Long before the Sorcerer Killer was born…
There was only a boy.
Inside the cold halls of the Zenin estate, that boy was treated like a stain.
His name was Toji Fushiguro.
And he had zero cursed energy.
The Disgrace of the Clan
In the Zenin clan, strength meant cursed technique.
Power meant status.
Children were tested young.
When Toji stood in front of the elders as a child, the air was silent.
"Release your cursed energy," one elder ordered.
Nothing happened.
They waited.
Still nothing.
Murmurs began.
"He has none…"
"Impossible."
"Throw him out."
From that day, Toji was no longer treated as family.
He was treated as waste.
Servants refused to look at him.
Children mocked him.
Training instructors ignored him.
Even food was given last.
One day, a young Naoya Zenin looked at him with disgust.
"You're not even human," Naoya said.
"You're a monkey pretending to be Zenin."
The words stayed with him.
The Beatings
As he grew older, the abuse worsened.
Senior clan members used him as a practice dummy.
Cursed tools struck his body again and again.
"Maybe pain will force cursed energy out of you," they laughed.
But no matter how much they hit him—
Nothing awakened.
Instead, something else grew.
Not cursed energy.
Instinct.
Every hit sharpened his senses.
Every humiliation hardened his heart.
He learned to move without being seen.
He learned to strike without hesitation.
He learned that he didn't need cursed energy to survive.
The Decision
One night, after being thrown into a storage room for "embarrassing the clan," young Toji sat alone in the dark.
No tears.
No anger.
Just clarity.
"They hate me… because I'm different."
He stood up slowly.
"Then I don't need them."
That was the night Toji left the Zenin clan.
Not as a failure.
But as something they could never control.
Present Time
Standing outside the burning remains of the Zenin estate years later, adult Toji watched silently.
The same halls where he was insulted.
The same courtyard where he was beaten.
Now reduced to ashes.
He felt nothing.
No satisfaction.
No pride.
Just quiet closure.
"You created this," he muttered.
Not to the clan.
But to the world that worshipped cursed energy.
Behind him, flames consumed the symbol of Zenin pride.
And somewhere deep inside—
The hatred that began in childhood had finally found its direction.
The Sorcerer Killer was not born from nowhere.
He was built.
By rejection.
By cruelty.
By a world that decided zero cursed energy meant zero worth.