I was four years old when my parents vanished from my life.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Only a funeral.
I don't remember crying.
What I remember is the weight of the room — heavy incense clinging to the air, murmured condolences blending into a dull hum, the suffocating stillness of people trying not to look at me.
Two coffins rested side by side at the front.
Sealed. Silent.
Permanent.
My grandfather stood before them, spine straight, hands folded behind his back like a soldier receiving orders. He did not tremble. He did not bow his head.
Grief had petrified him.
I was too young to understand death.
But I understood absence.
And absence is louder than any scream.
While the adults mourned, I sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, playing with the pendant my father had given me.
It slipped from my fingers.
The soft clink against wood echoed far louder than it should have.
Before I could reach for it, my grandfather knelt beside me.
His large, calloused hand picked it up carefully — not like an object, but like something fragile.
He placed it back into my palm and closed my fingers around it.
"This belonged to your parents," he whispered, voice low and steady. "They'd want you to have it."
For the first time that day, his hand lingered on my head.
"And to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel."
Something cracked inside me.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
Silent.
But real.
The pendant was older than it looked.
A smooth, dark charm wrapped in silver filigree, cold to the touch but strangely comforting. My father had told me it was an heirloom — passed down through my mother's family for generations.
I didn't know what that meant.
I only knew it was the last thing I had that still felt warm.
One Year later.
I was five when the world changed.
It happened in a park.
Children can be cruel in the casual way they breathe. A group of older kids cornered me near the swings, laughing as one of them snatched the pendant from my neck.
"Whoa, what is this? Some kind of emo charm?"
They tossed it between them.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I jumped to grab it.
Missed.
Jumped again.
Slipped.
The pendant fell.
Reflexively, instinctively, I gasped.
And swallowed it.
The chain snapped.
The charm slid down my throat.
The kids stared.
"…Did you just eat it?"
I didn't choke.
I didn't cough.
It didn't lodge in my throat.
It slid down unnaturally smooth — like it wanted to be there.
The laughter died.
There was nothing fun about this anymore.
They backed away slowly, muttering, and then ran.
And then—
It wasn't panic that followed.
It was silence.
Deep. Expansive. Endless.
The moment the pendant settled in my stomach, something inside me broke open.
Energy surged through my body like a second heartbeat detonating into existence.
My vision burned red.
Memories flooded in.
Not childhood memories.
Not dreams.
Lives.
Layered over lives.
Battlefields drenched in cursed energy. Techniques refined over centuries. Hunger. Discipline. Death. Rebirth.
Understanding arrived without explanation.
I wasn't just a child.
I was a vessel.
A transmigrator.
My eyes changed first.
The whites darkened into black sclera.
My irises glowed crimson.
Within each pupil, a single tomoe formed — spinning slowly, deliberately.
Cursed energy stabilized inside me as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.
The pendant was no ordinary heirloom.
It was a cursed tool.
One designed to stockpile cursed energy endlessly.
One that recorded the techniques, experiences, and battle instincts of its previous users — passing them to the next bearer.
No normal human body could survive ingesting it.
But my body wasn't normal.
Some vessels are born to consume power.
And when they do—
Power answers.
ONE Years Later
I Was Six, what i learned much about shogan and my control was better than i expected.
Neutral Technique: Tsukuyomi
Autonomous combat.
Near-360° perception.
Cursed energy detection.
Dimensional vision.
Fate sensing.
In neutral state, I could access its base abilities. The information just came to me, I could use the copied or digested energy techniques with absolute control.
In amplification i could use more.
One day.
The curse followed me home from kindergarten.
I didn't notice it consciously.
But something inside me did.
The Shōgan was already active.
It always was.
Hidden beneath a thin illusion that made my eyes appear normal. But as I turned onto the quiet residential street, the neutral technique reacted on its own.
The world tilted.
My body shifted half a step left without conscious thought—
—and something sharp tore through the air where my head had been.
I stopped walking.
Slowly, I turned.
It clung to a telephone pole.
A swollen mass of shadow and flesh, limbs bent at impossible angles, joints reversed, mouth split too wide for its skull. Distorted cursed energy dripped from its teeth like tar.
So that's what danger feels like.
My heart didn't race.
My eyes burned.
The illusion shattered.
Black sclera.
Crimson irises.
One tomoe rotating slowly in each eye.
The Shōgan awakened fully.
The street peeled apart.
Houses became transparent frameworks. Asphalt dissolved into lines of stress and structure. I saw through steel, through walls, through matter.
Every angle.
Every trajectory.
Every possible movement.
The curse's cursed energy pathways glowed like veins under my vision. I saw the contraction in its limbs before it moved.
It lunged.
Too slow.
I stepped forward and touched the air in front of me.
The Shōgan traced a line — a straight path from where I stood to the empty space behind the curse.
My fingers pressed against nothing—
—and the world folded.
I was behind it.
Not speed.
Not dash.
Space displacement.
Like teleportation.
Understanding settled naturally.
So that's how this works.
My palm slammed into its back.
Cursed energy detonated outward.
The curse shrieked as it smashed through a parked car, metal crumpling around its body.
It recovered faster than expected.
A claw whipped back.
It tore through my side.
Pain flared — sharp and real.
Warm blood soaked my shirt.
So it can hurt me.
Good.
The Tomoe Seal ignited.
A diamond-shaped mark flared across my chest, blazing through fabric. Cursed energy long stockpiled inside me began releasing in controlled bursts.
Black markings spread across my skin, crawling along my arms and neck.
My heartbeat doubled.
Then tripled.
Muscle density increased.
Perception sharpened.
The wound sealed.
Reverse cursed technique activated instinctively — flesh knitting together as if time had reversed.
The curse hesitated.
It could feel it.
I stepped forward.
And the ground beneath the curse lost gravity.
Its body lifted helplessly, limbs thrashing as it floated upward.
Neutral technique — anti-gravity.
Simple.
Efficient.
I raised my hand and increased output.
Gravity didn't vanish.
It inverted.
A violent repulsive force exploded outward, slamming the curse into a nearby building hard enough to crater concrete.
It tried to escape.
I saw the path before it chose it.
Stockpile technique engaged.
Reverse application.
Gravity inverted again — attraction this time.
The air screamed as force compressed inward.
The curse was dragged mid-movement, crushed by converging vectors of pressure.
Its body collapsed in on itself like a dying star.
I clenched my fist.
It shattered into black mist.
Silence returned to the street.
The markings faded.
The Tomoe Seal dimmed.
Excess cursed energy drained, leaving me light. Hollow.
Too much release.
I reactivated the illusion over my eyes just as footsteps echoed from the corner.
A woman walking her dog froze at the sight of the wrecked car and cracked wall.
Then she looked at me.
A small child standing calmly in the middle of destruction.
"Are you… okay?" she asked carefully.
I nodded.
The Shōgan slipped back to neutral state.
"Yeah," I said.
And I meant it.
I walked home safely.
.