The branch family's estate wasn't well-lit. The chill of night clung to the air, like the lingering bitterness of an unsaid truth.
Thump… Thump…
In the otherwise silent courtyard, the dull rhythm of fists pounding wood echoed again and again.
A boy stood there, skin pale as rice paper, his forehead wrapped tightly in white bandages. His movements were fluid, each strike of his palms against the wooden post flowing with practiced precision.
But as the night dragged on, that once expressionless face began to twist. The boy's calm mask cracked, revealing something far more raw — anger, hatred, pain. His once gentle movements took on a violent edge. What was once soft became savage. What was once training… had become punishment.
He didn't use chakra — not even a thread. Every strike landed with nothing but flesh and bone, until his hands were nothing but bloodied messes of meat. The wooden post, meanwhile, had been battered inward, its surface smeared with red.
To call this training would be an insult to discipline.
This… was rage.
Yet he didn't stop. Not even when his fists trembled. Not even when blood dripped onto the cold stone floor.
All that filled Neji Hyuga's mind was that day. Just a few days ago. The day he finally saw — truly saw — what it meant to be branded with the Caged Bird Seal.
Like every other day over the past few years, he had gone to spar with the heiress of the main house.
He already bore the cursed mark back then, though he'd been too young to grasp its meaning. He naïvely believed what the others told him — that it was a symbol of duty, of honor. That it was the sacred burden of the branch family to protect the main house.
"Responsibility."
That word meant nothing to him. He'd always protected Hinata anyway. Not because of duty, but because she was his little cousin — almost like a sister. He didn't need a brand on his forehead to care about her.
Until that day.
Until he saw his father — proud, quiet, dependable — drop to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His hands clutched his skull as he convulsed, screaming like an animal, body writhing in agony.
Neji never understood why his father always wore his forehead protector inside the house.
He understood now.
When that headband fell off, the grotesque seal on his father's forehead pulsed like something alive. Blue veins bulged like centipedes beneath the skin, the cursed mark writhing in silent, cruel rhythm.
And the man who activated it?
The Main House patriarch. The man Neji was supposed to call "uncle."
He had simply watched. Cold-eyed. Unmoved.
"Just this once," Hyuga Hiashi had said, his white eyes reflecting the dim light of the chamber. "But remember your place — and your mission."
That was the moment Neji understood.
The cursed seal wasn't just a symbol.
It was control.
It could destroy the brain with a mere thought. Which meant the Main House held the lives of the entire Branch Family in their hands. At any time, for any reason, they could decide who lived… and who died.
If a branch member ever dared to resist, to disobey, or — heaven forbid — to dream of more…
Then death would come swiftly. Painlessly, if you were lucky. Publicly, if they wanted to make a point.
And worst of all?
Everyone called it a blessing. A noble burden. A sacred fate.
Bullshit.
Since that day, Neji had changed.
The warm, kind boy was gone.
He now looked at Hinata not with affection, but contempt. Not with care, but loathing.
Creeeak—
Teeth clenched, fists flying, Neji struck again and again, until his father's voice echoed once more in his ears.
"Neji, don't hate the Main House. The Caged Bird Seal isn't a curse — it's a protective measure."
"I understand, Father."
"The Byakugan is coveted by enemies. The seal protects the clan's secrets. It's for the future of the Hyuga."
"I understand, Father."
"This is our mission — our destiny — as members of the Branch Family. One day, you'll understand."
"I understand, Father…"
CRACK!
The post finally gave way, snapping in half with a sharp crack. Wooden splinters danced through the air like snow in a storm.
Neji stumbled, knees hitting the stone. He stared at his bloodied hands, his long black hair veiling his face. His voice came as a whisper:
"I understand, Father…"
But he didn't. Not really.
Why?
Why could the Main House live so peacefully, so righteously, as if their power was natural, earned, deserved?
Why could they look down on them with such calm confidence?
Why were the ones who hurt their own kin always the ones preaching "duty" and "destiny"?
Click.
A faint sound — the soft creak of a sliding door — broke the stillness of the night.
The warm glow of a lantern spilled into the courtyard, casting long shadows across the broken post.
A man stepped forward, his silhouette tall and broad, casting a shadow over Neji.
"Neji…"
The voice was low, conflicted — full of hesitation.
Hyuga Hizashi looked at his son's trembling back, and his heart twisted.
For generations, the Branch Family children were taught their place from birth — that their sole purpose was to protect the Main House. It was brainwashing, plain and simple. But it worked. By the time they came of age, most branch members didn't question it at all.
If the Main House praised them, they felt honored.
If the Main House scolded them, they trembled with guilt.
If the Main House grieved, they wept beside them — often louder.
Hizashi had been expected to teach Neji the same doctrine. To mold him into a dutiful servant.
But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He'd questioned it for years. Had regrets. But every time he saw the way Neji used to smile at Hinata — like a real big brother — he felt vindicated. Maybe, just maybe, the next generation could be different.
He had hoped that when the day came — the day Neji was branded — the boy would accept it with peace, knowing Hinata would never use the seal against him.
But Hizashi had never expected that day. He hadn't anticipated his own fury. The moment he lost control and nearly lashed out at Hiashi for risking Hinata… That moment had shattered Neji's world.
"Father."
Neji stood slowly, hiding his injured hands behind his back.
Hizashi blinked and forced a gentle smile. He reached out and tousled Neji's hair.
"Your Eight Trigrams Thirty-Two Palms is looking sharp," he said warmly. "Just a bit longer, and I'll start teaching you the advanced forms."
"Yes, Father," Neji replied flatly. No joy. No spark.
Hizashi sighed. So he noticed.
"Go tend to your wounds," he said, glancing at the hidden hands. "Don't do this again, Neji."
"…Yes, Father."
The boy turned and walked inside, his blood trailing faint dots across the stone floor.
Hizashi stood still, staring after him in silence.
He, too, had once tried to rebel against "fate." But now he understood — fate wasn't just an enemy you could punch in the face. It wasn't a wall you could scale.
Fate was everywhere. It moved when you moved. It stayed when you stayed.
There was no escape.
"I just hope… as Neji grows stronger, he can learn to let go of this hatred," Hizashi murmured. "Maybe… maybe all this pain will become a treasure that helps him grow."
As his words faded into the night, a whisper drifted in on the wind — soft, amused, and cruel.
"How pathetic," someone said, their voice thick with mockery.
"The unfortunate… always seem hell-bent on creating others more miserable than themselves."