The night he was born, the Zenin compound glowed with lantern light
Not for celebration the Zenin rarely celebrated
but because the elders had gathered to evaluate the newborn's cursed energy
The baby didn't cry much
He simply opened his eyes, calm and quiet staring at the room as if he already understood its coldness
The midwives gasped the moment he exhaled
A faint mist of cursed energy leaked from his tiny body uncontrolled, raw, and powerful.
The air vibrated
The candles flickered violently
A semi grade 1 sorcerer's cursed output… from a newborn
Elders whispered behind sliding doors:
"Remarkable."
"A true Zenin heir."
"A prodigy — far better than our recent disappointments."
His parents stood tall, pride glowing in their eyes for the first and last time
"This child," his father declared, "will become a member of the Hei squad in a few years"
His mother nodded, stroking the child's cheek with a rare softness
"We shall cultivate him carefully. This one will not bring shame."
Those words would echo in his life for years until the day they shattered
For now, the baby simply blinked up at the world, unaware of the weight already placed on his shoulders
---
TIMESKIP 4 YEARS LATER
By the time he turned four, the child had learned two things:
1. In the Zenin clan love did not exist
2. Worth was measured only in strength
He woke before dawn every day
Not because he wanted to but because his parents expected it
Training began with meditation, followed by cursed energy control, followed by physical drills
A four-year-old should have struggled.
But he didn't
His cursed energy was abundant, potent and obedient
He could shape it around his body, reinforce his limbs, sharpen his senses
The instructors were impressed
"He's advancing faster than most six-year-olds."
"He already has the energy output of a semi-grade 1."
"A technique will manifest soon. When it does, he'll be unstoppable."
The child listened quietly as they praised him, though the words felt heavy.
He didn't understand what made a Cursed Technique so important he only knew it was everything to his clan
Sometimes, he wished someone would tell him "good job" for reasons other than power
Sometimes, he wished his mother would smile at him the way she smiled at guests
But he trained anyway
He trained because it was the only way they looked at him
One evening, on his fifth birthday, his father presented him with a long, wrapped object.
"A pre-celebration gift," his father said.
"You are nearly of age to awaken your technique. Until then… use this."
Inside was a cursed sword — simple, durable, humming with faint malevolence.
"This blade can channel cursed energy. Consider it a tool. Nothing more."
But to the child, who rarely received anything personal, the sword felt like the first thing he could call his own
He named it silently in his mind
He slept with it beside his futon
He woke up excited to train with it
For the first time, he felt a spark of hope
---
TIMESKIP 2 YEARS LATER
The morning of his sixth birthday the Zenin compound was silent again
Not the peaceful kind the expectant kind, cold and sharp
Today was the evaluation
Today, his Cursed Technique was supposed to awaken
His parents stood in front of him, arms crossed
The elders gathered like judges in a trial
He knelt on the training floor, heart pounding softly in his chest
"Begin," his father ordered
He focused
He channeled cursed energy through his body
It surged violently, crackling like electricity, shaking the air
His output was monstrous for a child
All he needed… was for the energy to take form
Please… manifest
Please… give me something
He pushed harder
Harder
His body trembled
His nails dug into the floor
but nothing formed
The energy dispersed, shapeless
A bright flash
then silence
His father's jaw tightened
His mother lowered her fan
The elders exchanged looks of annoyance
"Again," his father said flatly
He tried again
Nothing
Again
Nothing
Twenty attempts
Thirty
Fifty
Nothing
He wasn't crying
But he felt something inside him quietly breaking
Finally, an elder stepped forward
"Enough."
The child froze
"He has abundant cursed energy, yes," the elder said. "But without a technique, he is of no use."
"When a Zenin child fails to awaken a technique by six," another elder added, "we do not waste any more time on them."
His mother spoke next her words cutting deeper than any blade
"…He is a failure."
His father closed his eyes, disappointment heavy on his face
"You will pack your things," his father said quietly
"You are no longer a member of this clan."
The child's lips trembled
"I can still get stronger. I'll train harder. Just give me time, please"
"No," his mother whispered
Her voice was emotionless
Final
"You are a defective Zenin."
The sentence ripped him apart
He wanted to scream
He wanted to cry
He wanted to ask why his worth was tied to something he couldn't control
But the words died in his throat
He was dismissed
Just like that
---
Hours later, he stood at the gate of the Zenin compound
A single bag of clothes on his shoulder
His cursed sword wrapped in worn cloth at his side
His father approached him—not kindly, not regretfully
Simply… formally
"You may keep the sword," his father said.
"It will help you survive outside. Do not disgrace it."
His mother didn't show up
The elders didn't care
Not a single clan member looked his way
He realized, painfully, that some of them were already forgetting he existed
The gate slid shut behind him
The sound echoed in his small chest like thunder
He looked down at the cursed sword the only thing in the world that truly belonged to him
The only thing he had left
After a long silence, he whispered:
"…I'll survive."
Not to spite them
Not to prove them wrong
But because he had no one else
He tightened his grip on the sword
"…Even without a technique… I'll find my own way."
And with that, the child once promised greatness
walked alone into a world filled with curses, danger, and the unknown
A child abandoned by the Zenin clan,
yet destined to carve his path with nothing but raw strength, stubborn will
and a single sword
What the boy and the clan didnt know
was that he did have a Cursed Technique.
It had been there since the day he was born dormant subtle hidden beneath the overwhelming river of raw cursed energy that surrounded him like a cocoon
A technique so rare, so abnormal, so quiet in its awakening
that even the Zenin clan, experts in lineage and talent, couldn't detect it.