Story Of Zenin Toji

The Zenin estate, nestled deep in the countryside, was a symbol of pride, power, and tradition. It was a fortress of stone walls, ancient and towering, representing generations of sorcerers who had wielded cursed energy with unmatched skill. The Zenin family was one of the great jujutsu clans, revered for their strength, feared for their abilities. But beneath that legacy was a truth that only the family knew—weakness had no place in their ranks.

Toji Zenin was born into this world, a world where your worth was defined by the cursed energy you possessed. From the moment of his birth, the Zenin clan awaited signs of his potential. His father, Naobito Zenin, stood silently over the newborn, his face unreadable. Around him were other clan elders, their eyes focused on the infant, expecting, hoping.

But no one could sense it. No cursed energy flowed from him. The tension in the room grew heavy. The whispers started soon after.

Days passed, then weeks. Still, nothing. Toji was normal—too normal. He had no connection to cursed energy, no trace of the Zenin family's legacy in his blood. And in this family, where cursed techniques and power were everything, being normal was a curse in itself.

As Toji grew older, his lack of cursed energy became more evident, and with it, the disdain from the clan solidified. The Zenin family had no place for weakness, and Toji's existence quickly became a stain on their reputation. Children who grew up in jujutsu families were expected to manifest their abilities early, to prove their worth. For Toji, there was nothing to prove.

At the age of five, he was often left out of training sessions, while his cousins practiced honing their cursed techniques under the guidance of family elders. The training grounds were a place of discipline and strength, where every child, no matter how young, was expected to show potential.

Toji would stand at the edge, watching from the shadows as his cousins sparred, their cursed energy crackling in the air like static electricity. He envied them, not for their power, but for the recognition they received from the family. He would catch his father's gaze sometimes, but Naobito's eyes were always cold and distant.

"You're not like the others, Toji," his father once said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "You have no cursed energy. You're a failure."

The word hit harder than any blow. Failure. It became a brand, a constant reminder that he didn't belong in this world of sorcerers.

The Zenin clan was merciless. Toji's cousins began to taunt him, openly mocking his inability to harness cursed energy. They called him "cursedless" and "useless," the words cutting deeper than any physical wound. Haruto, one of the older boys, was particularly cruel. He had inherited a powerful technique, and with it came arrogance.

One day, after watching the others spar, Toji felt a hand shove him from behind. He stumbled, turning to see Haruto grinning down at him.

"Why do you even bother watching, Toji?" Haruto sneered, cursed energy flaring around him. "You'll never be like us. You're a disgrace to the Zenin name."

Toji clenched his fists, biting back his words. He had long since learned that standing up to them would only make things worse. His silence made him an easy target, and they knew it.

"Maybe we should let him fight," another cousin chimed in. "Let's see how far he gets without any cursed energy."

Haruto's grin widened. "That's a great idea."

Before Toji could react, Haruto unleashed a burst of cursed energy. It wasn't aimed to harm, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Laughter erupted from the other children, and Toji lay there, staring up at the sky, the weight of their ridicule pressing down on him.

By the time Toji was seven, it was no secret that he was a failure in the eyes of the Zenin family. He was no longer invited to family gatherings, and when he was, it was only to serve as a reminder of what the Zenin bloodline should not produce. He would sit in the corner during clan meetings, watching as the elders discussed techniques, training, and the future of the family. His presence was tolerated, but his absence would have been preferred.

The whispers that once surrounded him had grown louder, harsher. His father no longer looked at him, and his mother—if she could even be called that—kept her distance, ashamed of the child she had birthed.

The Zenin clan had a cruel way of dealing with those they deemed weak. Toji was not expelled from the family, but his existence was erased from the minds of those who mattered. He was not trained, not educated in the ways of jujutsu. He was left to fend for himself, a ghost within the walls of his own home.

Despite the lack of cursed energy, Toji's body grew stronger. From an early age, he realized that if he couldn't rely on cursed techniques, he would have to rely on something else. He started training in secret, away from the prying eyes of the Zenin clan. He would lift weights, push his body to the limit, and train with weapons he stole from the family armory.

His muscles began to harden, his reflexes sharpened. Though he had no cursed energy, his body became a weapon in its own right. But no matter how strong he became, it was never enough. Without cursed energy, he was still seen as a failure.

By the time Toji turned ten, the hatred and resentment had festered within him for years. One evening, he overheard a conversation between two Zenin elders. They spoke in hushed tones, unaware that Toji was listening just beyond the door.

"He'll never amount to anything," one elder said. "A Zenin without cursed energy is worthless. We should've abandoned him."

The other elder nodded. "We'll need to consider what to do with him soon. He's an embarrassment to the clan."

Those words struck like a dagger to his heart. He had always known they viewed him as a failure, but to hear them speak of abandoning him, as if he was some object to be discarded, ignited a rage deep within him.