Location: Fujinuma Residence, Kanazawa City, Jappon
Date: April 2nd, 1989 | Time: 7:41 A.M.
POV: Satoru Fujinuma
It's been almost two years since the fight with Snake Devil in Aokigahara. I spent the time training, waiting—watching. Hoping I'd see it in them too.
And then I did.
It started with Yuki.
One morning in the backyard, I found her crouched over a rock. Her hand pressed to it, and then—suddenly—it caved in, crushed under its own distorted mass. Her aura had surged without warning, warping reality for just a second. The look on her face said it all: that wasn't something she meant to do. That was something inside her, waking up.
Star Rage.
Then came Higuruma.
He talked about justice constantly—too much for a six-year-old. Not just stories or ideas, but systems. Arguments. Decisions. His dreams were full of courtrooms and verdicts. I could feel something coiled in his aura, waiting to be shaped. Judgeman. Still dormant, but close.
Then there was Yuji.
It happened during a spar. He missed his mark. Slipped. And without thinking, his hand moved—and a deep, clean cut split the trunk of a tree six meters away. There was no impact. No contact.
A shash invisible to the naked eye released instinctively.
He didn't understand how he did it, but I could come to some conclusion.
But my Six Eyes told me one thing: the technique wasn't brute force. It was precision. A reaction to the structure of what was in front of him. His soul made a decision—and cut accordingly.
Then, days later, another technique surfaced.
Yuji punched a stone with enough force to crack it. His fist bled—but instead of dripping, the blood moved. It responded. It wrapped around his hand, then hardened like a gauntlet and smashed the rock again—cleaner, stronger.
Two distinct expressions of Hatsu.
That's when I knew.
It was time.
Location: Abandoned Training Grounds | Edge of Kanazawa
Date: April 5th, 1989 | Time: 4:57 A.M.
We only had two hours before school. I didn't waste a second.
I woke them all: Yuki, Higuruma, Kinji, Yuta, Kokichi, Yuji, Megumi.
They were groggy. Confused. But their auras were shifting, reacting to each other.
I took off my blindfold.
"You've felt it," I said. "Things are changing inside you. Strength you didn't ask for. Memories that don't belong to a kid."
No one denied it.
I raised my hand. Summoned Blue. The air folded inward with a crack as space distorted between my fingers.
"You're not ordinary. And it's time you stop pretending to be."
Training Begins
I started with the basics: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu.
They picked it up faster than I ever did.
By the end of week one:
Yuki held Ren for over ten minutes and began experimenting with mass manipulation.
Higuruma was muttering laws and decisions like he'd lived through every trial on Earth.
Kinji treated training like a game of chance—and somehow always guessed right.
Yuta saw Rika in dreams. By week two, she appeared beside him—briefly, but real.
Kokichi built a functioning puppet from scrap in the garage. Named it Unit 00. It moved.
Yuji had two Hatsus:
The first: a cutting technique based purely on instinct. His aura evaluated his target's structure and split it with ruthless precision.
The second: blood manipulation. Reactive at first, but growing more controlled by the day.
Megumi summoned a two dogs one black and the other white from his shadow. No hesitation. No questions.
They weren't just gifted. They were remembering something deep in their bones.
April 22nd, 1989 | Fujinuma Residence | 6:47 P.M.
Dinner time.
Sachiko made curry—again. She claimed it was because it was easy. We all knew it was because Yuji begged for it constantly.
Yuki picked out the carrots. Kinji talked too fast. Kokichi stole tofu from Megumi's plate with surgical precision. Higuruma balanced a law book on one knee while eating. Yuji tried to drink from the bowl and earned a flick on the forehead for it.
Sachiko moved between us like it was second nature. Pouring tea. Refilling rice. Fussing over Yuta's sleeves being too long. She didn't know what we were—but she didn't need to. She acted like we were just a normal family.
"Satoru," she said, gently tapping my plate. "You're not eating."
I looked at her.
I still didn't know what kind of life I was meant for in this world. I still didn't understand how someone like me, who's been through so much, could belong in a place this warm.
But when she looked at me like that… it felt possible.
"…Thanks, Mom."
She paused. Smiled. "You're welcome."
April 23rd, 1989 | Morning | Fujinuma Residence | 6:09 A.M.
The scent of steamed rice and miso drifted through the house. Sachiko's voice called up the stairs.
"Time to get up! You'll miss the bus!"
Groans echoed from three different rooms.
Yuki stumbled out first, hair sticking out like she'd lost a fight. She had unconsciously increased her mass in her sleep caving in her bed by accident. Again.
"Watch the linen," I called from the hallway, brushing my teeth.
Yuji was next, dragging himself in a half-crawl, school bag in one hand and his tie in the other. His fingers sparked faintly with blood manipulation before it fizzled out. "I hate mornings," he muttered.
Megumi said nothing, but his shadow rippled. I saw the faint ears of his dog flick once before disappearing under his feet.
By 6:35, we were all at the table again—half-dressed, half-asleep, mostly grumpy.
Sachiko dropped lunch boxes into our bags like a pro.
"Don't forget to return your library books, Higuruma," she said, brushing his hair down. "And Kokichi, no wiring anything into your backpack."
He shrugged. "It was one time."
She handed me my bag last. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. "Take care of your brothers, Satoru."
I nodded, tightening the strap.
"We've got each other."