The evening streets were quieter than usual as Mei walked alone, the clicking of her heels carrying through the narrow road. Normally, her thoughts were neat and efficient, organized like ledger books—profit, risk, opportunity, and waste.
She disliked clutter, especially emotional clutter. Yet tonight, no matter how she tried to redirect herself toward contracts, money, or future negotiations, her mind returned again and again to the image of a fourteen-year-old boy lying stubbornly in bed with both arms wrapped in bandages, glaring at the ceiling as if pain itself had personally insulted him.
She had seen many so-called prodigies in the world of jujutsu. Talented heirs born into powerful clans, children praised from infancy for techniques they barely understood, and arrogant fools who mistook inherited gifts for true ability.
Some had skill, some had potential, and many had loud mouths. But that boy—Naoya Zenin—was something else entirely. Not because he bragged, which he did. Not because others praised him, which he enjoyed also. Even with that, he was almost annoying in how little he cared for recognition.
Which was a very contradictory statement about the same person. Like he seems to enjoy praise, but he also dislikes it; he also brags about his achievements to her, but he will also keeps them secret if she hasn't found them out.
What set him apart was the terrifying simplicity of his resolve.
Reverse Cursed Technique. Even seasoned sorcerers struggled to grasp it. Many died before ever understanding the principle of multiplying negative energy into positive output. Some geniuses could explain the theory for hours and still fail when it mattered.
Yet a child of fourteen had not only chased the concept but also forced his body and mind against it until success was inevitable. She could still remember the medical report and the damage to muscles, nerves, and joints from his reckless experiments. Most children would have cried, apologized, and sworn never to attempt such stupidity again.
He had tried again.
Mei exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cooling air. That second attempt was what unsettled her most. Failure once could be called recklessness. Trying again after experiencing the consequences firsthand was something different. That bordered on obsession.
Worse still, it had worked. He healed himself, proved the theory correct, and crossed a threshold sorcerers decades older than him still stared at from afar. Then, after learning his family would make a spectacle of it, he deliberately damaged his hands again just to conceal the achievement until it suited him.
She stopped walking for a moment beneath a streetlamp, eyes narrowing.
"He is fourteen," she muttered aloud, irritation slipping into her tone. "That age should be wasted on stupidity of another kind."
Children his age were supposed to fear pain. A stubbed toe could ruin their day. A scraped knee could become a tragedy. They sulked, cried, complained, and sought comfort from adults. They were meant to be naive enough to believe tomorrow would always come gently.
Yet that boy had shattered his own hands twice with the same detached focus another child might use to solve a puzzle. There had been no tears or dramatic whining. Only frustration that his body had delayed his progress.
She resumed walking, but slower now.
There had been another detail she could not ignore. When she bandaged him, when she checked the alignment of his wrists and watched the way he masked discomfort, she had noticed something behind the arrogance and sharp tongue. Silence. Not an ordinary one either, but the kind that formed around people who expected no one to truly understand them.
Mei clicked her tongue. She hated sympathy when it appeared uninvited. It was inefficient and expensive. Yet the thought persisted anyway. Beneath the talent, beneath the pride, beneath the unnerving willpower, he looked lonely. Not lonely in the childish sense of wanting friends to play with. No, it was deeper than that. He seemed like someone standing far ahead of everyone else, turning around only to find no one had followed.
That kind of loneliness created monsters or legends. Sometimes both.
Her lips curved faintly, though not quite into a smile. The Zenin clan would misunderstand him; she was certain of that. They would praise results, exploit talent, and ignore the dangerous machinery turning inside his head. They would see an asset where there was clearly a person being sharpened into something too severe for his own age.
"How troublesome," she murmured.
Normally, troublesome things were best avoided unless payment was excellent. But for the first time in a while, Mei found herself considering involvement without expecting a reward first. Perhaps she would check on him again under the excuse of monitoring his recovery. Perhaps she simply wanted to see what sort of man a child like that would become.
As she disappeared into the deepening dusk, one final thought lingered.
If no one reached that boy soon, he would learn to need no one at all.
~~~
[There is a 20% discount in my Patreon, where you can read all the chapters I posted till now. Use the Code: B618C . Hope, you will enjoy it. Last date July 12.]
POWER STONE, GIVE IT ME.
100 POWER STONE FOR BONUS CHAPTER
Posted some extra 35+ chapter in patron and daily update, if you are interested check it out, link is:
patreon.com/BlackBolt517