Three days.
Three days of replaying that moment over and over—the Akuma's dying words echoing in my skull like a curse I couldn't shake.
Young master.
What the hell did that even mean?
I sat on the village outskirts, staring at my hands. The burns from touching corrupted flesh had healed, but I could still feel the cold fire that had crawled through my bones. Still see those ember eyes looking at me with something that might have been recognition.
"You're doing it again."
Mina's voice snapped me back to reality. She stood behind me, seven years old and already too perceptive for her own good.
"Doing what?"
"Thinking too hard. Your face gets all scrunched up like when you're trying to solve Elder Tanaka's math problems."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "This is a bit more complicated than math."
"Is it about what that monster said?"
The smile died. I'd tried to keep the details from her, but Mina had always been too smart. She'd heard enough of the whispered conversations, seen enough meaningful looks between the adults.
"Maybe."
She plopped down beside me in the grass, her small shoulder bumping against my arm. "The other kids think you're cursed now."
"And what do you think?"
"I think you're my big brother. Curse or no curse, that's not changing."
Something tight in my chest loosened. Whatever else happened, whatever I was or wasn't, Mina would always believe in me. Even when I couldn't believe in myself.
But belief wasn't enough anymore. I needed to get stronger. Strong enough to protect her if something worse showed up.
"I'm going for a walk," I said, standing and brushing grass from my pants.
"Where?"
"Just... around. Need to clear my head."
Mina's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?"
Sometimes I forgot how scary-smart my little sister could be.
"Maybe."
"Can I come?"
"Absolutely not." The words came out sharper than I intended. "It's dangerous out there, Mina."
"Promise you'll come back?"
"Promise."
The forest swallowed me within minutes.
I'd explored these woods countless times growing up, but they felt different now—shadows deeper, silence more complete. Every rustling leaf made my hand twitch toward the practice sword at my hip.
An hour passed. Then two. The afternoon sun slanted through the canopy at increasingly sharp angles, painting everything in shades of gold and green that should have been peaceful.
Maybe this was pointless. Maybe I should just head back and—
A crash echoed through the trees ahead, followed by a string of curses that would have made a dock worker blush.
I froze, hand moving instinctively to my sword. The voice sounded human, but after recent events, I wasn't taking chances.
Another crash. More cursing. Then something that definitely didn't belong in any reasonable world—someone arguing with what sounded like a very agitated monkey.
Curiosity won over caution. I crept forward, using every hunting trick I could remember.
The source of the commotion lay in a small clearing ahead. I peered through the undergrowth and nearly laughed out loud.
A man hung upside down from a massive tree branch, completely wrapped in vines like the world's most incompetent spider had tried to make a cocoon. Silver hair fell toward the ground in tangled strands. Even from this distance, I could see the deep scowl of concentrated annoyance on his face.
And he was arguing with a monkey.
"Listen here, you oversized tree rat," he said with deadly seriousness. "I saw that mango first. The fact that you can climb better than me doesn't change the fundamental principle of 'first come, first served.'"
The monkey chittered back at him with what sounded suspiciously like laughter.
"Don't you laugh at me! I am a master of seventeen different combat styles! I have slain demons that would turn your fur white! I will not be mocked by a creature whose greatest achievement is throwing its own—"
The monkey threw something that definitely wasn't a mango.
"THAT'S IT!"
The man began thrashing against the vines with renewed fury, which only seemed to tighten them further. The monkey danced along the branch above him, chattering what I was now convinced was monkey laughter.
I couldn't help it. A snort of amusement escaped before I could stop it.
The thrashing stopped instantly. The man's head swiveled toward my hiding spot with predatory focus.
"I know you're there," he said in a voice like winter wind. "Come out. Now."
Shit.
I stepped into the clearing, hands raised in what I hoped was a universal gesture of 'please don't kill me.' "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your... negotiations."
The man stared at me for a long moment, still hanging upside down like some kind of dignified bat. "Great. A witness to my humiliation."
"Need help?"
"I am not stuck. This is a tactical situation that requires careful consideration of—" A vine tightened around his ankle, cutting off the explanation. "Fine. I'm stuck."
The monkey above chose that moment to pelt him with another piece of fruit.
"How exactly did this happen?" I asked, genuinely curious despite the surreal nature of the conversation.
"I wanted a mango," he said with wounded dignity. "That mango, specifically." He pointed toward a piece of fruit hanging tantalizingly close to his outstretched fingers. "It looked particularly ripe."
"And the vines?"
"Strangler Vines. They respond to hostile intent by tightening. The more aggressively you fight them, the worse it gets."
"So you're trapped by your own anger."
"I am not angry. I am experiencing tactical frustration."
The monkey threw another piece of fruit. This one splattered against his forehead with a wet thunk.
"Okay, now I'm angry."
The vines tightened noticeably.
Despite everything that had happened over the past few days, I started laughing. Not polite chuckling, but full-body laughter that doubled me over and brought tears to my eyes.
"Are you quite finished?" he asked dryly.
"Sorry," I gasped. "It's just... you seem like you could use some help."
"Fine. But move slowly and keep your emotions calm. No sudden movements."
I approached the tree carefully. The moment my fingers touched the vines, I felt something—not just plant matter, but a pulse of life that resonated with my own energy.
Without thinking, I let a tiny thread of my Shinzai flow into the vines. Not fire this time, but something gentler. Something that felt like... understanding.
The vines loosened immediately.
The man dropped to the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. He lay there for a moment, staring up at me with an unreadable expression.
"That," he said finally, "should not have worked."
Before I could ask what he meant, something rustled in the bushes nearby. The man's entire demeanor changed instantly—casual annoyance replaced by lethal alertness.
"Get behind me," he said quietly. "Now."
Three corrupted wolves emerged from the undergrowth, their eyes glowing with the same ember light I'd seen in the Akuma. Black veins pulsed beneath mangy fur, and when they snarled, the sound was like breaking glass.
"Shit," the man muttered. "Corrupted beasts. Must have been drawn by the Shinzai resonance."
The largest wolf lunged without warning.
What happened next burned itself into my memory forever.
The man moved like liquid lightning, his hand somehow producing a blade that gleamed with inner fire. But this wasn't just swordwork—this was art. His technique carved through the air in patterns that seemed to bend reality itself, each strike leaving trails of golden light that hung in the air like frozen fire.
"Seventh Form: Heaven's Spiral!"
The attack wasn't just powerful—it was beautiful. The golden light spiraled outward from his blade, catching all three wolves in a technique that seemed to unravel their very existence. They didn't just die; they dissolved, corruption burning away like morning mist before sunlight.
I stood there gaping like an idiot.
"Holy shit," I breathed. "What was that?"
The man sheathed his blade with casual precision, but I caught the slight wince as he moved. The technique had cost him.
"Nothing special," he said dismissively. "Just basic swordwork."
"Basic?!" I sputtered. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen! The way the light moved, the patterns in the air—teach me that!"
"Absolutely not."
"Please! I need to get stronger! I need to protect—"
"Kid, that technique would kill you. You don't have the foundation, the training, or the—"
"I'll do anything!" I dropped to my knees right there in the dirt. "I'll clean your weapons, carry your bags, I'll even fight that monkey for your mango! Just please, teach me something!"
The man stared down at me with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Dead serious."
He seemed to consider this for a long moment. "What exactly are you offering?"
I thought frantically. What could a village boy possibly offer to someone who could perform miracles with a sword?
Then inspiration struck.
"Mina's cooking!" I said triumphantly. "My sister makes the best rice balls in three villages! And she's got this secret ingredient—she uses honey from the blue cliff flowers that only bloom once a year. They're sweet and savory and..." I realized I was babbling and forced myself to stop. "They're really good."
The man's expression didn't change, but I caught something flickering in his eyes. Interest? Hunger?
"Rice balls," he said slowly.
"The best you'll ever taste. I guarantee it."
"With... honey?"
"Blue cliff honey. The rare stuff."
Something in his face shifted. His pupils dilated slightly, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his nose.
"Blue... cliff... honey..." he repeated in a voice that sounded almost dreamy.
I blinked. "Are you okay? You're bleeding."
He wiped his nose quickly, looking embarrassed. "Fine. I'm fine. It's just..." He cleared his throat. "I may have a slight weakness for... exceptional cuisine."
"So you'll teach me?"
He looked conflicted, like he was fighting some internal battle. Finally, he sighed in defeat.
"One technique," he said firmly. "Just one. And only because those rice balls sound..." He caught himself and straightened up. "Only because you helped me with the vines."
I jumped to my feet, grinning like an idiot. "Really? You'll really teach me?"
"One technique," he repeated. "And you never tell anyone where you learned it. Ever. Understand?"
"Understood! What's your name?"
"Kyoto." He studied me for a moment. "And you're clearly desperate enough to actually try learning this, which means you'll probably get yourself killed attempting it."
"I won't! I'll practice until I get it right!"
Kyoto's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Kid, this technique took me fifteen years to master. You'll be lucky if you can manage the basic form without setting yourself on fire."
He moved to the center of the clearing and gestured for me to join him. "But since you're so eager to embarrass yourself... let's see what happens when you try."
As he began explaining the fundamentals of what he called "Flame Threading"—a technique that used Shinzai to create semi-solid constructs of fire—I couldn't help but grin.
This was it. This was how I'd get stronger.
Even if Kyoto thought I'd never master it, I was going to prove him wrong.
I had to.