The weight of unseen eyes was heavier than any burden Renjiro had ever known.
Even as he trained, he could feel it—a constant, suffocating presence lurking beyond the edges of his vision. Watching. Judging.
He had always been shunned, but this was different. This was fear.
The Training Grounds at Dusk
The sun had begun its descent, casting long, golden shadows across the worn battlefield where Renjiro stood. The earth beneath him was cracked from years of combat, marked with deep grooves from past warriors. A cool breeze rolled through, rustling the leaves of the towering trees that enclosed the grounds, as if they too were whispering about him.
Across from him stood Takeshi, his expression unreadable. The mentor's stance was relaxed, but Renjiro had learned enough in the past few weeks to know that Takeshi was never unguarded.
"Again." Takeshi's voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it.
Renjiro inhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. His feet dug into the dirt, his small fingers curling into fists. His body ached from countless failed attempts, but he ignored the sting.
He had to be better.
He lunged forward, channeling all his force into his next strike. His movements had grown sharper—more refined. He twisted mid-air, aiming a feint with his right fist before shifting his weight to deliver a kick—but Takeshi moved faster.
A blur of motion.
A sharp impact to his ribs.
And before he could react—
Renjiro was on the ground.
The pain was instant, a deep ache radiating through his side. His breathing was shallow, his vision spinning from the force of the counter.
Above him, Takeshi stood, his expression still unreadable.
"You're improving," he said finally. "But you're still fighting with rage, not control."
Renjiro gritted his teeth, pushing himself up.
"Strength is all that matters." His voice was sharp, laced with frustration.
Takeshi's gaze darkened. "Is it?"
Renjiro didn't answer. His hands clenched tighter.
He thought of the whispers in the village. The glares. The hushed conversations that ceased when he entered a room.
He had to be stronger. Strong enough that no one could look down on him again.
Takeshi sighed, stepping back. "We're done for today."
Renjiro opened his mouth to argue, but something in Takeshi's face silenced him. His mentor was not just dismissing him—he was testing him.
Would he walk away? Or would he push himself further, beyond his limits?
Renjiro exhaled sharply and turned away, his mind still burning with frustration.
As he walked toward the edge of the training grounds, a shift in the air made his skin prickle.
The eyes.
They were watching again.
The Watchers in the Dark
High above, nestled within the thick branches of an ancient tree, Mei crouched low, her sharp eyes locked onto the boy below.
She had been following Renjiro for weeks now. Watching his every movement. Studying his progress.
And yet—she wasn't sure what to make of him.
He was strong. Stronger than a child his age had any right to be.
But he wasn't just fighting Takeshi. He was fighting something within himself.
Mei's grip on the tree bark tightened. The elders were right to be cautious, but she couldn't help but wonder—was it truly the boy they feared? Or what they had done to him?
A gust of wind rustled the leaves, and Mei silently disappeared into the night.
She had seen enough for today.
But she would return.
Because Renjiro's fate was far from decided.