Zane was focused on the next notifications from the system.
"Ding. Skills, Bloodline, Affinity, and Missions tabs are now unlocked." "As a welcoming gift for the host, you have gained 5000 points." "Due to certain circumstances, you have lost your magic root. As a replacement, the system will offer the host three bloodline options. You may choose one of them." "Ding. Options are: 1. Shikotsumyaku, 2. Sharingan, 3. Lava Release."
Zane looked at the choices with a calm, expressionless face. 'Well, if I'm going to die anyway, I might as well try the feeling of having a Kekkei Genkai.'
"I choose the Sharingan."
"Affirmative." "Installing the Sharingan into your body in 3... 2... 1..."
A few seconds later, Zane felt a sharp, searing pain inside his eyes. "Aaaaaaaghh!" He screamed, clutching his eyes and rolling on the ground. He tried to ease the pain, but nothing worked. Traces of blood began to seep from his eyelids, staining the dirt floor.
"Big brother, what's happening to you?" a small voice cried.
Firus started to run toward Marco, but a hand caught her. It was Balen.
"Firus, he's just acting," Balen said dismissively. "Yes, it's obvious," Celri agreed, scoffing coldly. "Is he trying to look pitiful by crying blood instead of tears? Cut the act; it won't work."
In that moment, the system's voice returned.
"Installation complete." "Congratulations, host, for unlocking your Sharingan."
The pain instantly stopped. Zane slowly opened his eyes. It was only for a second, but a cold, intense aura was released. If you looked closely, you would see two commas floating inside his blood-red eyes. It was a two-tomoe Sharingan. This was a similar occurrence to what happened to Obito, Itachi, and Otsutsuki Indra, who all awakened their two-tomoe Sharingan from the beginning due to powerful emotions. It is said that Uchiha are emotional, and because of this, they were deemed evil in the Naruto world—if their loved ones died, their powerful emotions could turn them evil.
Zane felt a small flicker of excitement, but it quickly faded into a sigh. He knew he was going to die for sure.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. "It's useless to lie at this point. You can't use the dragon jade after your death, so give it back and get out of the clan."
It was his mother who spoke to him. They say mothers are beings who will do anything for the well-being of their children, but his mother was talking about his death as a simple, inconsequential thing.
Adelard spoke with a cold voice. "The witness, the Third Elder, told us what he saw. I will say it for the last time: give it back, or die!"
His sister Firus, with tears streaming down her face, ran to her father's side and begged him to spare his life. "Father, please, he didn't do anything! Why do you believe someone else over your own blood son?"
"Being a mortal son is already a sin," Adelard replied. "But even so, I let him live under my wings. Stealing the dragon jade, however, is an unforgivable sin against the whole clan."
...
Canas looked at Zane. Even though being a mortal in the clan was a shameful thing—even more so for the son of the patriarch—he still cared a little about him. After all, he was his little brother. Firus continued arguing with her parents and brothers, but no one seemed to listen.
Zane kept looking at them, and he saw a whirlwind of emotions on their faces: anger, shame, and cold indifference. At this moment, a flood of memories from Marco's past began to unlock in his mind.
He remembered a day 14 years ago, when he was just five years old. He had fallen gravely ill and was in a coma for 48 hours. During those two days, the family was frantic. His father was anxious, his mother was crying by his bedside, and his siblings were scared. It was the darkest time for the Corvin clan. If a doctor had used a magical X-ray on him then, they would have seen a tiny, black, ant-like figure—a small dark cloud—near his heart.
After two days, he woke up, not knowing what had happened. When they asked him what happened before he fell sick, he said that two days ago, he heard a voice say something he couldn't understand.
"[@$#*+@$]"
After that, he couldn't remember anything else. He didn't know what language it was, and neither did they.
Time passed, and little Marco was living a wonderful childhood. Today, Marco turned six. It was a pleasant day for the patriarch and the entire clan. Today, Marco would test his magic root and find out what kind of magic he would get. Since everyone in the clan used fire magic, it was obvious he would have fire magic, too. The only difference was the level of talent he would get. After all, all his older siblings had high talent. His parents took him to a place inside the clan that looked like an altar, and every member of the clan was present. It was a happy day for everyone. Inside the altar was a huge magical stone used to check a person's magic root and talent...