Tokyo Technical School of Magic — Dusk
Shadows lengthened over the compound's backyard. The breeze was gentle, almost imperceptible. The sky was beginning to turn a deep orange, anticipating nightfall. Naoya Zen'in was leaning against a low wall, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the clouds without really paying attention. His thoughts floated between sensations of power, images of past battles, and a distant echo he couldn't quite understand.
It wasn't nostalgia. It was deeper. More rooted. More bothersome.
Suddenly, someone's quiet footsteps brought him out of his reverie. He sat up slightly, turning his head. It was Utahime Iori, walking with a small package in his arms. When he noticed it, he frowned as if the mere sight of it made him uncomfortable.
"What are you doing here alone?" she asked, with that characteristic dry tone of hers.
Naoya smiled sideways.
"Are you worried that I'm lonely? How kind of you, Utahime-sensei," he replied with false sweetness.
She sighed. She was about to move on, but something inside her told her she should stay. Maybe out of curiosity. Maybe because there was something unsettling about that boy, even more so than about the other Zen'in she knew.
"No. I'm worried you're up to something," she retorted. "I don't trust you. Neither do I, nor does anyone here."
Naoya wasn't bothered. He sat calmly, his elbows on his knees, and looked at her with an ambiguous expression, somewhere between interest and superiority.
"I know. And you're right. You shouldn't trust me. But tell me... have you ever trusted anyone in my clan?"
Utahime was silent for a few seconds.
"Not all Zen'in are the same. Maki, for example..."
"Maki?" Naoya interrupted with a dry laugh. That girl... how old is she now? Four? Five? Do you know how the servants look at her? Like trash. Because she wasn't born with cursed energy. Because she's a "failure" in a world of curses. And you know what the worst part is? They're not wrong.
Utahime looked at him with sharp eyes. She wasn't surprised by the contempt, but she was surprised by the intensity with which he said it.
"And that seems fair to you?"
"No. It seems true to me. Monsters aren't born; they're created. And the environment has everything to do with it. Maki is being forged. Pain will make her strong... or break her."
"And you?" Utahime asked, crossing her arms. "What forged you?"
Naoya's smile faltered slightly.
"Hell itself disguised as a golden cradle," he replied.
There was a brief silence. Naoya's eyes seemed to look beyond, as if for a moment something deeper had emerged from behind that arrogant mask.
"Weakness is a sin, Utahime," he continued coldly. "I learned it before I could even cast a curse. I see it in the eyes of the elders. I smell it in the halls of the clan. And every time I look at someone who hesitates or trembles, I know they don't deserve to be in this world."
Utahime didn't answer. She didn't know if arguing was useless... or if, deep down, what worried her most was that Naoya truly believed every word.
But then, something strange happened.
Naoya looked up at the sky again. For a few seconds, his face changed. Not out of emotion, but from a shadow of thought that didn't quite fit with his speech.
"What am I, really?"
It wasn't a question someone like him should be asking. But there it was, gnawing at his thoughts. He had lived fourteen years as Naoya Zen'in, but no... not entirely. Something else existed beneath that skin, a foreign, confusing memory, dissolving between instinct and ambition.
A man who wasn't Naoya. Who wasn't part of this world.
It had begun as a mission: to survive, adapt, become strong. But now, hatred, power, contempt for the weak... they weren't just tools.
They were his nature.
Or was it Naoya's? Where did one end and the other begin?
"Have you ever felt like... you're living a life that isn't yours?" he asked suddenly, without looking at her.
Utahime frowned.
"What are you saying?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter." He smiled again, as if he hadn't said anything important. "Just philosophical nonsense."
But Utahime didn't answer. She turned to leave, though she glanced at him once more over her shoulder.
"You're not invincible, Naoya. And you're not eternal. Someday... you're going to have to choose between being more than a Zen'in, or being another broken copy from the same rotten mold."
Naoya said nothing. He just watched her walk away.
And then, his voice low, almost inaudible:
"What if I'm already both?"