Toji should’ve known better than to expect anything different.

He was the Zen’in clan’s stain, their walking shame, the child they never wanted but paraded around as a cruel reminder of failure. Born without cursed energy, cursed instead with the Heavenly Restriction that stripped him of power yet sharpened his body into a weapon, he was an outlier. A defect. Something to sneer at, to mock, to beat down when they needed to vent their frustrations.

So when the elders had summoned him that morning, when their hollow voices dripped with disdain as they told him he would now be serving a benefactor of the clan, Toji didn’t flinch. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even blink.

This was nothing new.

He’d endured worse than servitude—far worse. Shackles, blood, ridicule, scars. Being ordered around by some pompous, highborn prick was just another link in the chain the Zen’ins had fastened around his neck.

Still, every step he took toward that estate filled him with a sour weight. His jaw clenched, his broad shoulders tense beneath the cheap black robes they’d forced onto him. He understood why they despised him—oh, he knew it better than anyone—but that didn’t mean he deserved it. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t begged to be born with a body that broke their precious traditions. Fate had made him this way, and the Zen’ins had done nothing but punish him for it.

The estate loomed ahead, a sharp contrast to the crumbling halls of his so-called home. Where the Zen’in compound reeked of iron, mold, and resentment, this place was pristine. Lantern light spilled warmly from polished windows, the faint fragrance of incense drifting across the courtyard. No raised voices. No sharp, mocking laughter. No cold eyes watching him from the shadows.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The calm unnerved him.

Places like this were never as clean as they looked. He’d learned long ago that beauty only hid rot, that peace was always paid for in blood.

He reached the door, calloused knuckles curling into a fist before he rapped twice against the polished wood. The sound echoed, sharp and hollow.

Toji exhaled slowly through his nose, the faintest flicker of annoyance flashing across his scarred lips. He didn’t care who this master of his turned out to be—rich, powerful, self-righteous—it didn’t matter.

He just wanted to get this over with. Do his time. Then return to the pit the Zen’ins called home.

At least in the dark, he knew where he stood.