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Chapter 14: A Clash of Wills X Maha Zoldyck
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 10:24:00 +0000 UTCChapter 14: A Clash of Wills X Maha Zoldyck
Loyalty is not a blind absolute; it is always directed at someone.
Tsubone had dedicated her entire life to the Zoldyck family. From Zeno to Silva, and even to the yet-unborn Killua, her service had always been to the true or designated heir. From her perspective, she had done nothing wrong. She had been acting in Silva's best interests. When the master, bound by pride, could not bring himself to ask something of his son, it fell to the servants to act on his behalf.
But now... that was no longer necessary. Young Master Roy had dared to destroy a surveillance camera, and not only had Master Silva shown no anger, but he had even seemed... intrigued.
This meant it was time for her to re-evaluate her approach.
Tsubone walked out of the master bedroom, the katana held carefully in her arms. The late afternoon sun slanted through the long corridor windows, its heat now a gentle warmth.
Being a butler for the Zoldyck family was no easy job. It was a role paid for in blood and sweat. One had to manage the master's daily life, assist with their training and recovery, anticipate their every need, and, when necessary, even provide emotional support. In the entire Zoldyck estate, there were few whom Tsubone truly respected.
Gotoh was one of them.
And in the corridor leading to the armory, the old butler and the young one she respected had an unexpected encounter. She was going to oil the master's katana. He was returning from the armory, having just oiled Snow-Walker. A fine blade is both strong and fragile; it must be regularly maintained to prevent oxidation and rust.
It was ironic. These weapons usually sat in the armory for years, collecting dust. Now, this place was about to become a frequent haunt for the two most prominent butlers of the Zoldyck family.
Gotoh emerged from the armory just as Tsubone was approaching. He gave her a slight nod, stepped aside to let her pass, and continued on his way.
"I thought you would hate me," Tsubone's voice, raspy and low, stopped him in his tracks.
Gotoh paused but didn't turn. "I thought," she continued, "that after I disrespected your master, you would do something. I have been waiting for you."
The old saying, "Respect the master by respecting the dog," worked in reverse in the Zoldyck household. It was true; when Gotoh had heard that Tsubone had demanded a reason from Roy, he had been filled with a cold fury. He'd been tempted to confront her, despite the throbbing pain in his eyes.
But after he had calmed down, he'd made his choice. He gently patted the sheathed Snow-Walker in his arms. "I chose to trust the Young Master," he said, his voice firm. "Just as he is willing to trust me, I will always stand by his side. I will not cause him any trouble."
"His hair is not silver," Tsubone stated after a moment's silence, turning her head slightly. "He will never be the head of this family."
"And what of it?" The younger butler adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "At least... the Young Master treats me like a person."
With that, he walked away, leaving Tsubone to her own thoughts.
The Young Master said he wishes to prepare his own meal tonight... Heavens above, what is he thinking? The kitchen is no place for him.
Gotoh quickened his pace, his mind filled with worry. He reached the kitchens and peered inside.
There was Roy, an apron tied around his waist, expertly wielding a wok spatula. On the counter before him were neatly arranged ingredients: minced ginger and garlic, peeled tomatoes, whisked eggs, ground meat, and pre-blanched eggplant.
He was making two simple, home-style dishes from his past life: scrambled eggs with tomato, and eggplant with minced meat. It had been nearly a decade since he'd last cooked, and he wasn't sure how much he remembered. But driven by a craving for the familiar tastes of his past and a desire to prepare something similar for the Kamado family, he had thrown himself into it. He was performing an action no other Zoldyck—not Zeno, not Silva, not Illumi, not even the ancient Maha—would ever dream of: stir-frying.
FWOOSH! A plume of flame erupted from the wok.
The chefs Roy had kicked out of the kitchen were now peeking through the doorway, their heads clustered together, whispering in disbelief. The sun must have risen in the west. A mouse must have paid a New Year's visit to a cat. There was no other explanation for why the eldest son of the Zoldyck family was in the kitchen, insisting on cooking his own food. He hadn't even let his personal butler, Gotoh, assist him.
He moved with a practiced ease, finding his rhythm. The initial awkwardness gave way to a fluid confidence. The toss of the wok, the control of the flame, the timing of the ingredients—it all came back to him.
With a final, expert flick of the wrist, the two dishes were plated.
"The aroma... I've never smelled anything like it."
"Look at the color, so vibrant... it must taste incredible."
"What are you talking about? It's his technique! The way he handles the wok, that final toss... that's not the work of a beginner. I'd bet even some of the world's most famous Gourmet Hunters couldn't cook with that much skill."
The chefs murmured amongst themselves. Gotoh, standing by the door, was just as astonished. He had watched Roy grow up from infancy. And in all that time, he had no idea the Young Master could cook. It was a gross failure on his part.
Before he could wallow in his self-reproach, Roy's voice cut through his thoughts, calling him in to get a bowl of rice.
Good food was meant to be shared. The greatest joy for a cook is to see others enjoy their creation. Roy had no issue with sharing the meal with Gotoh, but the young butler, bound by his rigid sense of place, refused to sit at the table. As always, he served Roy his rice and then retreated to his post behind him, hands clasped.
Roy sighed. It was a shame. Gotoh was missing a rare opportunity to taste the cuisine of another world.
More for him, then.
But just as he was about to take his first bite, a gust of wind swept through the kitchen.
A figure appeared at the doorway. Before Roy could react, the stranger had stepped forward, plucked a piece of egg and tomato with a pair of chopsticks, and popped it into his mouth.
Roy's brow furrowed. He looked up, and his eyes went wide. He immediately stood, bowing his head respectfully.
"Great-Grandfather."
