The morning of the seasonal evaluation was heralded by a thin, biting mist that clung to the stone walls of the Zenin estate. It was a day of judgment, a ritual where the young saplings of the clan were measured to see if they would grow into towering oaks or be pruned away as dead wood.
The main training courtyard was a sprawling rectangle of white gravel, raked into perfect, soul-less lines. At the far end, seated on a raised wooden dais, were the elders. Naobito sat in the center, his posture relaxed, a contrast to the rigid, statue-like men flanking him. In front of them stood a row of instructors, seasoned sorcerers of the Kukuru unit, clad in dark, functional tunics and holding heavy staves of seasoned oak.
The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the jagged, static-like hum of Cursed Energy as the other children—the "gifted" ones—demonstrated their progress. Small sparks of fire, the manipulation of shadows, and the augmentation of physical speed. Each display was met with a curt nod or a sharp critique.
Then, a name was called that caused a ripple of silence to wash over the assembly.
"Tai Lung. Toji. Step forward."
The two brothers walked onto the gravel. They looked out of place among the other children, who wore fine silks embroidered with the clan's crest. Tai Lung wore a simple, sleeveless white tunic and dark trousers, his feet bare against the cold stones. Toji followed a half-step behind him, his small face set in a mask of stoic defiance.
"These two," one of the elders whispered, loud enough for his voice to carry. "The ghosts of the lineage. Why are we wasting the morning on them? They have no energy. They shouldn't even be on the training grounds."
Naobito raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. His eyes were fixed on Tai Lung. The boy wasn't looking at the elders. He was looking at the white gravel, his breathing so deep and rhythmic that his chest barely seemed to move.
"An evaluation is a test of potential," Naobito said, his voice echoing. "If they have no Cursed Energy, we will test their physical fortitude. Instructor Sato, proceed."
A man stepped forward. He was a Grade 2 sorcerer, a specialist in close-quarters combat. He was a mountain of a man, his muscles reinforced by years of Cursed Energy reinforcement. He held his staff with a casual, one-handed grip, looking down at the five-year-olds with an expression of pure disdain.
"Which one first?" Sato asked, his voice a low rumble.
"Both," Tai Lung said.
The courtyard went silent. Even Naobito leaned forward, his interest finally piqued.
"Excuse me, brat?" Sato sneered.
Tai Lung looked up. His golden eyes were as calm as a mountain lake, yet there was a predatory edge beneath the surface that made Sato's skin crawl. "We are wasting time. You want to see if we have 'potential.' My brother will defend. I will... instruct. Come."
Sato's face flushed a deep, angry red. To be spoken to like that by a "useless" child in front of the clan head was an unforgivable insult. He channeled a surge of blue Cursed Energy into his staff, the wood groaning under the pressure.
"Fine. Don't blame me if you never walk again."
Sato moved. He was fast, his speed enhanced by his technique, covering the distance in a single, explosive stride. He swung the staff in a horizontal arc, a strike designed to shatter ribs and send the children flying across the courtyard.
Toji flinched, his instincts screaming at him to run. But then he felt a hand on his back.
"Don't look at the staff, Toji," Tai Lung's voice was a whisper in his ear, yet it sounded like thunder. "Look at the wind. The staff is just a leaf caught in the current."
As the staff roared through the air, Tai Lung didn't move his feet. He reached out and placed his palm against the side of the wooden weapon. He didn't try to block it; he *joined* it. He moved his hand in a circular motion, guiding the momentum of the strike.
To the elders watching, it looked like magic. The heavy, Cursed Energy-reinforced staff didn't hit the boys. It sailed past them, pulled by Tai Lung's gentle guidance, dragging Sato off balance.
Sato stumbled, his eyes wide with confusion. He hadn't felt a counter-force. He had felt as if he were trying to punch a cloud.
"Again," Tai Lung said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Roaring in frustration, Sato unleashed a flurry of strikes. The staff became a blur of dark wood and blue energy, whistling through the air with lethal intent. Each strike was aimed at a vital point—the head, the throat, the solar plexus.
And each time, the result was the same.
Tai Lung danced between the strikes with a terrifying economy of movement. He wasn't running; he was flowing. He kept Toji within the "eye of the storm," moving his brother by the shoulders, turning him like a chess piece. The blue Cursed Energy of the staff would pass inches from their skin, redirected by the slightest touch of Tai Lung's fingertips.
"He... he is parrying a Grade 2 sorcerer with his bare hands," an elder gasped, his hands trembling on his lap. "Without a single drop of Cursed Energy. How?"
"It's not a parry," Naobito whispered, his eyes wide. "He's manipulating the vector of the force. He's not fighting the energy; he's ignoring it."
Sato was gasping for air, his Cursed Energy reserves beginning to flag. He was a grown man being humiliated by a child who hadn't even broken a sweat. Desperate, he pulled his staff back and poured every last drop of his energy into a final, vertical overhead strike.
"DIE, YOU TRASH!"
The air screamed as the staff came down. This wasn't a training exercise anymore; it was an execution.
Tai Lung stepped forward. He didn't guide this one. He didn't dodge. He stood directly under the descending weapon and raised two fingers.
The gold light finally appeared. It wasn't the jagged, chaotic flicker of a Curse. It was a steady, radiant hum that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of his bones.
*Cling.*
The staff hit Tai Lung's fingers and... stopped. The shockwave of the impact sent a cloud of white gravel flying outward in a perfect circle, but Tai Lung didn't move an inch. The heavy oak staff, reinforced to be as hard as steel, began to crack. Not from the blow, but from the inside out.
"Your energy is loud, Instructor," Tai Lung said, his golden eyes burning into Sato's soul. "It is a cacophony of fear and pride. You think you are strong because you can break things. But you cannot even control your own breath."
Tai Lung tapped the staff.
*Skadoosh.*
A ripple of golden Chi surged through the wood. It hit Sato like a lightning bolt. It didn't burn him; it simply disconnected him. Sato felt his Cursed Energy vanish as if a candle had been blown out. His muscles turned to water, and he collapsed onto the gravel, his eyes rolling back in his head. He wasn't injured, but his "ten-ketsu"—the points where his energy flowed—had been temporarily sealed.
Tai Lung stood over the fallen man, then looked up at the dais. The elders were frozen in terror. This was a violation of everything they knew. A child with nothing had just silenced a sorcerer with a touch.
Tai Lung turned to Toji, who was staring at him with a mixture of worship and awe.
"Lesson one, Toji," Tai Lung said, his voice carrying across the silent courtyard. "The mind is the master, the body is the servant, and the energy... the energy is just the breath of the world. They think they own it. They are wrong."
Naobito stood up, his face unreadable. He looked at Sato's unconscious form, then back at the small boy with golden eyes. For the first time in his life, the Head of the Zenin Clan felt a cold shiver of something he hadn't felt since he was a child.
Doubt.
"The evaluation... is over," Naobito announced, his voice tight. "Tai Lung. Toji. Return to your quarters. We will discuss this."
Tai Lung bowed—not the bow of a servant to a master, but the respectful nod of one sovereign to another. He turned and walked away, his small feet leaving no footprints on the raked gravel.
Toji followed him, his chest puffed out, his head held high for the first time in his life.
As they disappeared into the shadows of the North pavilion, the elders finally began to speak, their voices a frantic mess of fear and planning. But Tai Lung didn't listen. He was already looking at the mountains in the distance.
The cage was still there, but the lock had just been shattered. He could feel the Chi of the world calling to him, and he knew that soon, very soon, this estate would be nothing more than a memory in the wake of the leopard's stride.