Hyuga Sōtai had always considered himself one of the most talented geniuses among the Hyuga Clan's Main Family. Yet, whenever he faced certain "monsters of talent," an inexplicable sense of inferiority would rise in his chest.
Foremost among them was the one who constantly overshadowed him — Uchiha Itachi.
Even though Itachi was a year younger, his strength and skill had long surpassed not only Hyuga Sōtai but every other student in their class. The gap was vast and undeniable.
Sōtai didn't know how others felt about this disparity, but for him, it was unbearable. The Hyuga Clan prided itself as Konoha's foremost Dōjutsu clan, a statement even the Third Hokage had never refuted. So how could he, a Hyuga of the Main Family, tolerate being overshadowed by an Uchiha — and by such a large margin?
If the Uchiha were merely a branch family of the Hyuga Clan, Sōtai would've made Itachi gouge his own eyes out without hesitation. But unfortunately, that was impossible.
To make matters worse, the Uchiha Clan's fame among outsiders had grown even greater than the Hyuga's. They were now often referred to as Konoha's Foremost Clan.
And Itachi wasn't just any Uchiha. He was the eldest son of the current clan head — his social status, in fact, was higher than Sōtai's, who was merely the grandson of a Hyuga elder.
Talent, strength, and even status — in every aspect, Hyuga Sōtai found himself inferior.
He simply couldn't comprehend how such a flawless person could exist.
What fueled his frustration further was that Uchiha Itachi had been frequently asking about Riku — the lowly Branch Family member who had recently started training in taijutsu under Maito Dai.
For an entire month now, Itachi had been inquiring about Riku's progress almost every day.
"Damn Uchiha," Sōtai muttered bitterly. "Truly worthy of being called a naturally cursed clan — so irritating! He ignores me, yet he's so interested in a mere Branch Family member. What's wrong with that guy?"
He slammed his fist against the table. "In talent, strength, and status, how can that lowly Riku even compare to me? What does Itachi see in him? Or is it just because that girl, Hyuga Hoshimi, sits next to him in class?"
Sōtai's resentment was overflowing. Every word he spat dripped with jealousy — jealousy toward Uchiha Itachi's superiority, and toward Riku's sudden importance.
Standing quietly nearby was Hyuga Miotto, Sōtai's personal guard. He had heard every word but didn't react. To him, these were nothing more than childish grudges, not worth interfering in. As a Branch Family member himself, Miotto knew his place — he wasn't supposed to think, only to obey.
Still, Sōtai's anger demanded an outlet. He turned abruptly to his guard.
"Miotto, tell me — in what way am I inferior to that idiot Riku? He's been skipping school for a month, just to learn taijutsu from a washed-up genin! How could that possibly earn Uchiha Itachi's recognition?"
Miotto hesitated for a moment, then replied calmly, "Young Master Sōtai, your talent and strength are naturally far above Riku's. But human relationships don't always depend solely on those things. Besides, Riku being recognized by the Uchiha Clan's young heir might actually be beneficial to you. After all, Riku belongs to you. Everything he has belongs to you. If this connection brings advantages in the future, you'll be the one who benefits most."
Though he was speaking the truth, Miotto's tone was mechanical, devoid of warmth — the voice of someone long conditioned to submission.
Deep down, however, Miotto harbored his own envy.
Riku, despite being of little talent, had somehow become a Main Family guard — a position that came with privileges and influence.
Miotto himself had served for years and was only a Special Jōnin at best. Watching Riku enjoy what he could never obtain filled him with quiet bitterness.
If only I'd had such an opportunity back then, Miotto thought. Maybe I wouldn't still be stuck here, forgotten in some corner of the clan.
Yet reality was cruel. Riku, the "untalented" Branch Family boy, now had the attention of both the Hyuga and even the Uchiha heir. His worth had surpassed Miotto's long ago.
That disparity twisted something inside Miotto. Without realizing it, he had begun to despise Riku as much as he envied him.
Hyuga Sōtai's eyes lit up after hearing Miotto's response. "You're right! That kid Riku is destined to serve me. And if Uchiha Itachi becomes friends with my servant… then doesn't that mean—"
He trailed off, but his grin said the rest. He could already imagine it: himself standing proudly above, with even Uchiha Itachi connected to him through Riku. The idea filled him with a euphoric sense of superiority, as if he had drunk a bottle of 1982 Sprite — bubbles of self-satisfaction rising to his head.
Yes, that was how it should be. He, Hyuga Sōtai, had to be superior!
Miotto didn't know exactly what delusions were swirling in the young master's mind, but seeing that foolish smile, an idea suddenly took root in his own.
"Young Master Sōtai," Miotto said softly, "after all, Riku is just a Branch Family member — your subordinate, your servant. If you're truly displeased, you have every right to punish him."
He lowered his head slightly, his voice turning colder. "You don't even need a reason. You are the true master of the Hyuga Clan."
Sōtai's expression shifted; Miotto's words had struck the perfect chord.
Miotto, meanwhile, felt a dark thrill building inside him. He could already imagine Riku's agony.
For a Branch Family member, the punishment was always the same — the Caged Bird Seal.
Miotto knew its pain all too well. He had felt that searing torment in his own mind more than once — the excruciating sensation that made him wish for death.
But humans were strange creatures. When one suffers alone, the pain is unbearable. Yet if someone else suffers the same torment, that pain somehow becomes easier — even satisfying.
Miotto had grown addicted to that satisfaction. Each time he saw another Branch Family member screaming under the seal's activation, a twisted pleasure welled up inside him.
And if that person happened to be Riku — the one who'd surpassed him in value — the satisfaction would be even greater.
Sensing the moment, Miotto pressed on, feeding the fire.
"Young Master Sōtai, a servant like him deserves to be reminded of his place."
Sōtai's eyes gleamed. "You're right. That kid's been far too arrogant lately. But… Grandfather just punished him today. If I do it again now, he might not survive it — his body's too weak to endure two activations of the seal in one day."
Miotto blinked in surprise. Consideration? From him? But before the thought even finished forming, Sōtai's tone shifted again.
"Still," Sōtai added with a smirk, "I can keep a tab. Once that kid recovers, I'll make sure he pays for this. I can't let it slide."
Miotto's lips curled into a faint smile. The image of Riku's suffering was already dancing vividly in his mind.
But before he could revel in that thought, something in the air changed.
A faint pressure, subtle yet undeniable, descended around them. Years of battlefield experience made Miotto freeze instantly. He smelled something—
—Danger.
He reacted instinctively, drawing a kunai and crossing his arms before his chest. His body lowered into a fighting stance, veins bulging around his temples as his Byakugan flared to life. His eyes swept the surroundings like a hawk's.
"Byakugan… activated!"
Miotto's voice was low and sharp. In a breath, he was fully alert, shielding Sōtai with his body.
"Young Master Sōtai," he said grimly, "something's wrong. There's danger nearby! I'll hold off the enemy. You must prepare to run."
A chill crawled up his spine; the faint stinging sensation that rippled through his body was proof enough. Whoever — whatever — was approaching was far stronger than him.
But Sōtai, completely oblivious to the atmosphere, frowned in annoyance.
"Miotto, what nonsense are you spouting? Run away? We're inside Konoha! Who would dare attack a Hyuga from the Main Family — me, no less?"
Miotto didn't answer. His Byakugan had already caught the slightest flicker of movement in the shadows. The faint rustle of leaves. The whisper of killing intent so sharp it cut through the night air.
It was already too late.
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