Time ground forward, relentless as ever.
Another birthday came. Another June 8th. Tetsuya turned seven. The servants murmured quiet congratulations again, slipped an extra piece of grilled fish onto his tray.
Jinichi didn't mention it. Didn't even look twice during their session that afternoon. Same as always.
But the boy had changed.
Four years of near constant training, first under Jinichi, then in groups, then back to one on one, had sharpened him into something dangerous for his age.
Missile Fist was no longer a desperate flicker.
He could now form that Violet colored Fist missile and shoot it out of his fist.
A clean hit from one could crater stone, punch right through wooden dummies, and send a low grade curse to the grave.
His CE reinforcement was no joke either. Having figured out how to properly utilise his vast reserves made for a much more powerful amp in his stats.
Reinforced punches alone might bruise a Grade 3 curse enough to register him as a threat. A Missile Fist?
The impact would tear through flesh and cursed energy alike.
Enough to put him unofficially in Grade 3 sorcerer territory. Not official, of course.
The clan didn't hand out ranks to children.
But the potential was there. Massive innate reserves, an adult's tactical mind guiding every movement, and four years of brutal repetition.
He was still small. Still a child. But the gap between him and the other kids had become a chasm.
Jinichi left again soon after. Routine mission. But this time with a handful of Hei members trailing after him. Tetsuya barely registered it anymore. Missions came and went. His father always returned whole.
This time, he didn't.
The door to the training grounds slid open one late afternoon. Tetsuya paused mid kata, violet energy still coiling around his right fist.
Jinichi stood there.
Left arm wrapped thick in bandages, slung across his chest.
Forehead and the side of his head swathed in white gauze, fresh blood seeping through in faint red lines.
Tetsuya froze for a split second.
He had watched Jinichi leave for so many missions, always expecting the cross shaped scrar to appear with his return. But Jinichi had gone on so many missions without that happening, Tetsuya assumed this was simply a change brought by his mere existence. The humble butterfly effect, as they say.
In the back of his mind that the scar would never come. That the future he remembered was just a manga panel, not something that could actually happen here.
But it had.
Jinichi said nothing about it. Just walked to the edge of the circle and sat on a low stone bench. Watching.
Tetsuya resumed training. Missile Fist after Missile Fist. Violet streaks lancing across the dirt, exploding against practice dummies with satisfying cracks. He felt Jinichi's gaze like a weight on his shoulders.
But then, an idea came to Tetsuya's mind. Jinichi was injured. Couldn't be bothered to move as fast or hit as hard.
The perfect moment to ask a sensitive question.
Tetsuya lowered his fists. Walked over. Stopped at a respectful distance away.
"Father." Tetsuya spoke. At some point, Jinich had let him refer to him as that. Perhaps even expecting it from the boy.
After all, to Jinichi, he probably only had a son if said son was strong enough. Or something like that. Zenin bullshit as always.
Jinichi's good eye flicked up, the other hidden under bandages.
Tetsuya swallowed once.
"Was it a Grade one?" Tetsuya asked, obviously not going for the jugular immediately.
"Yeah. Strong one too. What about it?" Jinichi spoke with his usual cold, annoyed tone.
"...Nothing. I, uh. Just wanted to ask something." Tetsuya spoke, steeling himself.
"Who… is my mother?"
Silence.
Jinichi snorted. A short, dismissive sound.
"Brats like you shouldn't worry about things that don't matter. Get back to training."
That was it.
No elaboration. No anger. Just a snort and a turn of the head, gaze returning to the dummies as if Tetsuya had asked about the weather.
Tetsuya stood there a moment longer, then bowed his head a little and walked back to the center of the circle.
He didn't push.
But the answer, or lack of one settled in his chest like a stone.
'Not a civilian. No way. Something is at play here.'
If she'd been some ordinary woman, Jinichi would have said so.
Dismissed her as someone weak, irrelevant, and dead.
The refusal to even name her meant something else. Or maybe he was just looking in too deep. Clan blood? Another sorcerer family? Someone important enough that mentioning her was still a sore point years later?
Tetsuya didn't know.
But what he did know was that the timeline was moving.
He had overheard it two days earlier.
Two low ranking Zenins whispering near one of the common areas while he passed by on his way to the training grounds.
"Ogi san's wife finally gave birth. Twins. Girls."
"Yeah? You think Naoya sama has competition?" The other, taller man said.
"Probably not. Ogi san didn't look too happy."
The words had stuck like glue. Ogi Zenin.
Naobito's younger brother, Jinichi's uncle.
The man who would one day throw his own daughters into cursed spirit pits for being weak.
A stain in his life as he'd say.
January 20, 2002. That was the date in the manga.
The year was 2003, however. Same date, a year later.
The twins, Maki and Mai, had just been born.
The gossip lined up too perfectly with canon for it to be a coincidence, despite the year gap.
Once again, Tetsuya blamed the butterflies for it.
He thought about the future he remembered.
Shibuya. The Culling Game. The Zenin massacre. Maki walking through the estate like a reaper, bodies piling up, Naoya's smug face twisted in shock before she ended him. The replay was insane, though.
A pang of annoyance crossed Tetsuya Zenin's face as he realised he would never see the Gojo VS Sukuna fight animated. Then promptly lit up as he'd see it streamed.
'God bless that money hungry woman.' Tetsuya mumbled with a snort, standing up, and smoothing his clothes as he walked towards his room.
Tetsuya Zenin. Someone never mentioned originally. And yet, He was already making waves. Or rather, he was sure of it.
His progress was surely monitored and reported back to the higher ups, as a potential... Whatever. Clan head? Weapon? Hei member? who knew.
But there were more important matters to consider. The Zenin massacre. Mai's wish for everything to be destroyed. He was included in that everything, right now.
Mai was just a baby. Barely a newborn. Same with the Zenin killer, Maki.
He could run. Disappear. Slip out of Japan before the clan even noticed, find some backwater country where cursed energy barely registered, and live quietly. Change his name. Fade away.
But would that work?
Maki wouldn't care about blood ties when the time came.
She'd cut down anyone wearing the Zenin name who stood in her way. Jinichi's son? That might as well be a target on his back.
Running could buy time, but it wouldn't erase the clan mark on him. And more than that. The short fight between the Flyheads and the endless sparring had taught him something.
Truthfully...He liked the fight. The cursed energy flowed through him as his fist connected with an opponent.
Tetsuya blamed that on his blood.
And besides. He wasn't an asshole.
He wasn't going to pretend he was some hero.
He had no grand plan to reform the Zenin, no delusion of saving everyone.
The clan was rotten from the roots up. But Maki and Mai were kids.
Babies right now. They hadn't done anything except be born the wrong gender in the wrong family.
The least he could do, the bare minimum, really, was not add to their suffering.
Just be nice. Small things. Maybe a headpat here and there.
'If I had a system, maybe headpatting the future Zenin killer would give me an achievement point or something.' Tetsuya chuckled to himself.
But seriously, this was a low hanging fruit. With how the clan treated girls, just not being cruel would stand out.
Tetsuya exhaled slowly, easing the tension.
He promised himself that much.
He'd be nice to the twins. Hopefully, the rest of the clan doesn't snob him too hard for that.