Tetsuya woke up to the smell of medicinal herbs and the dull, insistent throbbing behind his eyes.
He was lying on a thin futon in the small infirmary wing of the clan.
Low ceiling, the usual paper screens, the faint metallic tang of old blood that never quite washed out.
A damp cloth rested across his forehead. His nose had stopped bleeding sometime during the night, but dried crimson still crusted the edges of his nostrils.
His head felt like someone had put it in a blender.
'Maybe Kenjaku scrambled my brain. Yeah no. Let's not joke about that.' Tetsuya thought, suppressing a shudder at the orochimaru equivalent of his new world.
Footsteps. An older man with grey hair entered, followed by a nurse, holding a ray with some water and stuff.
"You're awake. Good." he knelt beside him without ceremony, pressed two fingers under his jaw, then against his temples.
"Pulse is steady. No lingering damage from the inheritance. Just your body complaining about the sudden influx."
The doctor placed two small pills in his palm, they smelled bitter, and a cup of lukewarm water that the nurse filled up for him.
"The headache will last another day or two. Take these when it gets bad. Rest. No training today."
Tetsuya swallowed the pills without complaint. The moment they left, he closed his eyes again.
Not because of the pain.
Because of what was now burned into his very brain.
A perfect, crystalline formula. A technique he recognised instantly and instinctively.
Missile Fist.
The same inherited cursed technique as his father.
He almost laughed, half delirious, half bitter. Of course. Of fucking course it would be the same one.
"The universe has to be playing tricks on me. Can I refund this for the ten shadows, please?" Tetsuya mumbled to himself and sighed.
The rest of that day and the next passed in a haze of dull pain and restless waiting. It felt weird not moving his body and just sitting, waiting.
When the headache finally dulled to a low background hum, he slipped out at night, out and into the small garden next to his room.
There, in the small garden, with the moon high and snow softly falling, he tried it.
For the first time in his life, Tetsuya called forth his cursed energy, drawing it from his body, and cast forth his technique.
Nothing but a weak violet shimmer appeared around his fist as he thrusted it forward.
His follow up attempts weren't much better. The formula in his brain was new, and his familiarity with it, almost none.
But his final attempt, before he went to sleep, was a satisfying fwomp of violet colored energy leaving his fist, almost like mist.
It was honestly embarrassing. But it was the start of something more.
Two days later, Jinichi returned from whatever mission had kept him away.
He didn't announce it. Didn't ask how Tetsuya was. Just appeared at the training grounds during the afternoon slot, arms crossed, waiting.
Haruto bowed low and immediately stepped aside.
"We're sparring." Jinichi said.
"Yes, sir." Tetsuya said. It was a small mercy that he was allowed to call Jinichi like that. Calling your own father `sama` didn't leave a nice taste in his mouth if he were honest.
Tetsuya stepped forward, small body tense, heart hammering in a way it hadn't in months.
They circled once.
Twice.
Then Tetsuya moved.
A simple feint.
A left pretend hand jab, right foot stepping in, transitioning to a right hand jab.
Jinichi blocked the obvious strike with casual contempt.
A few exchanges later, where, as usual, all Tetsuya's hits were blocked and dodged with ease, and when Jinichi left out an obvious opening completely on purpose, knowing that Tetsuya wasn't fast enough to act on it, he pulled out his trump card.
A sudden surge of cursed energy condensed around his right fist.
Not a full missile, not even close to proper form. It was just a small, violent wisp of violet energy that shot forward like a whipcrack, as Tetsuya transitioned that fake punch into momentum.
Jinichi's eyes widened. Just for a heartbeat.
Completely caught off guard.
Tetsuya's left foot snapped up, and around in the same instant, momentum and cursed energy reinforcement carrying it into a roundhouse kick, and his heel connected with a small, solid thump against Jinichi's side.
'Take that, old bastard!' Tetsuya thought, delighted.
Of course, his kick caused no damage. Even if Tetsuya's strike had been strong enough to do so, Jinichi's instincts led him to reinforce his side with cursed energy despite his surprise.
The man didn't even move. The irony that same strike would have folded over a typical man was lost on both parties.
Jinichi's face snapped back to its usual scowl almost instantly.
"You little brat."
The words were low. Dangerous.
And then the casual spar stopped being casual.
Jinichi's counter came fast.
Controlled, punishing, and precise all at once.
Every block Tetsuya made rattled his bones. Every missed strike earned him a sharp palm to the ribs, a knee to the thigh, a backhand across the cheek that split his lip.
Tetsuya didn't care.
He was grinning.
Wide, bloody, childish, stupid grin.
Because he had landed a hit.
One single, pathetic, lucky hit.
Jinichi Zenin had been surprised.
By the end, Tetsuya was on the ground again, curled on his side, chest heaving, every inch of him bruised and singing with pain.
Blood dripped from his mouth onto the dirt.
Jinichi loomed over him.
"Now that you have a cursed technique." he said, voice flat.
"We're going back to one on one training."
He didn't explain why.
He didn't have to.
They both knew.
Same technique. Same blood.
Jinichi turned and walked away without another word.
Later, much later.
After servants had half carried, half dragged him back to his room, after he'd been wiped down and left alone on his futon, Tetsuya snorted painfully through a swollen nose.
He stared up at the ceiling, entire body screaming, and muttered to the empty room.
"You little brat, huh? Fuck you too then, old man." The corner of his mouth twitched, and he let out a childish laugh.