The sun had barely risen when Renji began his morning tasks again.
The Hyūga compound always felt colder at dawn, as if the walls themselves held their breath. The training grounds were empty, the dew still fresh on the grass, but Renji knew the stillness never lasted long. Before long, the main clan would arrive… and he needed to finish sweeping the tatami mats.
He worked quickly, but with perfect precision.
He had learned long ago that efficiency invited questions.
And questions in the Hyūga compound were dangers disguised as curiosity.
Still… talent was a difficult thing to hide.
Even when you tried.
At the far edge of the courtyard, two young branch members practiced basic gentle fist strikes. Their movements were rigid, clumsy, lacking control. One overextended his arm, the other stepped too far off balance.
Renji kept sweeping, pretending not to watch.
But his eyes—his real eyes—followed the rhythm of their movements, absorbing every detail.
Step too wide. Elbow too high. Breath incorrect.
He didn't mean to analyze them. His body simply understood what correct form should be.
He told himself not to mimic it.
Not here.
Not where Byakugan eyes could see.
But the broom slipped slightly in his hands, and to catch it without making noise, he shifted—without thinking—into a perfect gentle fist stance. His foot placement, the positioning of his hips, the angle of his shoulders…
It was flawless.
More flawless than either trainee performing it.
The branch members didn't notice.
The elder across the yard did.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the servant boy fall naturally into one of the Hyūga clan's secret foundational stances.
As if born to it.
As if it came to him easier than breathing.
Renji straightened instantly when he sensed the elder's gaze.
His heartbeat spiked. He forced himself to turn away, sweeping calmly again.
Only now aware of the mistake.
He had shown too much.
Again.
When breakfast ended, the consequences arrived quickly.
A hand gripped his shoulder—too tight, too cold.
"Come."
The elder's voice was quiet, but heavy enough that Renji followed without hesitation.
He was led into a side hall, empty except for scrolls, incense, and a small table used for internal clan affairs.
Two elders sat behind it.
Both looked at him the way one looked at a crack in a glass heirloom—something inconvenient, something fragile, something that shouldn't exist.
"Renji," one elder began.
Renji bowed deeply. "Yes, Elder."
"You were observed this morning," the elder said. "Imitating clan techniques."
Renji lowered his gaze further. "I apologize. It will not—"
"It is not a matter of apology," the second elder cut in sharply. "It is a matter of danger."
Renji's breath stilled.
Danger?
"Such instinctive movement," the elder continued, "should not be possible for a child of your… status."
He chose the word carefully.
As if the very idea of Renji having talent was offensive.
"You are not to train," the first elder said flatly. "You are not to practice forms. You are not to imitate techniques. You exist to serve the heiresses. Nothing more."
Renji nodded. "Yes."
But the elder wasn't finished.
"You will be supervised more closely. The clan will not tolerate… deviations."
The punishment came later.
A thin wooden rod across the back.
Not hard enough to break skin—Hyūga punishments were always controlled—but enough to send a sharp clarity of pain through Renji's spine.
"Hold still," the instructor commanded.
Renji obeyed.
The rod struck again.
Pain blossomed. Renji's jaw tightened, but he did not cry. Tears upset the main family. Tears "showed disrespect."
So he did not cry.
By the fifth strike, his breath trembled.
"Enough," the instructor said. Not out of mercy—simply because protocol demanded it. "Return to your duties."
Renji bowed and left the room with controlled steps, though his legs felt unsteady.
Outside, he inhaled shakily—
And froze.
Hinata stood there.
Not close—far enough that no one would scold her—but looking at him with wide, trembling eyes. She wasn't supposed to witness punishments. Her presence here was accidental.
Her small hands clutched the corner of her sleeve.
"…Does it hurt?" she whispered.
Renji bowed immediately, hiding the pain that throbbed through his back.
"No, Lady Hinata."
She bit her lip. Tears pooled at the corner of her eyes.
"You don't… you don't have to lie…"
He looked down, unable to meet her gaze even if allowed.
Her sadness felt heavier than the rod across his back.
When he didn't answer, Hinata stepped forward, almost reaching for him—but the moment her fingers lifted, one of the attendants rushed to her side.
"Lady Hinata! You mustn't approach him."
She flinched, lowering her hand. The attendant shot Renji a warning glare, as if his mere existence was the crime.
Hinata hesitated before whispering—
"I-I'm sorry…"
Renji bowed again.
"There is nothing to apologize for, Lady Hinata."
But she was already being led away by the attendant.
He watched her small form disappear around the corner.
And for the first time that day…
he felt cold.
Night came quietly.
Renji slipped behind the storage house—his only private place.
His back ached. His arms trembled. He knew elders had forbidden training.
He also knew it no longer mattered.
Talent wasn't something he chose.
It was something the clan feared.
Renji inhaled slowly.
Then stepped into the stance again.
Perfectly balanced.
Perfectly silent.
Perfectly wrong.
If they found him… punishment would be worse.
But something inside him whispered:
I must become stronger.
Or I will be nothing at all.
He exhaled softly, letting the night air cool his bruised skin.
Somewhere deep within the compound, an elder spoke to another.
"He cannot be left unmarked."
"He is too skilled. Too fast. Too aware."
"And too close to Lady Hinata."
The elder inhaled sharply through his teeth.
"We must brand him."
"Soon?"
"Very soon."
The decision was made.
And Renji, hidden behind the storage house, practicing movements that belonged to a clan that refused to accept him—
had no idea how much of his future had just been taken away.
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