The branch family residence was dim at night.
Cold air clung to the courtyard.
Thud.Thud.
The sound of fists striking wood echoed in steady rhythm.
A boy stood in the yard.
His build was still slight. His face pale. Bandages crossed his forehead, concealing something beneath. He moved with smooth, practiced motions, repeatedly striking a wooden post with bare hands.
At first, it was correct form.
Then it changed.
His expression hollowed. The gentle focus of earlier training twisted into something sharper. His strikes grew heavier. Less precise. More violent.
No chakra reinforced his palms.
Blood split his skin.
Each impact drove flesh against hardened wood until the post deformed inward. Red stains spread across the surface, wet and unmistakable.
This was not training.
It was release.
He did not stop.
Hyūga Neji's thoughts were locked on a single scene.
A few days ago.
The moment he saw the sealing mark used for the first time.
As always, he had gone to spar with the main family's young heiress. At that time, the curse mark had already been branded onto him, but he had not understood its meaning. He had believed what elders told him.
A symbol of duty.A mark of protection.
Duty.
The word had felt unreal.
As an older brother, protecting his cousin was natural. He had done so every day without being told. Without the mark, nothing would have changed.
Until that day.
He watched his father clutch his head, body convulsing, screaming as he collapsed to the floor.
Like an animal in pain.
Only then did Neji understand why his father never removed his forehead protector, even inside the house.
When it slipped away, the mark beneath was exposed.
Veins bulged violently around the seal. The etched pattern pulsed as if alive.
Standing nearby was the clan head.
The man Neji was supposed to call uncle.
He watched without emotion and activated the seal.
"Only this once," Hyūga Hiashi said coldly. "Do not forget your role."
That was the moment Neji understood.
The seal was not symbolic.
It was absolute control.
With a command, the main family could destroy the brain of a branch member. Life and death were decided without effort.
And everyone said the same thing.
There was no escape.
Only death could remove it.
After that day, Neji changed.
The kindness in his gaze toward Hinata vanished. Affection was replaced by resentment. Not toward her personally, but toward what she represented.
Crack.
His teeth clenched as he struck again.
The sound of his father's words echoed in memory.
"Do not hate the main family. The seal is not a curse. It's protection."
"I understand, Father."
"Our Byakugan is coveted. This is necessary for the clan's future."
"I understand, Father."
"This is our role. Our fate. One day, you will understand."
"I understand, Father."
Snap!
The wooden post split in two.
Fragments scattered across the yard.
Neji fell to one knee. Blood dripped from his hands to the ground. His hair fell forward, hiding his face.
"I understand," he whispered.
But I don't.
Why can they accept this so easily?
Why do they call this sacrifice destiny?
Why is suffering labeled duty, and submission called honor?
A door slid open.
Light spilled into the courtyard.
A tall shadow fell over him.
"Neji."
Hyūga Hizashi stood behind his son.
His expression was complicated.
Generations of branch family children had been taught obedience from birth. Most never resisted. They learned to fear approval and crave acknowledgment from the main family.
Hizashi had refused to teach Neji that way.
At times, he wondered if that had been a mistake.
When he saw Neji smiling at Hinata as a true older brother, he believed it was right.
He thought that even with the seal, things could remain the same.
He was wrong.
"Father."
Neji rose and hid his injured hand behind his back.
Hizashi placed a hand on his head, forcing a gentle smile.
"You've mastered the Thirty-Two Palms," he said. "In time, I'll teach you the next stage."
"Yes, Father."
No joy. No reaction.
Hizashi noticed. Said nothing.
"Treat your wounds," he added softly. "Don't do this again."
"…Yes."
Neji walked inside.
Hizashi remained alone.
He once believed fate could be resisted. Now he knew better.
Fate had no weak points. It advanced or retreated as it wished. No one escaped it.
"I only hope," Hizashi murmured, "that time dulls your anger. That suffering becomes strength."
As he turned to leave, a voice reached him.
A quiet laugh.
"Pathetic," it said."The unfortunate always create someone even more unfortunate than themselves."