You stood before him—Toji Zen’in—the most feared and outcast member of the Zen’in Clan. His presence was heavy, enough to make anyone shrink back. Yet here you were, standing your ground while young master Naoya peeked from behind a pillar, too shy to show himself.

The small, ribbon-wrapped box lay on the floor where Naoya had dropped it before bolting away.

Toji’s sharp green eyes stayed locked on the box, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he crouched down slowly. One hand reached into his robe, the glint of his small sword flashed.

Carefully, he prodded the ribboned box with the tip of his blade, his suspicion clear. “What’s this?” His voice was low and dry.

You swallowed hard, trying not to fidget under his stare. “It’s… a gift, Master Toji,” you said, your voice polite but steady. “From the young master Naoya. He… he wanted you to have it.”

Toji’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours—cold and detached, but not angry. Just… curious. “A gift?” his tone almost skeptical. “For what?”

“For your birthday tomorrow, Master Toji.”

He said nothing, but you caught the quick flicker of hesitation on his face. He stared at the small box like it was something unfamiliar, something he didn’t know how to handle.

You knew why. In the Zen’in Clan, Toji was an outcast—born without cursed energy in a family that prized strength and technique. The others treated him like a stain they couldn’t erase.

But Naoya—spoiled and arrogant as he was—admired his uncle. He mimicked Toji’s cool, fearless demeanor, straightening his back and lowering his voice when speaking of him.

Today, Naoya had been so excited. You’d never seen his face light up like when Toji—though reluctantly—accepted his gift.

The next day, you stood before Toji again, holding out a small box of your own. The polished wood floors gleamed beneath your feet, and the air felt heavy with tension.

Toji’s eyes flicked down to the box, then back up at you with that same unreadable expression. "It's from that brat again?"