[Seno Estate — Training Yard | October, 2005]
The stone yard had become his world.
Morning, noon, and night, Hayato bled here. His fists calloused, his lungs hardened, his shards sharpened. At first, they came jagged and uneven — bursts of crimson light that shattered more than they struck. His Kōkaku arm-blade was brittle, often cracking under pressure. His Ukaku projections fired wild, scattering in useless sprays.
But months of bruises, cuts, and Vernon's sharp commands began to shape them.
"Focus the density," Vernon said one morning, his voice calm as always. He stood by the edge of the yard, pale eyes watching. "A shield must not crumble. A shard must not scatter. Direct your will into the form."
Hayato gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple. His shard-arm shimmered, crimson thickening along the blade. At the same time, his back flared — smaller, sharper shards forming an arc of fractured wings.
He staggered as the strain burned through his chest, but the blade held, denser now, the shards glowing steady instead of flickering. He slashed forward, striking the Bikaku tail of one of the clan youths. This time, the shield cracked under his blow.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
Hayato fell to one knee after, exhausted — but a small, defiant spark burned in his chest.
[Seno Estate — Corridor Outside the Women's Wing]
Through the months, he visited her whenever he could. His mother. At first, she clung to him, every visit filled with trembling embraces and whispered reassurances.
But little by little, something changed.
She stopped reaching for him. She stopped smiling, even the broken smile she had carried since they arrived. Her voice grew quieter, her words fewer. By autumn, she sat by the window during his visits, staring out into the dark courtyards, her hands folded still in her lap.
Hayato sat beside her, desperate for warmth that no longer came.
"Okaa-san… I'm getting stronger," he said one evening, showing her the faint glow of his shards. "I won't let them break me."
She nodded once, her eyes still on the window. "…That's good."
Her voice was flat. Hollow.
He reached for her hand. She didn't move. Her fingers felt cold.
When he left that night, Vernon was waiting in the corridor. The pale man studied him, expression unreadable.
"They don't approve of these visits," Vernon said calmly. "To them, it looks like weakness."
Hayato clenched his fists. "She's my mother."
"And that," Vernon said quietly, "is something this clan cannot understand."
[Training Yard — Winter, 2005]
By winter, his kagune had begun to shift. His Kōkaku blade was no longer brittle — it stretched down his forearm into a jagged gauntlet, dense enough to shatter stone with a strike. His Ukaku shards formed sharper, cleaner bursts — not a rain, but precise knives of crimson glass, striking where he willed them.
Each step forward was bought with blood, bruises, and exhaustion. Each small victory earned him a colder stare from the elders who watched.
But Vernon noticed.
"You've begun to shape it," he said one evening as Hayato collapsed after a sparring match. "Not just power — control. You may yet survive this place."
Hayato wiped blood from his mouth, his glowing eyes fixed on the ground. "…I'm not surviving for them. I'll get strong here. But one day, I'll leave. I'll live on my own."
Vernon's pale eyes lingered on him for a long moment. Then he gave a faint nod, almost imperceptible.
"Good."
But in the women's wing, his mother's silence deepened. Her embraces faded. Her words shrank to nothing. And in the dark halls of the clan estate, Hayato began to wonder if the clan was only training him — or if they were slowly breaking her too.
[Training Yard — Winter Night, 2005]
The torches guttered low, the courtyard empty now except for Vernon and Hayato. The boy sat slumped against the wall, bloodied from sparring, shards fading into his skin. His breath steamed in the cold.
Vernon stood nearby, silent as always, until Hayato broke it.
"…Why are you okay with it?"
Vernon tilted his head slightly. "With what?"
Hayato's glowing eyes flicked up at him. "With me wanting to leave. You've heard me say it. You don't stop me. You don't report it to them."
For the first time, Vernon's pale expression softened with something like thoughtfulness. He crouched, his gaze level with Hayato's.
"Because chains do not hold forever. Not on anyone with will. Not on your father. Not on you." His voice was steady, almost quiet. "If you want to leave this place, I will not stop you. I may not be able to help you, but I will not stop you. That is the difference between me and them."
Hayato's chest tightened. His fists clenched against his knees. "…Then I'll do it. I'll leave. But not before I'm strong enough to survive it."
Vernon straightened, eyes sharp again. "Then your chance begins now."
[Seno Estate — Council Hall]
Later that night, Vernon led him back into the red-lit hall. Elders sat in their chairs, masks glimmering, their gazes heavy as stones.
The clan head's voice filled the chamber.
"Hayato Seno. You have trained. You have bled. Now you will act."
A servant stepped forward, setting a folded piece of parchment on the floor before him. Inside was a photograph: a man in plain clothes, eyes hollow, his face drawn thin. A ghoul, barely surviving.
"Your first task," the clan head said. "This stray has defied us. He feeds in our territory without permission. You will find him. You will bring back proof. Do not fail."
Hayato's fingers tightened on the photo. His stomach twisted. It wasn't a Dove. It wasn't a soldier. It was one of their own.
But his eyes didn't waver. "…I understand."
Vernon's gaze lingered on him as they left the hall, but he said nothing.
[Women's Wing — The Same Night]
Far from the training yards, in the quiet stone corridors of the women's wing, Hayato's mother sat by the window again. Her hands folded still in her lap, her eyes hollow.
A shadow stepped into the room. One of the matrons — an older woman, face hidden behind a lacquered mask, voice sharp as a knife.
"You left us once," she said, circling slowly. "You thought you could defy your blood. Now you've crawled back, dragging your child into our fold."
Hayato's mother said nothing. Her silence was the only shield she had left.
The matron's hand struck across her face, sharp and sudden. She staggered, but did not cry out.
Another stepped forward, gripping her arm tight enough to bruise. "You will learn your place again. Or you will be nothing here."
Her eyes remained fixed on the window, her lips pressed thin.
The lantern light flickered, shadows stretching long against the wall.
And in the silence of the estate, the cruelty of the clan went unseen — save for the marks left on the woman who had once dared to leave them.