The corridors of the inner estate were quieter here, reserved for those who held real power within the clan.
Jinichi Zenin walked with heavy, measured steps, his cross shaped scar catching the dim light of a lantern as he turned a corner.
The meeting room door slid open with barely a whisper.
Inside, the chamber was spacious, with low cushions arranged in a deliberate semi circle facing the raised platform where Naobito Zenin, the current head of the Clan, and Hei alike sat. Incense burned in the corners, the air thick with formality.
The Hei were already present.
Ogi Zenin sat near the front, arms crossed, perpetual scowl etched into his face.
Other high ranking members filled the remaining seats.
Chojuro Zenin, a man in his seventies, with a reputation for brutal efficiency.
Nobuaki Zenin, younger but no less dangerous, known for his precision with the sword.
And of course, the ever polite Ranta Zenin.
Jinichi took his seat without a word, settling onto the cushion with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
The door slid open again moments later.
Naoya Zenin entered.
Late, as always.
Naoya had that same teal haori, that blond hair, and of course, that insufferable smirk plastered across his face like he owned the room.
He didn't bow.
Naoya just sauntered to his seat near the front, settling down with exaggerated leisure.
Officially part of the Hei now. Not the head, not yet, but close enough that he carried himself like succession was already done.
Naobito didn't comment on the tardiness. He never did. Not for Naoya.
"We'll begin." Naobito's gravelly voice cut through the room.
The meeting unfolded as these things always did.
Reports on recent missions. Updates on the development of younger clan members. Assessments of those approaching Grade 2 and Grade 1 potential.
Chojuro mentioned a promising thirteen year old with decent reserves. Nobuaki noted a sixteen year old who'd finally manifested an inherited technique, though a weak one.
Ogi grunted his usual disdain whenever the twins were indirectly referenced in discussions of "recent births." No one pressed him on it. Everyone knew.
Naoya interjected occasionally, his tone dripping with smug confidence, offering commentary no one asked for but no one dared to dismiss outright.
Jinichi said nothing unless directly addressed. He answered curtly, gave his mission updates, and fell silent again.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bureaucratic droning, Naobito waved a dismissive hand.
"That's enough. Dismissed."
The room stirred. Cushions shifted. Bodies rose.
Jinichi stood, rolling his shoulder once, the lingering stiffness from his last mission still present, and turned toward the door.
He stepped into the corridor, footsteps echoing softly against polished wood.
'Need to check on the brat. See if he's slacking off again.' Jinichi thought, despite Tetsuya never having slacked off once in his lifetime. It was kind of weird.
Almost like he had something to prove, or some unknown reason for his thirst of power.
"Jinichi san."
The voice came from behind, light but insistent.
Jinichi stopped, turning his head slightly.
Ranta Zenin stood a few paces back, lean and sharp featured.
"What is it, Ranta." Jinichi's tone was flat, uninterested.
Ranta hesitated, then stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"I wanted to ask... why are you so hard on Tetsuya kun?"
Jinichi's jaw tightened.
Ranta continued, oblivious or perhaps too bold to care.
"Everyone's noticed. The way you train him. It's harsher than anyone else his age. He's talented, clearly, but-"
"My son." Jinichi interrupted, voice cold and sharp, "Is none of your business, Ranta."
Ranta didn't flinch. "I'm just saying, Jinichi san, maybe you're pushing too hard. He's still a child."
"A man needs to face hardships to grow." Jinichi's tone was final, dismissive. "If he can't handle it now, he'll break later. Better he learns that young."
"But you're being too harsh," Ranta pressed, his voice gaining an edge. "There's a difference between discipline and needless-"
"Enough. I'm busy." Jinichi interrupted, and turned around to walk off.
Ranta paused, then made the mistake of continuing.
"I know what happened is hard. You and your-"
Jinichi's head snapped around, eyes narrowing into a snarl.
"Mind. Your. Business. Ranta." Each word was bitten off, sharp as a blade.
"She has nothing to do with this. Nothing."
Ranta froze, realising too late that he'd crossed a line.
"I...I apologise, Jinichi san."
Jinichi just stared down at Ranta, before stepping closer and looming over the other Zenin.
"Stay out of my family's affairs. Or we'll have a different kind of conversation."
Without waiting for a response, Jinichi turned and walked away, footsteps heavy and deliberate, echoing down the corridor.
Ranta stood there, conflicted, watching the older man's retreating back.
He wanted to say something. Wanted to push back.
But he didn't.
He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, until Jinichi disappeared around the corner.
The training grounds were bathed in the soft orange glow of late afternoon.
Jinichi stepped through the gate, eyes immediately finding the familiar figure in the center of the circle.
Tetsuya.
Ten years old, small frame moving through katas with mechanical precision. Violet energy flickered around his fists as he launched Missile Fist after Missile Fist into the reinforced dummies.
Clean strikes. Controlled power. No wasted movement.
The boy didn't notice him yet, too focused on his forms.
Jinichi stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching in silence.
For a long moment, he just stared. Almost as if reminiscing.
Then he exhaled.
A sigh that carried more weight than it should have.
His jaw tightened. His scarred forehead creased.
Then, like shutters slamming shut, the cold, annoyed mask slid back into place.
Expression flat. Eyes sharp. Posture rigid.
He stepped forward, voice cutting through the air like a whip.
"Your form's sloppy. Again."
Tetsuya's head snapped up, startled, before he straightened and reset his stance without complaint.
Jinichi stood there, arms crossed, watching.