After the battle with the white leopard, Kuro survived… but his life was never the same.
His face bore deep scars—ugly reminders of courage no one remembered. Instead of honor, the villagers gave him only fear.
Children ran at the sight of him, screaming, "Monster."
Mothers pulled their children away.
Even the master's household, where he had once worked, kept him at a distance.
Lonely. Broken. Hated for his scars, not his deeds.
One night, unable to bear it anymore, Kuro left.
He walked for days, through forests and fields, until he reached another village—a poor, half-burned settlement on the edge of war.
He reached Nanmuko village, which had been destroyed in previous attacks.
There, he found six boys doing different chores:
one fetching water in buckets,
another two trying to reconstruct their broken house,
two more cooking an outdoor broth—a mix of a little meat and many vegetables—and
another kid weaving clothes by hand. Ragged, but full of fire in their eyes.
Brothers by blood, but orphans like him.
Kuro was very hungry; he hadn't eaten anything for the past two days. He couldn't stop himself from moving closer to the pot of broth boiling vigorously.
Kenta, the one in charge of cooking, noticed the stranger whose face was covered with a grey cloth. "You seem hungry," Kenta said.
"Come near—you can have some of this."
Kuro replied, "No, I have to go somewhere."
Kenta asked, "Where do you want to go?"
Kuro grew nervous—he didn't even know where he had to go.
He mumbled, "Aaaa… haaa… mmm…"
Kenta understood. He saw the same emptiness in Kuro's eyes that he and his brothers carried.
The others came over. Benjiro, remembering the ninjas who had destroyed his home and killed his parents—men who also covered their faces—pointed at Kuro. "Is he from the enemy's side? I'll kill you!" he shouted.
Frightened, Kuro started to run, but Kenta held his hand.
"Wait—don't run. He's speaking nonsense. Don't bother about him." Then Kenta said to the others, "He is an orphan like us.
Be free, brother—remove that cloth and have lunch with us."
At first, Kuro hid his face, ashamed. When he removed the cloth, all were shocked.
With a deep voice, Kuro said, "All hated me in my village. All disrespected me. No one wanted me near their eyes. All wanted me dead.
What was my mistake? Saving a small girl from a leopard."
Kenta answered gently, "Listen, don't worry. Now we six are your brothers.
You are stronger than all of us—even adults can't match your bravery."
The others cheered Kuro. But instead of mocking him, the six brothers stood proudly before him.
"You're one of us now," said the eldest.
After lunch, all of them shared their pasts.
Kenta noticed Kuro's pain and remembered a mask he had found in a broken castle.
He showed it to the others, and they immediately understood what he wanted to do.
That night, with scraps of cloth and pieces of leather, the brothers stitched together a black mask.
They placed it gently on Kuro's face—not to hide his shame, but to show he belonged.
From that day forward, the seven were inseparable.
Blood made six of them brothers.
But it was loyalty that made them seven.
The mask was no longer a sign of exile.
It was the banner of their brotherhood
and the first ember of the legend that would one day be called Koji 7.