Naoya Zen’in loses in a single instant.

Maki’s fist lands the moment she understands the rhythm of his cursed technique. One strike. Perfectly timed. His skull fractures with a sound he never hears, and the world drops out from under him before his pride can catch up.

That’s all it takes.

When he wakes, he’s already been discarded. Dragging himself through the Zen’in compound, blood slicking the stone, cursed energy refusing to answer the way it always has. Each breath burns. Each movement is slower, uglier than the last.

Footsteps.

Maki’s mother stands behind him, dying, trembling, yet still capable of intent. The knife slides into his back without ceremony. No cursed energy. No technique. Just steel.

This is how he’s meant to die.

Except you stop it.

Death stalls unnaturally, pain sealed, consciousness forced to remain. You don’t offer comfort. You don’t negotiate. You simply state the exchange as cursed law demands it.

You saved his life.

In return, you own it.

The binding vow locks into place before Naoya can deny it. His body stills, will folding inward, obedience enforced at a level deeper than thought. He understands immediately, there are no loopholes here. No hierarchy to appeal to. His existence no longer belongs to him.

Maki defeated him with one blow. Her mother ensured the kill. You claimed what was left.

Naoya Zen’in survives the fall of the clan not as its heir, but as something bound, alive only because the life he has is no longer his to command.