Months bled into one another, the Zenin estate routines as unchanging as the seasons.
Tetsuya's return to one on one training sessions, or rather days, was merciless and methodical.
Each day was largely the same. That hadn't changed.
Spars in the empty circle, no group distractions, no Haruto barking from the sidelines.
Just father and son. If you could even call them that. They were more strangers than anything.
The only difference was that Jinichi was slightly more tolerant of Tetsuya's complaints and words, no matter how scant they were.
Missile Fist came slowly.
At first, it was only a violet flicker around his knuckles during a punch.
Barely enough to sting.
Then, after weeks of trial and error, and Jinichi's relentless corrections, He could launch a thin streak mid strike.
Ten meters at best, dissipating into harmless sparks before impact.
Reinforcement became second nature, though.
Cursed energy coated his limbs like a second skin. It was constant, and invaluable at letting a five year old even able to block an effortless strike from Jinichi, no matter how much the man was holding back.
It made his blocks less painful and his counters faster.
He could almost hold it while shaping a Missile Fist. Most attempts collapsed into violet sparks, leaving him gasping and open for Jinichi's inevitable counter.
Still, progress showed.
He was leagues ahead of the few other children his age in the clan, even with the added pressure of developing his new technique.
Generational gaps were normal here. The Zenin tree grew crooked and sparse. Naoya had been born almost two decades before Maki and Mai ever would be.
Tetsuya, at six now, sparred against kids who were already bigger and older, and still came out on top more often than not. Said spars came whenever Jinichi went out on a mission. Likely blowing off steam by steamrolling grade three curses or something.
Another birthday came and went.
June 8. Again. His second year in this body. Not that anyone would believe him if he said that.
Tetsuya only knew because the servants wished him happy birthday when they set down his tray that morning.
'Can't a birthday boy get some cake over here? Man, I bet that fucker Naoya did get some, though. Whenever his fuckass birthday is.' Tetsuya thought, annoyed.
Jinichi said nothing.
Didn't even glance at him differently during their afternoon session. No acknowledgement. No half hearted "Another year." Just the same curt "Begin."
'I bet five bucks he doesn't even remember. Some father you are.' Tetsuya thought, and for his distraction, was paid with a slap on the back of the head.
Tetsuya swallowed the pain and turned it into fuel, continuing.
They sparred. Like always.
Jinichi attacked with controlled laziness. Testing, always testing.
Tetsuya blocked, reinforced arms humming, ducked a sweeping kick, and countered with a reinforced palm strike.
Jinichi parried effortlessly.
Tetsuya twisted, left fist chambered.
He focused more and more on the negative emotion of an ignored birthday. It hurt. But not as bad. He'd been an adult before. He was sure of that, despite the blanks in his memories. But a child's brain is a child's brain.
And so, all that annoyance and anger were hurled into a single action.
Violet cursed energy surged from his fist.
And out came two thin missiles from the same fist.
Two actual missile fists. His first real, proper usage of his cursed technique.
Jinichi's block came a fraction late, not expecting it. One missile grazed his stomach, tearing a small slit in the fabric. The other thudded harmlessly against his reinforced forearm.
Silence.
Jinichi's eyes flicked to his arm. Then back to Tetsuya.
"Took you long enough, Brat."
No praise. Of course not.
"Again."
The session continued. Harder now, Jinichi pushing until his breaths came in ragged gasps and fresh bruises bloomed across his ribs.
Missile fist was fractionally easier now, but he just couldn't get out two missiles at once. Only time would fix that.
When it ended, Tetsuya was on his knees in the dirt, palms pressed to the ground, head bowed.
Jinichi stood over him for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he turned and left.
Tetsuya stayed there until the sun dipped lower, chest heaving, a small, tired smile pulling at his split lip.
He could feel it. Slowly but surely, thanks to practice and time, the technique was settling deeper, the formula growing clearer and easier to tap into, burying more and more in his mind.
Still limited.
Still far from what Jinichi could do.
Tetsuya looked at the sky, imagining it full of missiles. The way he'd seen it in the anime. In the same way his own father sent his final attack against the one who ended the Zenin.