Now I had something to do, which I guess was progress.
In my first life, I spent fourteen years drifting. I had no direction.
I was just a kid watching the world happen around me, waiting for something to click. Which never happened.
But now? I was four years old, blindfolded, which was cool, standing on a dirt training ground in what I was fairly certain was ancient Japan, and I'd just been told that the world ran on human misery and produced monsters as a side effect.
Not exactly the kind of purpose I'd imagined. But at least it was something.
I looked up at my father.
"From your reaction, I can make out that this… weird eye thing is rare?"
He nodded. "You are absolutely right. What you have is called the Six Eyes. It is a trait originating from the Gojo clan."
I blinked with confusion behind my blindfold. "Gojo clan?"
My father nodded again. "Yes. The Gojo clan. Your mother's clan."
I turned and looked at my mother.
And suddenly, something that had been pestering me made sense.
In all my time on this estate, surrounded by Yuki clan members, I had never seen a single other person with pure white hair.
Not one.
Except her.
She was like the white sheep between a head of blue ones.
I'd never questioned it, as I thought it would be a genetic thing.
But now it made sense. She wasn't originally a Yuki. She came from the Gojo clan.
That raised about a dozen new questions, but I had more pressing ones first. I had a much more important question.
"Is the Gojo clan strong?"
My mother's expression changed.
It was subtle. If I hadn't spent four years studying the faces around me out of sheer boredom, I might have missed it. But the warmth left from her eyes in an instant, and was replaced by something cold.
It was the coldest expression I had ever seen her make.
"Not really." She said, with a flat tone.
"Not anymore. Ever since my grandfather passed five years ago, they have declined in terms of raw strength. He was their pillar, and without him, they have no one who can match the other great clans in combat."
She paused, and I could tell she was choosing her next words carefully.
"However," she continued, "strength in battle is not the only kind of power. The Gojo clan possesses vast wealth. Political influence. Centuries of accumulated knowledge and connections."
"That is why they remain one of the three clans that govern the sorcerer society."
Three clans that govern everything. So there was a power structure.
Made sense. Every world had one. Whether it was feudal lords, corporate executives, or, apparently, sorcerer clans sitting at the top of a society built around fighting monsters born from misery.
"So there are three of them," I said. "Who are the other two?"
"The Kamo clan," my father said, "and the Zenin clan."
Kamo. Zenin. Gojo.
"And how strong is our Yuki clan compared to them?"
My father was quiet for a moment. Not hesitating. More like deciding how honest to be with a four-year-old. Then he seemed to remember that this particular four-year-old had been speaking in full sentences since the age of one and asking philosophical questions since the age of two.
"We are much younger than the three great clans," he said. "They have had centuries to build their foundations. Resources. Alliances. Territory. Knowledge passed down through dozens of generations." He looked out across the training grounds, where clan members were still practicing in the distance. "The Yuki clan is strong. Our techniques are powerful, and our people are dedicated. But in terms of influence, wealth, and sheer accumulated power, we are still growing."
There's always a bigger fish.
It wasn't a discouraging thought. Just a realistic one. In my first life, I'd watched enough anime and read enough history to know that being the underdog wasn't a death sentence. It just meant the climb was longer.
And besides, I wasn't here to conquer the world. I was here to figure out what life meant.
Everything else was secondary.
"So," I said, clapping my hands together the way I'd seen Ryu do when he was ready for something. "What do we do next?"
My father looked at me. Then at my mother. Then back at me.
"First," he said, "try to compress your cursed energy into your hand."
I stared at him, waiting for further instruction. Alas, there were none.
"How?"
He smiled. That small, barely-there smile that I was learning meant he was either amused or testing me. Sometimes it can be both.
"I think you can figure it out."
I turned to my mother, hoping for help.
All she gave me was an encouraging nod.
These two are going to be those kinds of teachers, aren't they? The "figure it out yourself" type. Wonderful.
I sighed. "Okay. I got this."
I do not get this.
Or at least, that's what I thought for the first few seconds as I stood there.
Suddenly, I remembered what Yuka did.
I had seen it happen. When Yuka demonstrated her technique. I'd watched the entire process before the information overloaded my brain and knocked me unconscious. The way the energy moved through her body. The paths it followed. The way it condensed and solidified in her hands.
Okay. Let's start from the beginning.
I looked inward.
And what I saw made me freeze.
My cursed energy reserve was… enormous. The pool of energy sitting in my core, deep in my gut, was vast.
I compared it to my father's reserve.
And somehow my reserve was bigger than his.
Significantly bigger.
Well. That's convenient. Phew.... let's do this.
I focused.
The paths were there. I could see them inside my own body, the same way I'd seen them in Yuka. Channels running through my body like invisible rivers, connecting my core to my limbs, my chest, my head.
Okay. Just like Yuka did it.
I reached for the energy in my core mentally.
It was a strange sensation, like flexing a muscle I didn't know I had. For a moment, nothing happened. Then something shifted.
The energy responded.
It moved. Slowly at first, like thick honey. From my abdomen, upward. Through the channels in my torso. Into my chest, where it spread and warmed.
Good. Just like this. Keep it going.
From my chest, I guided it further. Down my right arm. Through the shoulder. The elbow. The wrist. I could feel it flowing, could see it with my weird eyes, a stream of energy moving in the exact same route I'd watched Yuka take.
I was replicating her process. Step by step. Not because I understood the theory behind it, but because the Six Eyes had captured it in such perfect detail that my body could mimic it like muscle memory.
The energy reached my hand.
I focused harder. Condensed it. Compressed it the way I'd seen her do, forcing the flowing energy into a tight, solid shape.
The air temperature dropped.
Not gradually. All at once. Like someone had opened a window in the middle of winter. My breath came out in a white puff. Frost crept along the ground beneath my feet.
And then I felt it. Something solid forming in my palm.
I looked at it.
In my hand was a fan.
Elegant. Made out of Ice-blue ice. Translucent at the edges, solid at the core. Identical to the ones Yuka had created.
A perfect copy.
I simply stared at it.
Somehow, the cold didn't bother me. The frost on the ground, the chilliness in the air, none of it made me uncomfortable. It felt.... natural. Like the cold was me, and I was the cold.
I looked up at my parents.
And for the first time since I'd met them, I saw my father's composure crack.
His eyes were wide. Not dramatically, not the way Ryu would react. But for Yuki Soran, whose emotional range typically moved between "calm" and "slightly less calm," wide eyes were the equivalent of someone else falling out of their chair.
My mother had her hand over her mouth.
"I knew this ability was strong," she whispered, lowering her hand slowly. "But seeing it with my own eyes…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "If my grandfather had possessed Limitless, too… he would have easily been the strongest sorcerer of his generation. Perhaps any generation."
I didn't fully understand what "Limitless" meant yet. But I added the name away alongside Kamo, Zenin, and Gojo. Another piece of information, I will ask about later.
"Can you do more?" My father asked.
I looked at the fan in my hand. Then back at him.
I nodded.
I remembered what Yuka had done next. The flick of the wrist, followed by the release. The way energy had burst outward from the fan's edge and solidified into projectiles.
And surely enough, I replicated it.
Several small ice spikes launched from the fan's edge. They flew forward in a cluster before losing momentum.
I'd just performed a technique. At four years old. On my first try.
Hmm.... this feels odd.
I lowered the fan and looked at my parents.
"I feel like this is not supposed to be this easy."
My father stared at me for a long moment. Then sighed.
"You are right," he said. "It isn't. I was able to do something similar when I was around eight years old. And I was considered talented for my age."
"Oh."
That was all I could say.
Why do I feel like one of those overpowered main characters from the stories I used to read in the hospital?
Except this wasn't a story. This was my life. My second life.
And being gifted didn't answer any of the questions I actually cared about. It was just a tool that would help me get there... maybe.
I cut the flow of cursed energy, and the fan dissolved in my hand.
My father stepped forward and placed his hand on my head.
"You did well, Reizan."
Coming from him, that felt like a standing ovation.
"Now," he said, removing his hand and folding his arms again. "Starting tomorrow, you will be joining the other young clan members at the training grounds. You will learn the basics of cursed energy control, physical conditioning, and the foundations of the Yuki clan's techniques."
Before I could say anything, he continued.
"I know you will pick things up quickly. Your eyes give you an advantage that no one else has. But I want you to go through every step. Every drill. Every lesson. I don't want you to skip ahead, even if you think you already understand it."
I tilted my head. "Why?"
"Because understanding and experiencing are not the same thing," he said. "Your eyes can show you how something works. But your body needs to learn it. Your instincts need to be built. And that only comes from repetition. From struggle. From doing it wrong a hundred times before you do it right."
Understanding and experiencing are not the same thing.
Charles had said something similar.
Words are cheap. Experience is the way to learn.
Funny how two completely different people, in two completely different worlds, had arrived at the same conclusion.
"Can you do that for me?" my father asked.
I looked at him. Then at my mother, who was watching me with that soft, proud expression that made something in my chest tighten in a way I couldn't quite explain. That's a first.
"I can," I said.
My mother smiled and scooped me up, pulling me against her chest and pressing a kiss to my cheek.
"You are such a good boy, my little snowflake."
I let her hold me.
In my first life, I'd never understood why my mom's hugs felt hollow to me. Why her love, real and unconditional as it was, never quite reached whatever empty place sat at my center. Maybe I was fucked in the head, I still don't understand.
But standing here, in a world of cursed energy and monsters born from misery, being held by a woman who smelled like winter jasmine and looked at me like I was the most precious thing in existence…
It didn't feel hollow.
It didn't feel like an answer, either.
But it was a start, and for now, that was enough.
--<<>>--
So... yeah. Here it is. Hopefully I explained the working of 6 eyes correctly.
Other than that, if you think i wrote something wrong, let me know!
Powerstones and comments are greatly appreciated.
And if you enjoyed it, add it to your library.