The training circle felt emptier without Jinichi's occasional looming presence.
No sharp commands, no sudden slaps to the back of the head.
Just Tetsuya, alone under the midday sun, cycling through the same katas over and over.
Low sweeps, reinforced blocks, sharp forward thrusts and punches that sent faint ripples of cursed energy through the air.
His small body moved with mechanical precision now, muscle memory finally catching up to the adult mind trapped inside.
It was still tiring. His young body wasn't old enough to handle this kind of training. His cursed energy was the only saving grace.
Perhaps that was why he was forced to train so early. Relying on it right now only meant that his familiarity with it would increase.
Jinichi had left three days ago. Coincidentally missing his birthday, Being on the 8th of June.
"Mission. Keep training." was all he had said before departing to who knew where.
No explanation, no timeline for return.
Tetsuya had watched him go from the edge of the grounds, wondering if this was the mission that would eventually carve that infamous cross shaped scar across his father's forehead.
Right now, Jinichi's face was still unmarked. Smooth, stern, unscarred. Whatever future wound waited for him, it hadn't happened yet.
Tetsuya exhaled, letting the cursed energy recede from his arms. He was getting better at pulling it back in without wasting it. Progress. Small, but his.
Midday came. After his lunch, a servant appeared.
It was a different one today, younger, eyes downcast, and he led him wordlessly to a small, rarely used building tucked behind the main estate halls.
A private library, barely larger than a generous bedroom. Tatami floors, low shelves lined with scrolls and bound volumes, a single low table with ink, brush, and paper already laid out.
It looked more like someone's leisure reading spot than anything.
Inside waited his new instructor.
An older Zenin woman. Thin, with grey streaking her hair.
That had been surprising. A woman teaching in this clan out of any other place?
Not that he minded or anything, but he knew someone would definitely have had a problem with that.
'Luckily, I haven't run into that guy.' Tetsuya thought with a sigh.
She wore some plain black robes, but the wooden rod in her hand marked her role clearly enough.
It made Tetsuya wonder why someone like her was never mentioned in the original story.
"Sit." she ordered.
Tetsuya obeyed.
The Zenin clan did not prioritise literacy the way civilian schools did.
Why waste time on kanji and literature when cursed energy was the only true language of power?
Even then. There was one unspoken rule even the most arrogant of the sorcerers here followed.
It was intolerable for ordinary humans without cursed energy to be able read and write, and a Zenin not to.
So this old woman taught him.
Basics first. Hiragana, katakana, and then the simplest kanji.
Stroke order, pronunciation, meaning. Tetsuya's adult mind grasped the concepts quickly, but the child's hands betrayed him. Fingers too small, grip unsteady, ink smearing across the page.
And even then, learning a new language wasn't the easiest of endeavors.
Each mistake earned a sharp crack of the rod across his forearms. Not hard enough to break skin, but stinging, insistent. Enough to make him flinch and refocus.
"Again." The old Zenin spoke every time his brush wavered. "Properly."
He gritted his teeth and tried once more.
The pain helped, in a twisted way. Negative emotion feeding cursed energy, cursed energy sharpening focus.
Days blurred. Morning training alone, midday lessons in the library, evening katas until his legs shook.
Jinichi returned after ten days.
Still unscarred, expression as cold as ever.
He inspected Tetsuya's progress with a single grunt of acknowledgement, though he was clearly unhappy that Tetsuya trained less to learn said reading and writing, and then resumed his usual routine of appearing at random to critique and correct.
No mention of the mission. No questions about the boy's reading lessons. Just more forms. More flares. More silence.
One afternoon, as Tetsuya walked the polished corridor back to his room, exhausted, ink still staining his fingertips, with a servant trailing half a step behind as always, he heard footsteps towards the opposite direction.
He rounded the corner and paused at who he saw.
'I just HAD to say something, didn't I?' Tetsuya thought, ready to have the rest of his day ruined.
Before him stood none other than Naoya Zenin.
Twelve years old, already tall for his age.
His yellow white, short hair, and those arrogant little eyes.
That same smug tilt to his mouth that Tetsuya remembered from every panel of the manga.
That same arrogance radiating off him like heat.
Naoya stopped, looked down. Eyes narrowed.
"You're Jinichi's, aren't you?"
Tetsuya froze for half a second, then nodded once. "Yes."
Naoya's lip curled. "Figures. You've got that same ugly mug." He snorted, dismissive.
"Listen up, runt. You better show respect to your future clan head. That seat's already mine. Don't forget it."
Tetsuya felt heat crawl up his neck.
Annoyance, anger, the familiar spike of cursed energy prickling under his skin. But he said nothing. Just stared back, small fists clenched at his sides.
Naoya's gaze flicked to the servant hovering behind Tetsuya.
"Oi, woman." he snapped. "What's this one called?"
The servant bowed lower. "He is called Tetsuya Zenin sama, Naoya Zenin sama."
Naoya barked a short laugh.
"Tetsuya kun, huh?" He leaned in slightly, smirking.
"Watch yourself, Tetsuya kun. Wouldn't want to embarrass your daddy any more than he already does now, do you?"
With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, haori fluttering like he owned the entire corridor.
Tetsuya stood there until the footsteps faded, holding in his tongue.
The servant gently touched his elbow. "This way, Zenin sama."
Later, in his room, Tetsuya shut the door behind him with more force than usual, followed by him dropping onto the futon and scowling at the ceiling.
"Ah, what a fucking asshole." he muttered under his breath, throwing his hands up dramatically
"Glad Maki did him over. Fucking arrogant prick."
He shook his head and pushed the irritation down.
Routine was routine. Before sleep every night, he did the same thing.
Tetsuya sat cross legged on the futon, eyes closed, and meditated. Or what passed for meditation in his now five year old body.
"So much for a birthday, huh?" Tetsuya mumbled to himself.
Today, though, he couldn't quite focus on his cursed energy.
"Fucking Naoya. Fuck you." Tetsuya mumbled, blaming the man for everything wrong with today.
Sleep didn't come easily tonight.