Hyūga Kōjirō, now in his late twenties, still remembered the sting of that humiliation from eight years ago.

Nearly a decade ago, during the Second Shinobi War, he had demanded to take part in a dangerous mission.

He was young, arrogant, and eager to prove himself as more than just the pampered son of Elder Shigeharu.

The elders indulged him, of course, and sent Side Branch shinobi, his “guards”, to protect him.

That was the way of the clan: the Main Branch took, the Side Branch paid.

The mission turned to disaster. Ambushed, surrounded, Kōjirō had survived only because Kanae’s parents and others had thrown themselves into death to shield him.

He returned alive, but shamed, his survival bought by their corpses.

The outrage in the clan had been real, even among the Main Branch. The losses had been too many, the scandal too public.

He had been dragged before his father and the other elders, reprimanded harshly, and even beaten behind closed doors by Shigeharu.

In the Main Branch, discipline was not performed with the cursed seal, but with cold words, cutting judgment, and punishments meant to restore face.

The elders could not be seen as tyrants, not openly. No, the Main Branch never played the role of cartoonish villains.

To the outside world, and even to Konoha, they had to appear dignified. The cursed seal was always explained away as a “bloodline safeguard,” not a leash.

Humiliation of the Side Branch could never be constant or open, lest they lose all utility, motivation, and reputation.

So punishments were kept private. Rare uses of the seal, never in public. Just enough to instill fear, not enough to spark mass resentment.

The heirs weren’t even taught the command techniques until carefully trained to “use them properly,” to maximize obedience while preserving the appearance of fairness.

Open abuse would turn the Side Branch into lifeless husks, or worse, provoke criticism from other clans and the village itself.

No, the Hyūga’s oppression was subtler, a quiet, unshakable superiority, enforced only when necessary.

That was why Kōjirō’s actions had caused such outrage.

Too many high-ranking Side Branch dead for nothing.

Too much talk among them, whispers of discontent.

To contain the scandal, he was forced into “apology missions.”

He had to bow, to send regards, to visit the families of the fallen with compensation. A farce, in his eyes.

He had loathed it, loathed bowing his head to the grieving faces of the clan’s underlings. But his father had insisted.

And so he went, time and again, paying his respects, smiling hollowly, promising the elders’ goodwill.

It was during those visits that he first saw Kanae. A child, then, small, silent, her pale eyes colder than most.

He had thought nothing of her, just another orphan to whom he owed words he didn’t mean.

He looked down on her, as he did with all of them.

But the years passed. His forced visits continued. And Kanae grew.

The more he saw her, the more he noticed.

Her beauty sharpened like a blade, her coldness in those pale eyes only deepened.

At first, he ignored it, but by the time she reached her early teens, something inside him twisted.

That frost in her stare, that unyielding silence, combined with the knowledge that he was the reason her parents were dead, it excited him.

The thought of breaking that icy mask, of conquering her despite her hatred, became an obsession.

By the time she was twelve, he had already decided: once she reached fourteen, he would make her his concubine.

He had the bloodline, the power, the father who could arrange it with a single word.

Concubines from the Side Branch were nothing unusual.

Even if she married another, he could take her. With the right maneuvering, the right pressure, she would be his.

There were precedents, more than anyone admitted aloud.

So instead of visiting every few years as duty demanded, he began coming more often.

Every few months, and now even sooner.

He enjoyed it, watching her forced politeness, feeling the tension under her bow.

Each visit was like playing with prey, circling closer while she simmered with hatred she could never show.

Her little “shinobi life” outside the compound? Irrelevant.

Talented or not, she would still be claimed as his plaything.

If anything, her growing strength only made the thought sweeter.

To make the most promising Side Branch beauty his bed-warmer, to dominate the very girl whose parents had died for him, that was true conquest.

But then, everything changed.

A few weeks ago, she had returned from a mission that shook the entire village.

An A-rank turned S-rank, one that secured Kusagakure’s loyalty, preserved the Grass alliance, and struck a symbolic blow to Iwagakure.

Against all odds, she and her team had succeeded.

The Hokage himself had praised them, rewarded them.

Many more knowledgeable people, in politics, in the village, even called them little heroes.

Kanae’s name was suddenly on everyone’s lips, at least in the compound.

Not just another Side Branch shinobi, she was now one of the most promising young Hyūga of her generation.

Main Branch elders took notice.

And almost overnight, she was transformed from “concubine material” due to her stunning physical features, into something far more valuable.

Nearly every Main Branch lineage whispered of making her a secondary wife to their sons, to strengthen their bloodlines.

For Kōjirō, it was intolerable. His prey, his future possession, was being watched by others. She was slipping away.

He had gone to his father in fury, begging.

Shigeharu had been astonished by Kanae’s sudden rise as well, but he agreed to push for her hand.

Not as a concubine anymore, her merit made that impossible, but as Kōjirō’s secondary wife.

Competition would be fierce, but as Shigeharu’s only son, spoiled and persistent, he was promised every backing.

Influence would be spent, concessions made, positions traded, but they would secure her.

That was enough. Kōjirō’s anger turned to elation.

She was his again, no matter how many rivals eyed her.

Now he walked with renewed confidence, his entourage of Side Branch attendants trailing behind him as he strode through the compound.

Every step carried that mixture of arrogance and anticipation.

He knew exactly where she lived, her parents’ home, the house left empty because of him.

And now he would stand in its doorway, in the space she still called hers.

The door loomed ahead.

He smoothed his robes, adjusted his hair, pale eyes glinting with the satisfaction of inevitability.

The knock he gave was sharp, deliberate, the kind that assumed the threshold was already his.

The door slid open, and Hyūga Kōjirō stepped inside.

He was flanked by two Side Branch attendants, silent shadows carrying themselves with the stiff formality of those forced to serve.

His robe was immaculate, clan crest displayed prominently, his long hair tied and gleaming.

He looked every inch the Main Branch heir, yet his pale eyes carried something oily, too deliberate to be genuine courtesy.

Kanae rose to her feet, bowing slightly, expression as smooth and empty as the floorboards beneath her.

Her body seethed, but she masked it. To flinch, to let her eyes betray even a flicker of hatred, might invite punishment later.

“Kanae,” Kōjirō said warmly, as though greeting a treasured relative.

“How have you been holding up? These past few months, I have often wondered whether you’ve had everything you need. It’s my duty, after all, to check in on those who… lost parents in service to the clan.”

His words came out smooth, almost rehearsed. They were the same lines he had repeated for years, the same empty courtesies.

Kanae bowed again. “I have managed. Thank you for your concern, sir.”

Inside, she thought: ‘My parents died because of you.’

Kōjirō walked slowly into the room, his eyes sweeping over the sparse but clean interior.

He lingered a moment on the training dummies, on the scroll still laid out, before returning his gaze to her.

“I see you’ve kept disciplined,” he said, smiling faintly.

“It does my heart good to see the younger generation applying themselves. Not everyone born into hardship chooses to rise above it. You’ve done well, Kanae.”

His words were meant to sound generous, but his eyes betrayed him.

They roamed across her figure, lingering a little too long at her posture, her growing hips and bosom, the delicate frame of her face.

His smile never faltered, but the way he looked at her now was not the same as when she was a child.

Kanae kept still, her jaw tight.

“I remember,” Kōjirō continued, “when you were much smaller, still grieving. I thought then that the world might break you. And yet, here you are, disciplined, accomplished… even recognized beyond the clan.”

He chuckled softly, the sound polite but hollow. “Truly, you’ve grown into something rare.”

The way his eyes slid down her face, pausing at her lips, the curve of her hair, made Kanae’s skin crawl.

She forced her hands to remain relaxed at her sides, though her nails pressed crescents into her palms.

Kōjirō took another step closer.

His attendants lowered their eyes, motionless, as though deaf to the words being exchanged.

He had chosen them well, obedient and loyal to him before all else.

“You’ve become more beautiful than I expected,” he said softly now, his tone quieter, almost confessional.

“Striking, really. You’ll make quite the impression when the time comes for your… place in the clan to be decided.”

Kanae bowed again, her voice cold but controlled. “I only seek to serve, as all Side Branch do.”

Inside her chest, hatred roared. 

Kōjirō’s smile widened faintly. “Yes. And that is what makes you so valuable. Service is noble. But not all service must be dull or wasted. Some service,”

His eyes lingered now, openly sliding over her form, “Becomes treasured. Cherished.”

Kanae’s heart pounded, but her face remained unreadable.

Her body screamed for her to strike him, to crush his throat with her Gentle Fist, but she didn’t move.

Kōjirō let the silence stretch, his gaze fixed on her as if savoring her restraint.

Then he leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice.

“One year more, Kanae. You’ll be fourteen then. By that time, everything will be in order. The clan will decide, and when it does…” His eyes glittered faintly. “You’ll be where you belong. I promise you.”

This kind of talk was too subtle to be judged as offensive, too layered in formality to be challenged.

But Kanae heard it clearly.

She understood what he was saying, what he was promising.

Her teeth pressed so hard together that it was a wonder they didn’t crack.

He stepped back then, straightening his robe as though satisfied.

And then, just as he was about to press further, to add that final twist of ‘subjugation’, a sharp voice cut through from outside.

“Kōjirō.”

All eyes turned. Another Main Branch member stood at the threshold, this one clad in simpler but equally fine robes, his hair shorter, his bearing more rigid.

He was one of the clan’s logistics officers, often seen at the patriarch’s side.

He inclined his head toward Kanae.

“Kanae. You’re summoned. ANBU representatives have arrived from outside. They spoke with the patriarch directly and requested to see you at once. I’ve been ordered to escort you personally.”

Kanae blinked, her mask unbroken, though inside her thoughts reeled. ‘ANBU? For me? What could they want now?’

Kōjirō’s smile froze for a split second, the faintest crack in his carefully kept composure. His eyes darted toward the messenger, then back at Kanae.

The man at the door continued, his voice calm but formal. “The patriarch respects the request. Since it came from higher command. You’ll come with me now.”

Kanae bowed wordlessly, relief like fire racing through her veins, though she kept it hidden.

She moved toward the door, scroll tucked into her sleeve.

Kōjirō stood still, the attendants behind him silent.

His lips pressed into a polite smile once again, but his eyes followed her with burning intent, as if this moment had been stolen from him.

The meeting was over, not by her hand, but by an interruption.

And as she stepped past him, her chest brimmed with hatred so deep it felt monstrous, the kind that would never die until one day it consumed him completely.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep