Chapter 2: Investment
Every day repeated the one before it. Whether my father had a hand in it or the clan council had unanimously decided to finish me off through some invented, insane training regimen, I couldn't say. Running up a hill with Jinichi behind me. Holding full vessels of water on my open palms. Right leg half-bent and raised, balancing a vessel on it too. Body being stretched in rubber bands again, the tension released, and then being ordered to move my limbs. To finish — a hand-to-hand complex of strikes, sweeps, and holds. Next time they promised to pick a weapon for me. If my memory served, the previous Naoya had refused that advantage. Some idiotic attempt to demonstrate superiority over those who were already obviously weaker.
During this stretch of time, I had managed to recreate the first technique of my blood art. My hemomancy. The "Blood Fly" — small, harmless, and silent. Perfect for espionage. It could relay a conversation in real time, or simply dissolve back into me through a prick to the temple, playing back a "recording" for me to review. There wasn't a drop of cursed energy in it, and that fact led me to a couple of interesting discoveries.
It was satisfying to confirm that living blood and cursed energy were two separate sources. Blood fed on life force, and by absorbing that force, I could increase my reserves. I could reinforce blood with cursed energy, creating a symbiosis — but practicing that without drawing attention was nearly impossible. I was being watched. Every flare or attempt to create something was logged. There were designated times and places for training. Unplanned outputs could cause pain for an inexperienced user. And since I was the heir, my safety was supposedly paramount above all else.
My blood practice remained undetected precisely because it was impossible to sense. I had found a hidden corner in the basement beneath the dining hall. I didn't spend long there, but the time was productive: slitting my wrists, shaping rods, daggers, and blades from blood. In terms of durability, they came out on par with steel — judging by the impression the blade left in the wall.
My previous profession had required me to improvise instruments for the work at hand. Fine, precise, and delicate work was the standard. I was never weak, defenseless, or hopeless in a fight — because I was well aware of the nature of the Marvel world. But I had never been a fanatic or someone who enjoyed fighting just for the sake of fighting. I needed a gain, a reward, or some measurable outcome from an achievement. I approached nearly everything practically, logically, and sometimes with a detachment bordering on apathy. I saw no point in worrying, grieving, or lamenting over myself or over victims of circumstances I had no power to change. Pain, suffering, injustice, and death were aspects that existed not only here but everywhere you looked. That was precisely why I had decided to, in a manner of speaking, "capitalize" on them — building a simple exchange system: your suffering, pain, and death in exchange for a solid upfront payment or some interesting "toy." I liked weapons, and I liked the very nature of what they represented. Every weapon gave a sense of security and control. The power and force it offered — like a drug. My collection had constantly grown; I used it for self-defense or, in rare cases, to eliminate the people who kept stubbornly trying to kill me. Not everyone, as it turned out, appreciated me saving lives that were supposed to end.
I exhaled tiredly.
Not from physical exhaustion — but from the recognition that my former combat system would not be brought fully to life for a very long time. For now, I could only condition my body for what lay ahead. I would need to visit the local cursed tools storage at some point and select something to work with. A dagger or some other small piercing implement would do. Something like a needle. I would need to convince my father about a specific gift in advance, or communicate my preferences to Jinichi.
*Ah, dreams…*
For the moment, I was resting in my room, staring into an old but useful tablet. The internet already existed here, but the speed was quite low — it was the late nineties, after all. That was enough for me to browse company stock news. I was keeping an eye on firms that I knew with certainty would show explosive growth at the start of the millennium. My attention landed on NVIDIA and Apple. The reason was simple: promising technology. Every person sought out innovation for entertainment or as an escape from reality. Cathode-ray televisions were already holding millions of people captive — not just in Kyoto, but across the entire world. I had gone on a walk through the city with my father once: a pleasant, calm, not overly noisy place. Based on my calculations, I still had time for one extremely risky move. The fastest and best way to get rich. I only needed to prepare the scenario and be ready to get beaten half to death for it. As the saying goes:
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
A month passed, and all preparations were complete.
Life wasn't particularly thrilling — every day looked like the one before it. Jinichi had given me a knife in the end. An ordinary one. Cursed tools from the storage weren't trusted to a child — "still too young." So I spent my time getting acquainted with the members of the Zenin clan, purely out of courtesy and to analyze their characters. I needed to understand what drove each of them. Loyalty to the clan was one thing. Personal goals were something else entirely. When you understand what a person wants, you understand how to manage them.
The truth of this world.
As it turned out, the esteemed assembly of elders on the council — my father Naobito included — didn't particularly concern themselves with the cybersecurity of their finances. It was 1998, and the clan had transitioned to an electronic account management system through a popular bank. Not only income but stocks were managed through a single… thoroughly mediocre… tablet. Though by the standards of the time, it was a genuine innovation and technological breakthrough. The clan had been willing to embrace the novelty: managing income through a single click and an electronic seal or signature was far more convenient than sifting through stacks of papers requiring physical signatures.
An ordinary evening, and I was already at work.
I drew blood from my left wrist while making circular motions with my right. The blood twisted and coiled, forming a shape above my fist that gradually took on the silhouette of a small bird. Once the channel was established, I severed the red thread at the tail. I wasn't yet capable of creating a familiar with a full consciousness — only a core capable of executing the simplest commands; everything else required my direct control. I opened the window, confirmed no one was nearby, and sent the bird into the air. Closing my eyes, I looked out through its sight. The local sentinels were careless and saw no reason to look at the sky.
*"Here. Stop. Wait."* Mental commands executed without delay. My familiar landed on a lamp post, waiting for the right moment to dart toward the room where the tablet was kept. One of the sentinels changed his route, heading toward his partner. A perfect moment.
*"Forward. Faster."* The hawk shot into the corridor, then into the empty office. The man responsible for finances was drinking sake tonight and absent from his post. The prize was sitting right on the desk. The bird hopped up, seized the edge of the tablet firmly, and made for the half-open window. Another stroke of luck. Slipping carefully through the frame, it began climbing upward, returning to me.
I stepped quietly out of my room, glanced in both directions, and calmly dissolved the familiar into a blot of blood in the air. I caught the tablet in my hands with equal composure and strolled back to my room without a care.
"Pff-hah. Not even a password set. So arrogant, so careless."
A great deal of work lay ahead. I created two accounts: a primary and a secondary. The secondary represented "me," while the primary was registered under an anonymous party, ostensibly interested in promising investments in the technologies of the future. The registration system was imperfect and could be exploited — the company accepted anonymous accounts if the client cited family conflict or the need to protect capital. In this case, the company accepted an "anonymous" account on grounds of family conflict and protection of the client from outside influence. I converted one billion and ten million yen into dollars — nearly the entirety of our clan's capital — then distributed the stock returns between the two accounts. Forty percent to the clan, sixty percent to me. Within a year, Apple's stock was set to climb two hundred percent. The clan would immediately begin receiving letters and notifications about a significant sum being transferred abroad, and they would be looking for ways to recover the funds. I saw no reason to return the tablet to its place — that was part of the plan.
I had mentioned I might get beaten half to death for this, hadn't I…?
The next morning, an alarm was raised. Everyone was lined up in a wide row and ordered to provide their rooms for inspection. They were looking for the tablet or for evidence of the theft. Naobito — my father — led this procession, scanning every clan member with a dark expression. I lazily and indifferently yawned, continuing to tap at the tablet without concern. I was playing an ordinary but already popular "Snake" — the kind that ate apples and grew longer and faster.
"Naoya… so it was you who stole the tablet?"
"Didn't exactly steal it — temporarily borrowed it for work."
Instead of explanations came exactly what I had anticipated. My perception caught the trajectory, but I made no attempt to — and was in no position to — dodge the blow. A powerful slap landed against my cheek, the crack echoing across the entire area. Blood flooded my mouth instantly and burst out along with a couple of teeth. I saw no point in standing firm and making a show of my resolve — I let the momentum topple me to the floor. While I was falling, my father caught the tablet and handed it back to the accountant. My vision blurred, but gradually steadied. My father grabbed me roughly by the hair, hauled me off the floor, and threw me bodily into the center of the clearing for everyone to see. Breathing hard, I stubbornly got to my feet anyway.
"Do you… have any idea what you've done?"
His face, his gaze, his posture — he was barely containing his fury. Had it been up to him, he would have killed me on the spot, but I was his son. His heir. He couldn't simply do away with me. That was precisely the reason I had dared to make this move.
I couldn't hold back the manic laugh or the strained smile crawling onto my face. My father genuinely believed the clan would continue to flourish on its current course. Curses were only part of the problem — human progress didn't stand still. If curses grew stronger, then we needed to grow stronger too.
"*Hehe…* I'm sorry?"
For just a moment, he was struck by my apparent madness and complete absence of fear. I worked a loosened tooth free from my upper jaw and calmly flicked it aside.
"No shame in your eyes. No remorse, no regret. Why? What for? For what reason did you transfer the clan's savings to some American company, Naoya?!"
"An investment. A very… promising investment." I raised one finger. "I'm not stupid, not insane, and I have no desire to die whatsoever. What I want is… to thrive. I've come to understand that what we have is only a fraction of what we could have, Father!" My hands spread wide, my gaze turned fervent, and my smile grew wider still. I was accepting his fury, while he still couldn't determine whether I had truly lost my mind or was telling the truth.
"How long do you need to return our funds?"
"One year. If I fail to return the clan's savings within that time, I will perform seppuku publicly before the entire clan, and you, Father, will act as my second. It would be an honor for me. It would cleanse us both of this disgrace."
"You don't know what you're saying… You've lost your mind completely…"
Only exhaustion, resignation, and pity remained in his eyes now. He didn't believe in me, and I didn't hold that against him. I was a seven-year-old child who had gotten absurdly above himself. His only options were to kill me here and now, or take a chance on my madness.
"Time will show whether I was right. A life without risk is no life at all. This was my one real opportunity to obtain what I… we want." I corrected myself quickly. No one pressed the slip — everyone was too stunned.
I was released, treated, and sent back to my room while they decided what to do with me. Everyone else was dismissed to their standard training routines, and I mentally braced for whatever punishment was coming. The clan would survive. Losing savings couldn't destroy the Zenin clan — only weaken it. The council members and my father would most likely reach into their own pockets to replenish the treasury and take out loans to sustain and restore the financial system. A second time around, I wouldn't be able to pull off something like this — but I hadn't planned on a second time. That was precisely why I had used nearly all of the clan's savings.
The following morning I was woken by a bucket of cold water. My father, with extreme restraint and an almost "warm" smile, delivered the news to me nearly syllable by syllable — as if reading from a script — that the clan council had spared my life, but from now on I was to train day and night, and hand over every future earning from future missions to the treasury until my debt was paid. He didn't believe in my success and had already arranged the conditions for correcting my mistake in advance. One could say my father had sold me to the clan in an attempt to save both his reputation and my life. By all appearances, the doddering elders had concluded that my death would no longer fix the situation they had been placed in by my actions — and now they were faced with finding an actual solution to this *minor* financial problem.
No one in the clan spread rumors, and no one whispered beyond the walls — under penalty of death. The fear that the outside world might sense our weakness was too great. The upper hierarchy of the clan, if nothing else, had absolutely no desire for anyone to catch wind of our vulnerability.
Then the clan's local celebrity returned.
My "second" meeting with Toji Zenin completely revised my impression of the man. Nearly two meters tall, powerfully built. His detached, empty, and utterly calm gaze directed at nothing in particular was… unsettling. The black kimono underscored his particular standing. He was resting, by the look of it. A white porcelain tokkuri — a slender vessel with a narrow neck — stood on the table. In his right hand he held an o-choko, a small cup for alcohol. Back from a mission? "The Sorcerer Killer" — that was his title, wasn't it?
"Excuse me… you're Toji-san… correct?"
"Hm? Have we met?"
Ah, right. His memory for faces and names that meant nothing to him was notoriously poor.
"Not exactly — but I'm glad I managed to find you again."
"Am I supposed to know you? I don't recall anyone making me memorize some kid from the clan…" He scratched the back of his head — deeply absorbed in thought, melancholic, making no effort to conceal his complete indifference. An influential, important, and aristocratic member of the Zenin clan might have taken that as an insult and responded with hostility, contempt, and resentment. I wasn't one of those.
"You don't need to remember my name, my face, or my standing in the clan. You only need to remember my offer, Toji-san."
I bowed my head with complete calm and composure — without concealing my respect — lowering it deeply, eyes closed, nearly to the level of my stomach. That kind of gesture conveyed, in the local culture, the full depth of the esteem one person held for another.
"Hm…"
I straightened back into a relaxed posture. Toji wasn't taken in by the gesture — he stroked his chin thoughtfully and draped himself across the chair with practiced ease. The pose made it very easy to appreciate a remarkably defined set of muscles.
Ugh.
I wasn't interested in men, but I could respect an impressive physique when I saw one. And I wasn't envious — not at all. In moments like these, it wasn't difficult to understand why the previous Naoya had admired him.
I didn't try to salvage my pride by waiting for the obvious question. He was deliberately playing with me, wanting to see how far I would go to "offer" him something he had absolutely no reason to care about.
"As it happens, I've made an investment in the future. Despite my age, I have promising, interesting, and very useful long-term plans in mind. As part of that, I'm also interested in promising individuals — people who can not only assist me, but who stand to receive something useful in return." I paused for a couple of seconds, trying to land on the right word. "…Bonuses. Yes, bonuses. My belief is simply that everyone receives what they deserve — based on what they do and the choices they make."
"'Investment'…? So it was *you*?!"
Recognition sparked in his eyes, followed immediately by a booming, deep, and surprisingly pleasant laugh.
"So you're the one who funneled all the clan's money into some ridiculous investment scheme! Ah-ha-ha! I can't believe it!"
"Not exactly 'funneled.'"
"You… actually believe in this, don't you?"
"Everyone believes what they choose to believe." My calm expression and the easy, light smile that accompanied it irritated him just a little. His flat, unreadable expression and the way his figure gradually rose over mine made that perfectly clear. Toji stood before me, looking down at me like I was some insignificant insect — but I didn't blink, didn't step back, and only tilted my head slightly to one side. Curious. A challenge. He was strong, but I had seen stronger. I couldn't allow myself doubt, hesitation, or fear before someone who would, in the future, almost certainly be weaker than me.
"You don't have anything I want."
"'Never say never' — have you heard that one? Every person may find, in the future, things they want. Everyone, sooner or later, will come to have something they want to keep, protect, and shield from forces they cannot control. You are one man, and there are many dangers in the world."
"I don't need anyone. Your clan…" He stressed "your" with something close to contempt — but stopped well short of hatred. As if simply stating a fact. "…is just a way to pass the time."
"You're a Hunter, Toji-san. I can see it in your eyes. You hate us — but you also use us, because we bring you prey. The thrill of the hunt, the fight, the kill — all of it earning you a well-deserved payment. That's your ordinary, simple, and satisfying routine, isn't it?"
He no longer looked at me with indifference, contempt, or cold hatred for my very existence — but with something harder to name. Something like… wariness.
*Can't believe how easily I can read you, can you?*
That particular flicker of emotion lasted only a second or two before a quiet anger settled back in — or perhaps not anger, given his indifference to both me and the clan. More like irritation. Disdain.
"But every hunt comes to an end sooner or later. Either someone kills you, or you find the one thing in life worth stopping for. There's no third option. Because everyone here knows our profession and our clan offer no retirement plans, no graceful exits. And the nature of men who kill doesn't accommodate a simple, easy everyday life."
"You… have you killed before? No — impossible. How can you speak about something you don't know?"
"Here? Not yet. But I will have to. In the name of the ambitions and desires that keep me moving forward."
The irony was that I wasn't lying in the slightest. My particular history of killing couldn't be proven here — but I had made a promise to myself, and to him, that killings on my part were absolutely coming. He could see it in me. I wasn't speaking empty words or performing bravado. I was making a promise.
"Here. My card."
I'd had to make the business card by hand. Like a child. Yes — I was a child, but only just.
"You won't need to call on it any time soon. For now, I can't afford your services. Feel free to throw it away or keep it — frankly, I don't care either way."
I didn't want to linger in front of him any longer than necessary. He wasn't foolish, and he would only consider worthwhile proposals. I hadn't spoken as the heir. I hadn't declared loyalty to the Zenin clan. And most importantly, I hadn't called him "Zenin." I had looked only at him — at the person, the achievements, and the potential. He saw that in my eyes, and he heard it in my words.
*"Someone who left everything behind…"*
He might not remember me right away — but the card would make itself known in time. Probably. I honestly had no idea. Let him think it over. For my part, I had better get back to training. Jinichi had a nasty habit: if you showed up late, he sat on your back and made you do push-ups under his full weight.