Zeno declared that he was giving up, then opened his eyes and clasped his hands behind his back.
It was hard to imagine that a hunched, frail body in its sixties had just unleashed such tremendous power.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
Germann was clearly taken aback by Zeno's question.
"Hahaha... So that's how you react... I'll take that as a yes. Come on, let's head up."
Zeno pinched the short strand of white beard that stuck out at a near-right angle like a shrimp's claw, then turned around with a chuckle and walked steadily toward the top of the basin.
He walked up the sloping earthen wall as if it were level ground, without slipping or losing his balance.
Germann followed like a shadow, his black robe wrapped around him.
They climbed out of the basin in silence. The boundary Chairman Netero had originally marked had long since been blurred by their fierce battle.
Silva walked over with a calm expression, accepting very quickly that his father had also conceded to Germann.
Perhaps for other self-important, prideful people, admitting defeat was humiliating, but neither father nor son felt that way.
"That was a great fight."
That was Silva's assessment.
Germann's reply was a concise "Thank you." He was still immersed in the rhythm of the split-second battle and hadn't quite come back to himself.
For a while, his blood had been boiling, and he'd been consumed by the urge to kill. Germann wondered whether that had been the influence of his bloodthirsty nature or simply his own true nature.
It took quite some time for him to truly calm down.
Zeno glanced at him, seemed to think of something, then slowly turned back to face him.
"Germann, something Chairman Netero said at yesterday's banquet got me thinking."
"What is it?"