The halls of the Zen'in Clan had always had a solemn air, but that afternoon the silence was different: heavy, expectant. A dirty, dense energy coursed through the air like an invisible crack splitting the heart of the ancestral residence.
Naoya Zen'in moved forward slowly, barely limping, his shirt torn and stained with dried blood. His right hand held a rectangular box, sealed with a knot of black rope and with minor curses carved into its surface. The smell of curses and boiling blood was unmistakable.
The servants cleaning the halls froze at the sight. One of them, a young apprentice who had just entered the clan's service, instinctively knelt, not knowing why.
"Th-It's young Naoya!" someone whispered from a corner.
"That box... is the head of the cursed man he was sent to hunt!" said another.
A nervous murmur ran through the halls as Naoya continued walking, impassive. His eyes didn't blink. His breathing, though measured, was labored.
In the elders' meeting room, three figures watched the scene unfolding across the complex through a cursed screen.
"He's back alive... but not without injuries," murmured Elder Iku, squinting.
"That box contains proof. He did it! He defeated the almost-special..." Nitta, the youngest member of the council, said admiringly.
"But look at his body! That blood isn't from the spirit. It's his own," growled Hozan, the curator. "He let his guard down. He was arrogant. He's growing, yes, but his ambition could devour us all."
Iku didn't respond immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, analyzing Naoya's every gesture.
Elsewhere in the complex, a group of young Zen'in had gathered near the central courtyard. Maki, barely four years old, was playing alone, ignored by the others.
"See? He's still bleeding. Maybe he's not as strong as he thinks," one of the older boys commented sarcastically.
"Don't be an idiot. If he managed to come back after facing a near-special, he's not human. He's a monster..."
"Or a prodigy."
"Or a threat."
Naoya finally reached the doors of the main hall. Two black wooden doors inscribed with seals slowly opened before him. Naobito Zen'in was waiting for him, sitting as always in the center of the room, a glass of sake in one hand and his narrowed gaze fixed on the wounded young man.
"You came back, huh?"
Naoya said nothing. He walked to a ceremonial table and placed the box on it carefully, as if he were presenting a trophy. Then he straightened, despite the pain shooting through his back and side.
"The target has been eliminated," he said in a hoarse but firm voice.
Naobito set the sake aside. He stood up slowly and walked to the box. As he opened it, a dense wave of cursed energy escaped from within. The head of the spirit Yashiro, deformed and grotesque, stared back at him with a grimace frozen in death.
"You did what few others your age could..." Naobito said, without taking his eyes off the contents.
"It wasn't enough," Naoya replied, his grimace barely perceptible. His mind flashed back to the wound in his back, the pain that stole his breath, the feeling of nearly dying.
[Brief flashback, from Naoya's mind as he watches Naobito:]
The domain expansion had already dissipated. He thought Yashiro was dead. He walked toward him to seal the remains when...
"You thought it was so easy," the spirit spat before sinking a claw into his back.
The pain was absolute.
"Weakness is a sin," the phrase echoed in his head, like an order burned into his brain.
Naoya spun around, manipulating time to 1.2 seconds, the exact limit he had already mastered. He struck. He smashed. He shattered. Not with elegance. With rage.
Back in the present, Naoya stared at Naobito. There was silence. Everyone awaited his words.
"This hunt wasn't an achievement. It was a warning. To everyone. To the damned... and to you."
The elders exchanged glances. The young man wasn't just changing. He was defiant.
Naobito smiled slightly.
"Go heal your wounds, Naoya. You've done your part." But the true trial... has yet to begin.
Naoya nodded once. Then he turned and left, leaving behind the echo of his blood, his ambition... and the silent fear that was beginning to grow in the hearts of the Zen'in Clan.