Watch my other DBZ fic please l am putting Alot of effort in it.
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I Legit cooked this chapter ngl.
It took me two days at least 15 rewrite to get this perfect.
So Enjoy
MUHAHAHHAHAHA
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The quiet of Toji's room was almost sacred. The soft hum of the ceiling fan, the faint scent of old leather and faint cologne lingering in the air, and the faint glow of his laptop casting shadows across the walls—it was his space, a rare corner of calm in a world that often demanded vigilance.
A soft knock at the door broke the silence. Toji frowned, glancing toward it. He expected Enid; her timing was never predictable, but she had a habit of appearing when the hallways were empty.
He exhaled and rose, walking over with measured steps.
"Enid?" he said, voice low but steady. "It's late. What are you doing here?"
"Open up, Toji," came her light, teasing voice. "Don't act like you didn't expect me."
He paused, hand on the doorknob, the familiar wariness settling over him. Slowly, he opened the door, intending to give her a warning glance, maybe a sharp word, but not expecting… the quiet intensity in her eyes tonight.
"Sorry to bother you," Enid started, her tone softer than usual, betraying a rare hesitation. "I just… needed to talk."
Toji raised an eyebrow. "At this hour?" His voice carried a hint of mockery, though the corners of his eyes were already scanning for anything unusual. "What is it—homework? Did you lose a test somewhere? Or did you just miss my lovely face?"
She rolled her eyes, stepping slightly inside, though she didn't cross the threshold fully.
"Not everything has to be sarcasm, you know," she said, half-smiling. "I just… thought you might be awake."
Before Toji could respond, a familiar squeak echoed from the floor. Thing had somehow appeared at the doorway, hand outstretched, wobbling as it always did. Toji's jaw tightened. "Thing," he muttered. "Not now."
Thing wriggled and jiggled, placing itself in the path between him and Enid. "I swear," Toji muttered under his breath, "if I see one scratch on that floor, I'm flipping you across the room."
Enid couldn't help but chuckle lightly at his irritation, stepping a little closer. "Relax, he's harmless… mostly."
Toji's glare softened just slightly, but his stance remained rigid. "Harmless enough to give me nightmares," he muttered.
With a deft motion, he nudged Thing gently with his foot, sending the little hand skittering aside. "There," he said flatly, "problem solved."
Enid leaned against the doorframe, watching him carefully. "You're always so… composed," she said quietly. "Even when the world is trying to mess with you."
"Toji doesn't need the world to mess with him," he replied, deadpan. "I can do it myself."
She smiled faintly at that, taking a tentative step inside. "I'm serious, though. I wanted to see you. Talk to you."
He studied her for a long moment, noting the rare vulnerability, the way her hands twitched slightly at her sides. He finally nodded and stepped aside.
"Fine. But make it quick," he warned, closing the door fully behind her, leaving the room quiet again, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock.
Enid moved closer, sitting down on the edge of his bed, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "You've been… distant," she said softly, almost like a confession. "Even more than usual."
Toji's eyes flicked toward her, narrowing. "And why do you want to know?"
Toji was being this rude to her because he understood she was here to pry open his past.
She paused, considering her words carefully. "Because… you're not just anyone, Toji. You're someone people notice, someone I notice."
He didn't answer immediately, letting her words hang in the air. The weight of silence pressed in, thick and almost suffocating. Then he finally spoke. "And what exactly do you want me to do about that?"
"I wanted… to understand," she said, almost whispering. "To know why you shut people out. Why you push everyone away—even those who care about you."
Toji's jaw tightened, eyes darkening as shadows of the past flickered across his expression. The room seemed to shrink around him.
"You really want to know?" he asked quietly, almost too softly. "You want the truth?"
Enid nodded, bracing herself. "Yes."
And then, for the first time in a long while, Toji let the story begin—the truth he kept locked behind years of pain, the shadow of his father's brutality, the night he had to face the unthinkable, the fear, the anger, and the weight of his own survival.
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Toji Zenin entered the world on a cold morning in Ohio, far from the clan that had discarded his mother like spoiled meat.
His mother, Shoko Zenin, had once belonged to a family built on rituals, bloodline pride, and cruelty. She had been born without a cursed technique, without the healing aura her lineage prized.
From the moment she breathed her first breath, her father, Nanami Zenin, watched her with the same distant disgust one gives to a stain on the floor.
By age four, when she still displayed no signs of psychic healing or clan potential, he raised a blade with the intention of erasing her from the family registry by force.
Fate intervened.
News arrived that a boy in the United States — a Zenin from a lesser branch — had awakened Reversal, the clan's most dangerous technique.
A curse that made wounds incurable, pain permanent, suffering absolute.One who are touch by this curse will not die until they are old.
That boy was Naoya Zenin.
Nanami spared Shoko only to turn her into a bargaining chip. At sixteen, she was exiled to America and given to Naoya like livestock. To bind the clans, to secure alliances, to keep the main family dominant.
Shoko obeyed. She endured.
And for a brief flicker of time, life fooled her into thinking she could be happy.
Nevermore Academy embraced misfits like her.
She met Morticia Addams and, for the first time, understood what friendship felt like.
She laughed, truly laughed, in those years — soft, unsure sounds, as if trying on joy for the first time.
She married Naoya.
She thought the warmth would last.
It didn't.
After Nevermore ended, they moved to Ohio, and the mask Naoya wore for years shattered.
The drinking started first.
Then the jealousy.
Then the insults.
Then the bruises.
He would scream for hours over a misplaced glass.
He would yank Shoko's hair because dinner was five minutes late.
He would shove Toji for crying.
He would call her useless, worthless, a failed Zenin experiment.
And Shoko — who had grown up learning that suffering was survival — took every hit.
Until one night.
One night when Naoya stumbled home drunk, reeking of whiskey and rage, and Shoko dared to speak back.
Just a whisper:
"Stop."
That was enough.
Naoya lifted his hand and a dark, violent aura crackled around his fingers.
The curse technique Reversal struck her abdomen like a blade made of malice.
A wound that would never heal.
A pain that would never fade.
A death sentence.
Toji saw it all.
He saw his mother drop to the kitchen floor, clutching her stomach.
He saw Naoya smirk — proud of himself.
He saw the blood pooling, slow at first, then faster.
Something ancient and unspeakable ripped open in Toji's chest.
He didn't remember deciding to move.
His body simply obeyed the primal command in his bones.
Protect her.
Kill him.
Toji attacked.
Naoya laughed at first, amused a child would challenge him.
But the laughter died when Toji's small hands wrapped around his throat with terrifying force.
He clawed.
He bit.
He slammed Naoya's head into the floor again and again, fueled by panic, terror, and a desperate, feral love.
When the struggle ended, Naoya lay dead — neck twisted, eyes wide with the realization that he had underestimated the thing he feared most:
A mother's child.
Toji stood trembling, covered in blood.
And then he heard a breath — faint, unsteady.
He turned.
His mother's eyes gazed up at the ceiling, unfocused but alive.
"Mom—? MOM—! Look at me— please—"
He dropped beside her, hands shaking as he pressed them against the wound.
Useless.
The curse didn't allow miracles.
His tears dripped onto her chest.
Shoko blinked slowly.
And for the first time since he was born, her voice trembled.
"Toji… kill me."
He froze.
He felt the world tilt sideways.
He felt the air tear away from his lungs.
"No— no— Mom— I can help— I can— I can— please— don't say that—"
Her hand lifted, unsteady, and he leaned into the touch, hoping for comfort.
She slapped him.
It wasn't violent.
It was grounding.
Her voice, though soft, carried a steel he had never heard before.
"Listen to me, Toji. You killed a Zenin heir. They will hunt you. They will drag you back and torture you. They will use you. They will kill you. You are alone now. No one will save you."
He began to sob — messy, broken, monstrous sounds he didn't know he could make.
"You can't cry," she whispered, stroking his cheek now with a mother's touch. "Tears will slow you down."
He shook his head violently.
"Mom, don't— please— don't do this to me— please—"
Shoko pulled him closer and kissed his forehead, tasting his tears.
"You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You made my cursed life bearable. Do not waste my death."
Her hand slid to the back of his neck.
And she guided his hand to her throat.
"Toji… set me free. And become what you were meant to be."
He begged with his eyes.
She gave him her final smile — soft, sad, full of love and regret.
He closed his eyes.
His hand tightened.
A sound like a twig snapping filled the room.
Then silence.
A silence so complete it felt like the world had stopped breathing.
Toji didn't react at first.
He sat there, staring at nothing, his mind unable to accept what he had done.
Then the grief hit.
It exploded inside him — too big for his small chest, too loud for the night to contain.
An inhuman scream ripped from his throat.
Not a boy's scream.
Not even a man's.
A sound of something breaking open.
A soul tearing itself apart.
A beast waking in the blood of its family.
"WHYYYYYYYYY— MEEEEEE— WHAT HAVE I DONE TO YOU— MOOOOOM— AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH——"
His voice echoed through the walls, through the quiet Ohio street, through the cold night, through whatever gods still bothered listening.
He screamed until his throat bled.
Until he collapsed.
Until the weight of the world crushed the child inside him.
The Zenin clan would feel the ripples of that night for years to come.
Because that was the moment the world birthed Toji Fushiguro — the boy who died, and the weapon who took his place.