Riku's screams echoed through the courtyard, sharp and desperate. His body writhed on the cold stone floor, trembling as if his bones were being crushed from the inside out. Yet not a single person watching showed him even a hint of pity.
Their eyes were cold. Ruthless.
Some even smiled — faint, twisted smirks that dripped with schadenfreude.
The searing pain from the Caged Bird Seal burned through Riku's head until he couldn't even scream anymore. His body curled up, hands clutching his skull, his voice reduced to pitiful whimpers.
Just as his vision blurred and darkness crept at the edges of his mind, a small yet steady voice cut through the tension.
"Grandpa, please… spare Riku this one time."
All heads turned.
A boy, about Riku's age, walked into the courtyard. His steps were calm, but his presence made every Branch Family member immediately bow.
"Lord Yuto! Good day!"
The moment Hyuga Yuto arrived, the oppressive chakra flaring from Hinata Katyu faded, and the cruel light of the Caged Bird Seal vanished from Riku's forehead.
"Yuto," Katyu said sternly, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air. "Are you sure you want to intervene for a Branch Family member who disobeyed clan rules?"
"Of course." Yuto stepped forward without hesitation. His small hands clenched into fists, his voice firm and unwavering. "Riku is my guard. If he's done wrong, then the fault is also mine. I should share his punishment."
The crowd murmured.
Yuto's words carried the righteousness of a young heir — sincere, brave, and honorable. Even Riku, lying on the ground, couldn't help but stare.
But something about Yuto's performance didn't sit right.
His tone. His posture. Even the timing of his words — they all felt… deliberate. Too deliberate.
Riku wasn't just some naïve six-year-old anymore. His body might be young, but the mind inside had lived more than twenty years. He could recognize acting when he saw it — and Yuto was putting on a show.
A show for him.
Still, Riku didn't expose him. He lay there quietly, playing along. If these people wanted a stage, he'd see how far their act would go.
"Grandpa," Yuto continued, looking straight into Katyu's eyes, "please, tell me what kind of punishment I must take for Riku to be forgiven."
Katyu's sharp gaze lingered on his grandson for a long moment. Then, finally, his lips curled into a faint smile.
"Very well," he said. "If you're so determined, I'll grant your wish."
He paused, then declared solemnly, "Within the next three years, you must reach the level of a Genin and master at least one advanced Gentle Fist Secret Technique. Do that, and I will forgive Riku's mistake."
He tilted his head slightly. "What do you say, Yuto? Are you still willing to take on this punishment for a Branch Family member?"
"Of course!" Yuto's voice rang with conviction.
Even Riku, despite knowing it was all an act, felt something stir inside him.
But when he processed Katyu's so-called "punishment," he almost laughed.
Genin level in three years? That was no punishment.
Riku had trained with Yuto for over a year; he knew the boy's strength better than anyone. Yuto was already brushing the edge of Genin skill. Give him three years, and even without effort, he'd easily meet the requirement.
And mastering one of the clan's advanced Gentle Fist techniques? That wasn't difficult either — not for someone with a Jonin instructor like Hyuga Seisai personally training him daily. With a bit of focus, Yuto could probably learn it in a month.
So this "punishment" was nothing but a performance. A farce.
And yet, Riku had to pretend to be touched by it.
He finally understood the purpose behind today's spectacle.
All this talk about him being punished for skipping class or secretly training taijutsu under Might Duy was just an excuse. The real goal was to train him.
As a Branch Family guard, he was expected to protect the Main Family heir — to die for Yuto if necessary. They were shaping him into that role right now.
Strength alone didn't make a perfect guard. If raw power wasn't enough, then loyalty would fill the gap.
So the grandfather played the cruel one, and the grandson played the merciful savior. One inflicted pain, the other offered compassion. A perfect good-cop-bad-cop performance — a psychological trick designed to make Riku feel gratitude and devotion toward Yuto.
They wanted him to think: The young master stood up for me. I owe him everything.
It was an elegant manipulation. Cruel, but clever.
If Riku had truly been just a child, their plan might have worked perfectly. He might have broken down, crying tears of gratitude, swearing lifelong loyalty to Yuto.
But the mind within Riku wasn't a child's.
He'd lived long enough in another world to recognize how power twisted people. He'd seen enough to know that loyalty forced through manipulation wasn't loyalty — it was control.
Still, he kept his expression calm.
"Thank you… Lord Yuto," he said hoarsely, bowing despite the pain still buzzing behind his eyes.
Yuto gave him a reassuring nod — one more act in this play — and Katyu finally dismissed him.
"Go. Rest for today," Katyu said, waving his hand.
Riku bowed once more before limping away, disappearing beyond the courtyard gate.
The moment he was gone, Katyu clapped his hands lightly, signaling the surrounding Branch Family servants to leave. Within moments, the courtyard emptied, leaving only the old man and his grandson.
The air grew noticeably lighter.
Yuto, dropping his serious expression, skipped forward and grinned. "Grandpa, how was my performance just now? Pretty good, right? That kid looked so moved he almost cried!"
Katyu chuckled softly. Despite his harsh demeanor in public, he clearly cared for his grandson. But he didn't shower him with praise either.
"Not bad," he said calmly. "But remember, Yuto — wild beasts take a long time to tame. The Branch Family is no different."
Yuto blinked, tilting his head. "You mean… even after all that, Riku might still not be loyal?"
Katyu nodded, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps for a while, he'll look at you with gratitude. But in time, his heart might waver. Disloyalty is a disease that grows quietly if you don't watch for it."
Yuto's cheerful grin faltered. "So… everything we did today was meaningless?"
"Of course not." Katyu's tone softened slightly, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Like I said — taming takes time. You can't rush it."
He leaned down, placing a hand on Yuto's shoulder. "To tame a beast, you must use pain to grind away its claws and kindness to replace its fear with dependence. Over and over, you repeat the process — until even the fiercest beast kneels willingly at your feet."
Yuto's eyes widened slightly, trying to absorb his grandfather's words.
Katyu continued, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. "That is the essence of power in the Hyuga Main Family. Remember this, Yuto — for ordinary ninja, strength and jutsu mean everything. But for us… control is far more important."
The boy frowned slightly. "Control?"
"Yes," Katyu said. "The ability to manage, to command, to make others obey. That's what sets the Main Family apart. Your fists may defeat enemies, but your words — and how others react to them — will determine how high you rise."
Yuto nodded slowly, half-understanding. The lessons sounded deep and important, but his young mind couldn't fully grasp them yet.
Katyu noticed the confusion in his grandson's eyes and sighed. His stern features softened as he reached out and gently ruffled Yuto's hair.
"No rush," he said quietly. "You're still young. You have plenty of time to learn. For now, just remember what I've told you — and watch carefully how people behave around you. That's how you'll truly understand power."
A smile spread across Yuto's face again. "Okay, Grandpa. I'll work hard! Thank you!"
Katyu smiled faintly in return, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.
From start to finish, he never once mentioned what would happen if Riku ever saw through their act — if he ever realized that the kindness and cruelty he'd just experienced were both part of the same trap.
Because to Hinata Katyu, Riku wasn't a person worth worrying about.
He was a tool. A "stray dog" to be trained, nothing more.
If one broke, another would replace it.
The Branch Family had no shortage of dogs.
That night, Riku lay in his small room, staring up at the ceiling. The faint moonlight seeped through the window, painting pale stripes across the floor.
His head still throbbed from the earlier seal activation, but the physical pain didn't bother him much. What gnawed at him was the game he had just been pulled into.
So that's how it is, he thought. They're trying to break me down and rebuild me into a loyal pet.
He almost laughed at the irony.
In his past life, he'd seen powerful people use the same methods — suppressing others with fear, then binding them with favors. A cycle of punishment and reward that ensured obedience.
And now, here he was again — just in a different world, under a different name.
He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the bandaged skin scrape against his palms.
"I see, Grandpa Katyu… Lord Yuto," he whispered under his breath. "You want to train me into your obedient little guard?"
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Fine. I'll play along. But this time, I'll be the one learning from you."
Outside, the night wind rustled through the Hyuga compound, carrying with it the faint echoes of his resolve.
Riku might have been branded with the mark of a Branch Family — cursed to bow, to serve, to obey — but inside, he was still free.
And deep down, he swore silently:
One day, I'll surpass every single one of you.
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