Shinya's memories

My name was Shinya Zenin.

Ever since I was born, my father had placed tremendous hopes in me.

That was nothing unusual-in the Zenin Clan, every newborn boy carried high expectations. Bloodline, Cursed Technique, cursed energy: those three things determined your standing in the clan, and how far you could go in life.

And I had all three.

Especially a Cursed Technique.

I would never forget the light in my father's eyes on the day I awakened one of the Zenin Clan's finest Cursed Techniques, Projection Sorcery.

It was an almost fanatical light.

Its name was ambition.

The way he looked at me grew increasingly satisfied, increasingly fervent, as though I wasn't his son, but a weapon being honed to an ever-sharper edge.

He took me to meet the clan elders, made me demonstrate my Cursed Technique at every occasion, and told everyone he met, "This is my son, Shinya. He's awakened Projection Sorcery."

Of course I knew what he was thinking.

The position of Zenin Clan head had always been something he could dream of but never attain. He was weaker than my uncle, less gifted than my uncle, and overshadowed by my uncle within the clan. My uncle was the clan head, and his son, Zhiyan, was the direct heir. And my father? He was just a member of a branch family, someone who would never sit at the head of the table.

But things were different now.

He had me.

I had awakened Projection Sorcery. I was the brightest genius among the branch families. As long as I became strong enough, as long as I surpassed Zhiyan, there was hope of claiming the clan leadership-that was what he thought.

All thanks to that wonderful Zenin Clan maxim.

"Those who aren't Zenin aren't sorcerers. Those who aren't sorcerers aren't human."

I had heard those words all my life, until I was sick of them. At first, I hadn't really understood what they meant, but as I grew older, I gradually came to understand-everyone outside the Zenin Clan was trash, and those without cursed energy were the lowest trash of all.

And I liked that principle.

I liked tormenting those inferior people without restraint.

Those worthless wretches with meager cursed energy, weak Cursed Techniques, or who couldn't even see cursed spirits-they should have been grateful to me just for being allowed to live beneath the same sky as me.

I had trodden on their hands and watched them howl in the mud.

I had taken their belongings and watched their faces, furious but afraid to speak.

I had mocked their incompetence and watched them bow their heads and cry in silence.

Every time, pleasure welled up inside me.

Wasn't that only natural?

The strong ruled the weak. That was the natural order.

My father, the Zenin Clan, the rules of this world of jujutsu-they all taught me the same principle.

So I took all of it for granted and enjoyed it.

Until that day.

It was an ordinary afternoon. I was wandering through the Zenin Clan estate when I overheard several servants whispering.

"Did you hear? Lord Toji went out again."

"Lord Toji? The one... without cursed energy?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down! He might not have cursed energy, but that man... how do I put it? There's always something unsettling about him."

"Exactly. I ran into him in the corridor last time, and just passing him left me drenched in cold sweat. How does a bottom-of-the-barrel loser have that kind of presence?"

A bottom-of-the-barrel loser?

My ears pricked up.

No cursed energy?

There was actually a man in the Zenin Clan without cursed energy?

I could hardly believe my ears. In the Zenin Clan, a man having no cursed energy was even more disgraceful than a woman having none-at least women could serve others. But a man? A man without cursed energy was utterly worthless, a disgrace to the entire clan.

He must have been so pathetic.

What a miserable expression he must have worn.

I grew excited, impatient to see him. I wanted to see that face abandoned by fate, those eyes that had lost their light, that pitiful figure struggling in the mud.

Toji Zenin.

That was his name.

I asked the servants where he had gone, then eagerly ran after him.

I found him in a long corridor.

From a distance, I saw a tall figure walking toward me.

My steps slowed.

That man... was tall.

Much taller than I had imagined.

He wore black, his build sturdy and muscular. There was an indescribable laziness in his gait, as though the entire world had nothing to do with him.

I stopped and waited for him to approach.

I was going to get a good look at that face.

I was going to remember every expression, every detail of this loser, then mock him properly-

He drew closer.

And then-

My smile froze on my face.

He didn't even glance at me.

He simply passed by.

He simply walked past me, looking straight ahead, as though I were a pillar, a stone, something transparent that wasn't worth another glance.

But that towering figure, those eyes that looked down on everything-

I would never forget them.

Those eyes.

Pitch-black, unfathomably deep, like black holes that had swallowed every trace of light.

Those weren't a loser's eyes.

Those were eyes that... looked down upon all living things.

This had to be a joke.

I couldn't even move.

His steps weren't fast, but each one seemed to land on my heart. That crushing pressure, that danger radiating from deep within him, made my body react instinctively-

Run.

Run now.

He isn't someone you can afford to provoke.

My legs trembled, my palms were slick with cold sweat, and the back of my clothes was soaked. Like a rabbit caught in a predator's sights, I didn't even have the courage to flee. I could only stand rigidly in place and watch him pass.

He was like a wild beast.

A beast lurking in the darkness, ready to tear its prey apart at any moment.

It seemed he could rip me apart in an instant.

I didn't even dare breathe.

Only when his back disappeared at the end of the corridor could I finally move.

My legs buckled, and I fell to my knees.

Bracing myself against the wall, I gasped for air, my heart racing wildly and my ears ringing.

What was that?

What on earth was that?

How could a loser without cursed energy have that kind of presence?

I returned to my room in a daze, closed the door, and sat on the floor with my back against it.

The room was quiet, filled only with the sounds of my breathing and heartbeat.

I hugged my knees, trying to calm myself down.

It's all right.

He has no cursed energy.

He's a disgrace to the Zenin Clan.

I'm the inheritor of Projection Sorcery, the genius of the branch families, the son my father has placed such high hopes in.

I'm not afraid of him.

I shouldn't be afraid of him.

But-

But those eyes, that indifferent face, that towering figure seemed etched into my mind. I couldn't shake them.

Somehow, something seemed to be growing inside me.

I couldn't say what it was.

But that day, for the first time, I realized that some things in this world were more terrifying than cursed energy or Cursed Techniques.

The days passed, one after another.

I thought that feeling would gradually fade, but it didn't. Toji Zenin's existence was like a thorn lodged in my heart, aching faintly whenever I thought of him.

I began training even harder.

Projection Sorcery, Martial Arts, controlling cursed energy-I devoted all my time to becoming stronger. My father was pleased with the change, believing I had finally come to my senses and understood the importance of hard work.

He didn't ask why, and I had no intention of telling him.

I didn't want anyone to know that a loser had frightened me so badly I couldn't move.

Then it happened.

It was during a clan meeting.

I stood behind my father, watching my uncle and several elders sit at the head of the room, discussing clan affairs. These meetings were usually boring. I was only half listening, my mind wandering, until-

"Zhiyan has awakened the Ten Shadows Technique."

My uncle didn't speak loudly, but every word exploded like a bomb in the meeting room.

The Ten Shadows Technique.

The Zenin Clan's supreme Cursed Technique, seen only once in a century.

One of the strongest Cursed Techniques in Jujutsu Society, on par with the Gojo Clan's Limitless.

I froze.

My father froze.

Everyone present froze.

Unable to hide his pride, my uncle continued describing how Zhiyan had awakened the Ten Shadows Technique, how he had tamed the other shikigami, and how the council of elders had named him the next clan head-

The next clan head.

Those words were like a knife driven deep into my father's heart.

And into mine.

I looked at my father.

I would never forget the look on his face.

Pale, twisted, as though something had been torn from his chest.

It was bitter resentment.

The bitter resentment of someone furious at another's failure to measure up.

And when those eyes turned toward me-

For the first time, something changed.

There was resentment in them, frustration, anger, and something I couldn't understand.

Only later did I realize it was disappointment.

Deep, searing disappointment.

My father stopped praising me as he once had. He grew silent, began drinking heavily, and started muttering to the walls late at night. Sometimes, he would suddenly look at me, his gaze as tangled as a knot, then turn away without a word.

Later, he began beating and berating me.

At first, it was insults.

"You worthless piece of trash! Why couldn't you have awakened the Ten Shadows Technique!"

Then came fists and kicks.

"I put so much into you! And this is how you repay me!"

Finally, he used anything-sticks, whips, whatever he could grab.

"Trash! Trash! Trash!"

He cursed as he beat me, his eyes bloodshot, like a maddened beast.

I didn't cry.

I gritted my teeth and endured it without a sound.

Because I knew that, in his eyes, I no longer had the right to cry.

He had taught me that himself.

"Those who aren't Zenin aren't sorcerers. Those who aren't sorcerers aren't human."

My father, the Zenin Clan, this world-they all taught me the same principle.

The weak had no right to live.

The weak had no right to cry.

The weak had no right to complain.

So I didn't cry.

I only kept asking myself, over and over-

Why?

Why Zhiyan?

Why was he the one who awakened the Ten Shadows Technique?

Why not me?

What gave him the right?

I worked harder than him. My talent wasn't bad, either. I'd already done everything I could-

Why him?

Father beat me again.

This time, it was worse than ever before. He'd been drinking, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth full of curses and words like "eldest uncle," "clan head," and "Ten Shadows Technique." I was used to it. I just curled up in the corner, shielding my head and face with my arms.

Only after he tired himself out and slammed the door behind him did I slowly get up from the floor.

Everything hurt.

My face, my arms, my back-bruises everywhere.

I walked over to the mirror and looked at my battered, swollen, pathetic reflection.

"Tch."

I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

He was the one with no talent.

He was the one who couldn't measure up to my eldest uncle, who had no chance of becoming clan head.

He was the one who pinned all his hopes on me, then took all his resentment out on me when he realized he'd bet on the wrong person.

He was the one at fault.

Not me.

In that case-

Just die.

People without strength should just die.

Isn't that what you taught me?

I looked at those cold eyes in the mirror and suddenly laughed.

I couldn't stop laughing.

As I laughed, tears began to fall.

I hated him.

I hated him for bringing me into this world, for treating me like a tool, for throwing me away like trash once I was no longer useful.

But what I hated even more was-

He was right.

Without the Ten Shadows Technique, in his eyes, in the Zenin Clan's eyes, in this world-

I would always be inferior to Zhiyan.

The next few years weren't easy for me.

Father stopped beating me, but he stopped looking me in the eye, too. His standing in the clan plummeted, and I was pushed to the sidelines along with him.

Whenever the elders discussed the younger generation, they always spoke of Zhiyan. Occasionally, they mentioned Wana-Zhiyan's younger sister, the girl who had awakened Projection Sorcery.

Yes, Wana.

She had awakened Projection Sorcery, too.

The same cursed technique as mine.

But she was a daughter of the main line, Zhiyan's sister, part of the clan head's branch. So the praise she received was always "outstanding," "promising," and "just what you'd expect of the Zenin bloodline." And me? What I got was-

"What a shame."

Just those three words.

What a shame.

Not "outstanding," not "promising," just "what a shame."

As though my very existence was a mistake, a regrettable mistake.

I began training even more obsessively.

Projection Sorcery, martial arts, precise control of cursed energy-I would prove to them that I was no worse than Zhiyan, no worse than anyone. So what if he had the Ten Shadows Technique? So what if someone had the Six Eyes? As long as I became strong enough, I could crush them all beneath my feet.

No one gets to look down on me.

No one.

Then I heard something.

Zhiyan had brought a girl home.

A girl with no clan and an unknown background.

Shoko Ieiri.

Reverse Cursed Technique.

Apparently, that girl possessed Reverse Cursed Technique and could heal others. That ability was exceedingly rare in Jujutsu Society, and it caused an enormous stir.

But I didn't care.

Reverse Cursed Technique? A once-in-a-century talent? She was just another piece of trash riding her cursed technique to the top.

She couldn't fight, couldn't exorcise cursed spirits, couldn't even protect herself.

Why did trash like that deserve to be put on such a pedestal?

Why?

What enraged me even more was that Zhiyan actually treasured her.

He protected her, spoiled her, kept her by his side, and even-

Got engaged to her.

The Zenin Clan's legitimate son, the inheritor of the Ten Shadows Technique, the future clan head-had actually gotten engaged to a useless girl with no clan backing who couldn't even fight.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Inwardly, I mocked Zhiyan's stupidity, the Zenin Clan's decline, and this absurd world.

Until that day.

It was a clan gathering, attended by every member of the main and collateral branches. Zhiyan appeared before everyone with that girl and introduced her as his fiancée.

I looked at her.

Ordinary looks, an ordinary presence. The only distinctive thing about her was her eyes-sleepy and half-lidded, as though nothing interested her.

That's it?

This is the woman who has Zhiyan so infatuated?

I couldn't help laughing aloud.

"So this is my cousin's fiancée?" My voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly through the quiet hall. "She doesn't look like much."

The girl glanced at me without saying anything.

But Zhiyan heard me.

He turned and looked at me.

That look was different from Toji Zenin's.

Toji's gaze held contempt for everything, cold and indifferent, as though he were looking at trash.

But Zhiyan's gaze-

Was icy.

Appraising.

It was the look of someone in power regarding an ant that didn't know its place.

"Shinya." He spoke my name softly, but every syllable sounded as though it came from beneath a sheet of ice.

Then he walked over.

One step, two steps, three.

He stood in front of me.

Then-

Smack.

A slap.

A crisp, resounding, merciless slap.

My face burned, my ears rang, and half my face went numb.

I froze.

Everyone around us froze, too.

No one spoke. No one moved. Even the air seemed to have solidified.

Zhiyan looked at me, his gaze as still as stagnant water.

"Shinya," he said mildly, as though discussing something perfectly ordinary, "this is the first time you've been disrespectful. I don't want there to be a next time."

With that, he turned and returned to the girl's side, took her hand, and led her away.

I stood there, holding my face and staring after him.

That hand-the hand he'd slapped me with-was now gently holding hers, their fingers interlaced.

My teeth ground together.

My fingers dug into my palms, my nails breaking the skin. Blood dripped onto the floor.

Die.

Die.

All of you, just die.

Who does she think she is?

A useless girl who can't fight, trash with no clan, a woman fit for nothing but clinging to life in some corner-

Why?

Why does she get Zhiyan's protection?

Why does she get to be cherished?

Why do I have to be beaten and cursed at by my father, sidelined by the clan, and looked down on by everyone?

It's unfair.

So unfair.

I looked at the blood in my palms, at the drops of red on the floor, and suddenly laughed.

I laughed until my eyes turned red.

Someday.

Someday, I'll become stronger than all of you.

I'll crush Zhiyan beneath my feet, crush Wana beneath my feet, crush that useless woman beneath my feet, and crush everyone who's ever looked down on me, one by one.

I'll show you who's truly strong.

I'll show you the price of underestimating me.

I'll make you-

All kneel before me and beg for mercy.

That day will come.

It will.

On the fighting platform, the morning breeze stirred the ends of Wana's hair.

Shinya stood opposite her, a cruel smile curling his lips.

He looked at Wana as though she were prey.

"Wana," he said, his voice carrying an excitement he had suppressed for far too long, "long time no see."

Wana waved a hand in disgust.

"Shinya, why pretend you're a gentleman? I know exactly what you're like, you beast in fine clothes. Also, call me your older cousin. Don't just use my name."

Shinya's face twisted even further.

"I'll start with you, then."

"Wana Zenin."

The referee raised his hand.

"Second match-begin!"