The main family courtyard lay silent except for the rhythmic swish of a towel against stone. A servant knelt on the cracked pavement, wiping methodically, his movements the practiced rhythm of years spent in service. His mind had long since emptied of anything but the task before him. He never noticed the tiny silver mosquito that slipped through the shadows behind him.
It had one purpose. The mosquito bypassed the outer buildings and flew straight toward an elegant pavilion at the compound's heart. The door was sealed shut. The mosquito landed on the deadbolt, its metallic body liquefying into a silvery fluid that seeped through the crack.
Inside, the fluid reformed.
The room was sparse—a low table with a teapot, a cushion, a simple bed. A young man lay on his side, long black hair cascading across the pillow. His back was turned to the door.
The mosquito approached.
Outside the walls, Seiran's heart hammered against his ribs. Sweat traced his temple. There was no room for error. If Hiashi sensed even a flicker of foreign chakra, the guards would activate their Byakugan and sweep the grounds. He'd have no explanation for his presence here—not without raising alarms.
The mosquito hovered at the bed's edge, then settled onto the sheets beside Hiashi's spine. His long hair would provide cover. Even if Hiashi woke, detection would be difficult.
Seiran controlled his breathing. He'd already prepared the magnetic fluid, suppressing its blood-sucking properties just enough to extract a sample without triggering instinctive alarm. It was the only method that worked.
The needle elongated from the mosquito's mouthparts, thinning to a hair's width. Seiran's hands trembled slightly. Electromagnetic Manipulation required absolute precision at this distance, and the delicate work was already taxing his reserves.
But that wasn't even the hardest part.
A real mosquito used anesthetic saliva to feed undetected. This artificial construct had no such advantage. Using a substitute would alert Hiashi the moment his more refined senses detected it.
So Seiran made the needle finer still. Thinner meant less sensation—but it also meant slower drainage. The blood draw would take longer, requiring Hiashi to remain unconscious.
He guided the needle through skin with agonizing slowness. Blood flowed from high pressure to low. Seiran controlled the rate with surgical precision, terrified of waking his target.
The mosquito's abdomen darkened from silver to crimson.
Almost there. That should be—
Hiashi shifted.
No. Hiashi rolled, pressing his entire back against the mosquito.
"Strange," he mumbled, half-conscious. He sat up, lifting the quilt. "My back itches."
He scanned the bed with a frown. Nothing.
"Imagining things."
He lay back down and shifted position.
Beneath the bedframe, silvery fluid seeped through the floorboards—a thin stream of mercury marred by crimson.
Close. Too close.
Seiran's breath came in gasps. If he hadn't collapsed the fluid beneath the bed instantly, Hiashi would have felt the needle. Would have seen the blood.
Magnetic fluid consisted of nanometer particles, small enough to flow through gaps that blood cells couldn't navigate—red blood cells were six to nine microns, white cells seven to twenty. The mosquito's tiny gaps could hide liquid loaded with biological matter.
That tiny advantage had just saved him.
The silver fluid reformed into a mosquito and flew toward the door, its belly heavy with crimson.
---
The laboratory was silent. Seiran set the samples before him—blood tubes lined up in neat rows. One label read Hizashi Hyuga. The other: Hiashi Hyuga.
Brothers. Nearly identical DNA, save for one crucial difference. One bore the Caged Bird Curse Mark. The other didn't.
Perfect control subjects.
His earlier research had laid the groundwork. With sufficient data, he could map the seal's architecture. Map it, and crack it.
Days passed in a blur of analysis and cross-referencing. He compared the samples methodically, documenting every anomaly in the cursed brother's genetic expression.
The Caged Bird Curse Mark wasn't flawless. Its weaknesses only manifested under extreme conditions, but once exposed...
Seiran could exploit them.
He stared at his final calculations, eyes hard.
"Fifty-three percent success rate," he whispered. "Thirty-two percent fatal reaction. Fifteen percent... unknown."
The seal had two components: a Yang curse mark anchored to the flesh, and a Yin curse mark etched into the soul itself. The main family could destroy a branch member's brain and eyes from a distance through the Yin Seal—a receiver for their commands. The Yang Seal on the body was the transmitter, executing the destruction.
If he could remove the Yang Seal, the output would fail. Even if the Yin Seal continued receiving commands, it would have no mechanism to carry them out. The main family would think him dead.
But fifty-three percent wasn't enough.
Seiran rubbed his temples. He could wait. Strengthen his Electromagnetic Manipulation further. Make the operation safer.
But war was coming. He could feel it in the air, in every whispered conversation between clan elders. Once conflict erupted, opportunities like this vanished. War was chaos—unpredictable, unforgiving. And he'd face it with this seal still wrapped around his soul.
His jaw clenched.
He'd already waited long enough.
"Do it," he said to the empty room, and his reflection in the darkened glass stared back at him with eyes full of grim resolve.
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