Age: 7 years, 8 months
Stillness hides tension. A pond's surface may seem smooth, but below it, currents collide.
For months, I had refined every gesture of obedience. The tutors praised my composure, while the other children called me "the quiet one." Among them was Daichi, the son of one of Father's lieutenants—bigger, older, and louder. His strength was his pride, but his temper was his weakness.
When he lost in sparring, he blamed others. When he failed to draw attention to himself, he bullied someone smaller. Predictable. I watched him as one studies an animal in a cage, waiting for a pattern to confirm my observations.
Age: 7 years, 10 months
The incident began at the training yard. The instructor had left, and the children lingered. Daichi's laughter echoed across the stones. He kicked over my water bowl—an accident, he claimed. Water splashed across my sandals, cold and insignificant.
I smiled. "It's fine."
He wanted anger, but I denied him that reaction.
However, he persisted—shoving me, mocking Mio's name, and reaching for the wooden pendant she had given me. That moment was a variable I hadn't anticipated: emotion, sharp and involuntary. He yanked the pendant, breaking the string.
The world slowed. Water from the overturned bowl trembled around my feet, resonating with my pulse. My chakra moved before my thoughts caught up. A single droplet lifted, expanded, and coiled. When Daichi struck again, the water snapped like a whip, slamming into his chest and knocking the breath from him.
Gasps. Silence. His body hit the ground hard, coughing, eyes wide with confusion.
I had revealed myself.
*Later that night*
I replayed every detail: the arc of motion, chakra density, the precise millisecond when control slipped into instinct. The result had been efficient—disabling without killing. But exposure was a risk.
Father summoned me soon after. His tone was calm but sharp.
"The servants say you defended yourself," he began.
"Yes."
"With chakra?"
"Yes."
He studied me for a long moment, weighing truth and danger. Then he sighed.
"Ren… strength invites challenge. Remember that."
I nodded. I already understood something deeper.
*Rule Six:* Life and death are variables—both can be solved.
Daichi lived because I chose restraint. Next time, I might choose differently.
Age: 8 years
Daichi never touched me again. In fact, none of the children did. Rumors spread quietly—about the boy who could move water like a serpent. I subtly encouraged the myth, letting it grow on its own, neither confirming nor denying it.
Fear, I learned, was another form of control. The fracture in my mask had appeared, but I did not patch it. Instead, I studied how light passed through the crack—how much truth one could reveal before the illusion broke entirely.
For the first time, I understood power not as a defense or a tool, but as a choice—a choice over pain, over outcome, over life.
And though the pond's surface returned to calm, the depths had changed forever.