The morning haze still clung to the rooftops when Tang San slipped outside.
The compound was quiet.
Tenten was still asleep, curled into her blanket like a stubborn cat.
His parents were in the kitchen, discussing the day's work in low, gentle tones.
Tang San padded across the yard barefoot, drawn toward a spot where sunlight spilled over the stone path. Something tugged at him—soft, instinctual. He didn't know why, but sitting there felt right.
He settled down and faced the rising sun.
The warmth brushed against his eyelids, and he closed them halfway.
A pulse.
A faint tightening behind his eyes.
A rhythm his body remembered, even if his mind did not.
Without thinking, he breathed in.
Slow.
Steady.
Measured.
His eyelids lowered just enough to let the morning light filter in, dim and purple behind the lashes. His focus sharpened—not through effort, but through memory. His breathing aligned with the beat of his heart, and the light behind his eyes thinned into a single, narrow thread.
Something stirred.
His vision didn't change, not yet.
But the world felt… clearer.
The air itself more present.
He didn't understand why he was doing this.
He only knew it felt like coming home.
Purple Demon Eye.
A technique his conscious mind had forgotten.
A technique his soul could never abandon.
⸻
"Tang San! There you are!"
Tenten's shout shattered the quiet.
His focus broke instantly.
Light flooded fully into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, the lingering tension fading.
Tenten marched across the yard, hair messy, sandal straps again tied in a knot that defied reason. In her hands was the same wooden stick she used for every pretend battle.
"What are you doing? You just sitting here? Why're you staring funny?"
She leaned down until her face was far too close to his.
"…Were you sleeping with your eyes open? That's creepy."
Tang San blinked once, slowly.
She frowned harder.
"Are you ignoring me?"
He shook his head.
"Well then come on!" she declared triumphantly. "Father said he might show us something if we finish our morning chores early."
Tang San rose obediently.
Tenten grabbed his hand without waiting and dragged him toward the house, already babbling about what the "something" might be.
Behind them, on the stone path, the faint impression of his earlier concentration lingered—like a ripple on still water.
⸻
Inside the kitchen, their mother glanced up as the two children entered. She smiled first, warm and bright, then a small crease formed between her brows as she looked at Tang San.
"San," she said softly, "were you outside… staring at the sun?"
Before he could respond, Tenten jumped in:
"He was doing something weird! Like this—"
She squinted dramatically, eyes half-closed, face scrunched, looking utterly ridiculous.
Their mother laughed, though her eyes remained thoughtful as she watched Tang San.
He lowered his gaze slightly, unsure how to explain something he didn't understand himself.
"Come here," she murmured gently.
She brushed her thumb across the space under his eye, as if checking for redness.
None.
But her expression didn't relax.
Later, when the children were sent to wash their faces, she found her husband at the workbench.
She hesitated before speaking.
"…He was doing it again."
Her husband paused mid-polish and glanced over.
"The staring thing?"
She nodded.
"At the sun this time. Eyes half-open. Not blinking much. I don't think it's normal."
He set the blade down carefully.
"Does it bother him?"
"No," she admitted. "He doesn't seem aware he's doing it."
Her husband exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"He's quiet. But he's always been quiet."
"Yes," she said softly. "Quiet is fine. But this felt… deliberate. Like he was focusing on something we can't see."
They exchanged a long look.
"He's a child," her husband said finally, though uncertainty tinged his tone. "Children sometimes develop strange habits. He'll grow out of it."
She nodded, though her eyes remained clouded.
When she walked back into the house, she found Tang San and Tenten helping set the table. Tenten was talking nonstop as usual; Tang San moved silently beside her, folding cloths and arranging cups with practiced, almost elegant precision.
He looked completely normal.
But the image of him sitting in the dawn light, unmoving, focused, eyes glowing faintly—
—that stayed with her.
⸻
Later that afternoon, when the chores were finally finished and Tenten rushed outside to pester their father about the promised "surprise," Tang San lagged behind.
He looked toward the morning spot.
The sunlight had shifted, no longer bright enough for that strange impulse to awaken again. But the memory of the sensation lingered—gentle pressure behind his eyes, clarity sharpening like a blade being honed.
He lifted a hand unconsciously to his face.
He didn't know the name of what he was doing.
He didn't know that the technique was meant for cultivation far beyond this world.
He only knew it felt right.
A whisper of something greater stirred within him.
A technique waiting patiently for him to remember it.
⸻
"San! Hurry up!"
Tenten waved wildly from the yard.
He lowered his hand and walked toward her.
The technique would wait.
But the instincts guiding it would only grow stronger.
And somewhere behind his ordinary black eyes, the faintest purple gleam flickered again… then faded.
Not unnoticed.
Not forgotten.
Just waiting.
⸻