleeves flared back, a dragonfly-foot touch—and he was beside Roy again.
"Caaaw—!"
Why is the old man here again?! The bird sputtered, aimed, and spat flame—snuffed in midair with a single golden sweep of the palm.
Netero studied the boy. "Any faster?"
Roy didn't answer. The sun crested the horizon; he drank a draught of light—Total Concentration—
thump. His heart hammered double-time; blood surged; adrenaline lit the fuse; temperature climbed; flesh flared red for a blink. He snorted two white streamers from his nose—and vanished in a fresh burst.
"Caaaw—!"
This time the crow learned. It hugged Roy's forehead with both wings.
Man and bird became wind, scrawling a white seam along the river—and left Netero far behind.
Humanity's strongest blinked, then threw his hands to his hips and laughed, bright and loud. "Good boy. Wait for the old man!"
Play kindled. A glint flashed in Netero's eyes. Palms came together with a slap—and time seemed to hitch. Roy was still running forward, yet his body slid backward toward Netero, distance shrinking no matter how his legs drove.
Hearing Minds through Dripping Fists
A peak of martial control. When body mastery is absolute, you can listen to another's heartbeat, befuddle their will, compress their subjective time. Forward becomes backward; backward becomes further back—
Thump… thump…
For an instant there was only the sound of a heart.
Pedestrians, cars, a white egret over the water—gone,
leaving two points on a single line, and the line was shortening.
"Caw—" The crow slumped on Roy's head, bead-eyes roving. Where did its master go? Where did the old man go? It was as if the bird had been denied entry to that "Spirit Echoes" realm, even though—clearly—they were still sprinting.
"Ho ho… for your age, this body is already excellent," came the old voice, drifting closer. "But as for control—boy, you're still a ways off."
He wasn't wrong. Against Netero, Roy lagged in physique and in the fine grip on power. But the old man was celebrating early—
Never pop champagne at halftime.
Two suns flared in Roy's pupils. He cast Eye That Shatters Illusion.
Peel falsehood. Restore the real. If time had been skewed—correct it. If will had been fogged—clear it. If the world had been muted—let it sound again—
"Beep beep—" car horns came back.
Skree— an egret beat across the river, a fish in its beak.
"Caw—!" Don't scare me like that! The crow nuzzled his brow.
Pop. Hearing Minds through Dripping Fists, broken.
Netero met the boy's gaze. In those eyes—two suns, more sun than the sun—hard to look at. Saying: mortal means run out; even if the world breaks, the sun keeps climbing.
Eeeee—
Ten kilometers: done. 1 minute, 10 seconds.
Roy stopped, exhaled long, and hiked a leg onto the railing to stretch.
"Tap… tap…" Netero came up a moment later, stood beside him, and watched the dawn pour silver into the river—just like that time in the Dark Continent: he and Zigg on two flying dragons, rods out, sharing the quiet.
After a while, he asked, "Why do you want to be a Hunter?"
A gust tousled hair—old, young, and one gold-tufted bird.
Netero turned and waited, as if addressing the boy and the memory behind him.
Roy thought of his father Tanjūrō, of intelligence networks, of the license's perks. He was quiet a moment, then told the truth. "At first, to save someone. Now… still to save people—and to see more of the world."
Netero narrowed his eyes. "Scenery never runs out."
"Then I'll keep looking." Roy spread his arms to the dawn. "While the sun burns, I don't stop. I'll seek this world's farthest edge, until I can truly…"
"I came. I saw. I conquered."
"Big appetite," Netero said.
"Can't help it. Born that way."
"Ho ho…" The old man cocked a brow, teasing. "In that case I'll relay every word we said this morning to your great-grandfather."
"See if he breaks your legs."
Roy: "…"
Dammit, Beyond.