Three years passed in the same grinding rhythm.
Training. Midday drills. Evening sparring. Sleep. Repeat. Don't forget about training, though.
Tetsuya turned ten in June, the servants offering their usual quiet congratulations and an extra helping of rice. Jinichi, as always, said nothing.
But the boy had changed again.
Three more years of relentless training under Jinichi's cold supervision had pushed him further.
Missile Fist no longer felt like a struggle. The violet projectiles flew clean and fast, punching through reinforced targets with satisfying cracks.
One had turned into two, and then four. Tetsuya could throw four missile fists at once, and even form one behind him.
Still needed to swing his fist for it to move, though.
His reserves had deepened in the sense that he had gotten more efficient with his usage, his control honed through countless spars, and the occasional beatdown by Mr. Unavailable dad himself.
Jinichi had estimated him at a semi Grade 2 level based on the power behind his strikes.
Something that already made Tetsuya stand at a higher place than some adult sorcerers.
Not officially, of course. The clan didn't rank children.
But the potential was undeniable.
And so, the mission came.
A servant delivered the message during breakfast.
"Tetsuya Zenin sama, you have been assigned a Grade 3 curse exorcism. Departure is this afternoon. A guard will accompany you."
Tetsuya paused mid bite, chopsticks hovering.
His first mission.
Real combat. Not training dummies or controlled flyhead swarms in sealed rooms.
An actual curse, in the wild, with actual stakes.
He swallowed and nodded. "Got it."
Jinichi didn't comment when Tetsuya informed him later.
Just grunted once, told him not be a disappointment, and resumed watching the boy's forms from his usual bench.
No advice. No encouragement. Nothing.
Same as always.
The location was a small, abandoned shrine on the outskirts of Kyoto.
When he got there, the place was full of overgrown with weeds, it's stone torii gate cracked and leaning.
The air felt wrong the moment Tetsuya stepped through, a familiar prickle of cursed energy crawling up his spine.
His escort was a mid ranking Zenin named Ryuji. Older, scarred, bored expression. He leaned against the gate, arms crossed.
"I'm here to make sure you don't die, Tetsuya Zenin." Ryuji said flatly. "Not to help. You handle it, or you don't. Understood?"
"Yes." Tetsuya said, stepping forward.
The shrine grounds were silent except for the faint rustle of wind through dead grass.
Then he saw it.
The curse emerged from the main hall, hunched and grotesque.
Vaguely humanoid, but wrong. Too many limbs, skin like rotted leather, eyes glowing sickly yellow. It stank of decay and malice.
Grade 3. Clearly though, it was towards the higher end of it.
Tetsuya reinforced his body instantly, cursed energy flooding his limbs.
The curse shrieked and lunged.
Fast.
Faster than he expected.
He dodged left, the creature's clawed hand raking the air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. He countered with a reinforced punch to its ribs.
The impact landed solid. The curse stumbled back, snarling.
It wasn't his strongest strike. Just like he had been taught. Observe and analyse your opponent.
Tetsuya gritted his teeth and pressed forward. A quick combination, left jab, right cross, followed by three Missile Fists forming around his knuckles.
The curse twisted, faster than it had any right to be, and its claws caught his cheek.
Pain flared, hot and sharp. Blood ran down his face.
'Fuck!'
Thankfully, the pain didn't break his focus, as that familiar violet energy surged, and Tetsuya launched the Missile Fists straight into the curse's chest.
The violet projectiles slammed inwards with a wet thunk.
The curse's torso cratered, cursed energy unravelling in black wisps. It let out one final, choking screech before collapsing into nothing, body dissolving into ash.
Tetsuya stood there, chest heaving, one hand pressed to his bleeding cheek.
'Well. That was anticlimactic. Where's my black flash and awakening, huh?'
Ryuji pushed off the gate, glanced at the dissipating remnants, then at Tetsuya.
"Not bad. Clean it up. We're leaving."
No praise. Just a nod.
Tetsuya wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and followed.
They returned to the estate as the sun dipped low.
Tetsuya walked through the main corridor, heading toward his quarters.
Then he rounded a corner and stopped.
Naoya Zenin stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he'd been waiting.
About seventeen now, tall, teal haori immaculate, immaculate mostly thanks to the servants and carrying that same smug expression.
"Well, well. Look who's back." Naoya said, eyes flicking to the cut on Tetsuya's cheek. "First mission, huh, Tetsuya kun? Heard you actually went. How adorable."
Tetsuya said nothing. Just stared.
Naoya pushed off the wall and stepped closer, looking down at him.
"You know, Tetsuya kun, I heard my father mention you earlier. Apparently, someone your age volunteering for missions is admirable." He sneered the word like it tasted foul. "Meanwhile, I've been handling Grade 2s since I was twelve. But sure, keep chasing my shadow."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.
"Watch your attitude, brat. Don't let a little success go to your head."
Then, casually, almost lazily, Naoya's hand came up and slapped the back of Tetsuya's head.
Sharp. Controlled. Humiliating.
Tetsuya's fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms. Cursed energy flickered instinctively around his knuckles, violet sparks dancing.
But he didn't move.
Naoya was seventeen. Faster, stronger, more experienced. Projection Sorcery made him untouchable in close combat. Tetsuya's shorter reach, smaller frame, and lack of real battle experience meant any retaliation would end badly.
So he stood there. Silent. Fists trembling.
Naoya smirked, satisfied, and turned away.
"Good boy. Keep that attitude in check."
He walked off without another word, haori fluttering like a banner.
Tetsuya stood frozen for a long moment, the ghost of the slap still stinging.
Then he turned and walked toward the training grounds.
The steel dummy stood alone in the circle, reinforced and sturdy, designed to withstand Missile Fists without crumbling immediately.
Tetsuya stopped in front of it.
Then he pictured Naoya's smug face.
Violet energy exploded around his fist.
The first Missile Fist slammed into the dummy's torso with a thunderous crack. The second followed before the first's echo faded. Then another. And another.
Each one hit harder than the last, frustration and anger pouring into every strike.
The dummy rocked backwards with each impact, metal groaning, its frame slowly caving in.
'Fucking Naoya. Fucking arrogant prick.'
Another Missile Fist. The dummy's torso dented.
'Ah, I'm so fucking pissed off.'
Another. The metal screeched.
He kept going until his arms burned, until sweat soaked through his clothes, until the dummy looked like someone shot it with buckshot.
Finally, he stopped, chest heaving, fists still clenched.
The cut on his cheek throbbed.