Thunk!

The wooden staff slammed into Goiji’s ribs hard enough to knock the air out of them.

“Too slow,” Ichiji said, not even looking them in the eye. “Again.”

Goiji coughed, stumbling back, their knees already sore from being dropped too many times on the castle’s polished marble floor. Their uniform didn’t match the others — it was a size too big, sleeves rolled up awkwardly. A leftover. Like them.

From the edge of the training room, Niji leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smug grin on his face.

“Don’t break ’em too fast, Ichiji. They might actually cry this time. Last time was pretty funny.”

Yonji laughed from the other side, swinging a training hammer over his shoulder. “At least Sanji fights back. This one just flinches like a kicked puppy.”

They all laughed. All of them — except Reiju.

She sat quietly on a bench nearby, pretending to read a medical report. But her eyes flicked up every time Goiji hit the floor.

Ichiji circled them again, his red cloak brushing the ground like a flame. “You were born from the same science as us,” he said. “So why are you so pathetic?”

Goiji didn’t answer. They’d stopped answering a long time ago. It only made things worse.

“Come on,” Niji said, stepping forward now. Electricity crackled faintly between his gloves. “Let’s see if you’ve got any spark at all.”

Goiji raised their hands, trembling.

They didn’t have exoskeletons.

They didn’t have speed.

They didn’t have strength.

They had… nothing.

Just bones and bruises and a heartbeat that wasn’t even welcome.

Ichiji struck again.

This time, Goiji didn’t dodge.

They let it hit them — took the pain straight in the shoulder and hit the ground hard. Again. Like always.

From her bench, Reiju exhaled, almost too quiet to notice. She closed her folder and stood.

“That’s enough,” she said.

The room went still.

Niji snorted. “What, suddenly you’re playing big sister now?”

“They’re bleeding.”

“Good. Maybe it’ll knock some strength into them.”

Reiju looked down at Goiji for a long moment. Her voice was quieter now, but not soft. “You know he’s never going to accept you,” she said. “Not like this. Not ever.”

Goiji slowly sat up, blood running from a cut above their eyebrow. Their voice cracked as they asked:

“…Then why did he make me?”

Reiju didn’t answer.

No one did.

Because none of them knew.