Chapter Text
A man ran through the forest under the cover of darkness, clutching a child no older than ten months in his arms. Sweat streamed down his face as branches whipped at his clothes, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
The baby in his arms had curly black hair with slightly darker skin and eyes unlike any other: his left eye shimmered with the intricate pattern of a clock, while his right resembled the slit-pupil of a dragon.
After what felt like an eternity, the man emerged from the woods and arrived at a crumbling orphanage on the outskirts of a quiet city.
"I'm so sorry, my child," he whispered, tears falling freely. "But this is the only way you'll survive."
With shaking hands, he knocked on the door, then placed the baby gently on the doorstep. In his arms, he carried a decoy—a lifelike replica meant to mislead whatever force was hunting them.
Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Some time later, the door creaked open. A woman appeared, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Despite her haggard appearance, her expression softened when she saw the child.
"Oh, poor thing," she murmured, scooping him up. "Who would leave a baby like you out here?"
She brought him inside and began cleaning him up. A folded note slipped from the baby's blanket as she undressed him. She opened it and read:
"You must cover his left eye with an eyepatch. If not, he will be in grave danger—and so will anyone around him."
She frowned, puzzled by the warning. But something about the message—its urgency, its handwriting—compelled her to obey. She found a cloth strip and gently tied it around the child's left eye.
Who was this baby?
And what kind of danger could a child possibly bring?
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Seven years later, in a small village within the Eastern Empire, a boy stood outside the same orphanage, scrubbing laundry in a bucket of cold water.
His name was Kenzo.
He was seven years old, though his small frame and thin limbs often made people assume he was five. His unruly black hair and ever-present eyepatch earned him suspicious looks wherever he went.
In this part of the Eastern Empire, black hair was considered an omen of bad luck. Combined with his unusual right eye, sharp and reptilian, Kenzo was viewed as cursed. He was an outcast in every sense of the word.
In the Empire, all children began school at age seven. That was the age when potential Manipulators—those capable of wielding energy—began to awaken their powers.
There were three recognized types of Manipulators:
Those who can only control external energy:
-Elemental( Fire, Ice, Earth, Wind,etc)
Those who could control their internal energy:
-Mental( Vision, telepath, mind reading/control,etc)
-Enhancement
Those who could do both, which is already not unheard of, but not common.
A rare fourth type, called Opposers, could nullify energy altogether—but they lived difficult, short lives.
Kenzo didn't know what kind of person he would become. He didn't even know if he had any powers at all. But what he did know was suffering.
That morning, Kenzo had left the orphanage to buy himself a school bag. With money he earned selling handmade sandals—and a few coins from the kind caretaker who'd raised him before being unjustly fired—he walked barefoot through the village.
Most people crossed the street to avoid him. Others sneered or looked away in disgust.
He kept his head down and eventually reached a small, dusty shop tucked between two alleyways. Behind the counter stood an elderly woman with kind eyes.
Kenzo shyly picked up a cheap, worn black bag from the corner and brought it to her.
"I'd like to buy this one, please."
The woman looked him over and smiled gently. "What a polite young man. You know what? Just this once, it's on the house. I'm closing up soon anyway."
Kenzo blinked in surprise. "Really? Thank you so much!"
As she packed the bag, she quietly slipped a few items inside, unbeknownst to him.
"Take care of yourself," she said. "You're more special than you realize."
Kenzo gave a small smile. "I think you're just imagining things, Granny. I'm just a regular kid. But thank you. You take care, too."
He stepped outside.
The moment he did, the shop—and the old woman—vanished from the memory of everyone in the village. To them, it was as if he had appeared from nowhere.
Unbeknownst to Kenzo, the bag he now carried was no ordinary satchel. It was a Bound Storage Bag, capable of holding infinite objects. Its worth could rival a king's ransom.
When Kenzo returned to the orphanage, the headmaster stood waiting at the entrance. Without a word, the man raised his hand and struck Kenzo across the face.
The blow was hard, but Kenzo didn't cry. He had learned that crying only made things worse.
Ever since his caretaker had been fired under false accusations, life had become unbearable. She had been the only one who treated him with warmth. The others saw him as a burden. Or worse—a threat.
He still bore the scar from when he'd been wrongly accused of stealing bread. Someone had driven a nail through his foot as punishment. He nearly died from infection and fever. If it hadn't been for his caretaker, he would have.
Now, Kenzo shared a room with Victor and Alexis, twin boys and second-generation Manipulators. They were stronger, favored, and cruel.
"Hey, Eyepatch," Victor sneered as Kenzo stepped into the room. "Heard you stole food from the market again."
"Yeah," Alexis added, slinging an arm around Kenzo's shoulder. "We also heard you got yourself some money. How about sharing?"
"I... I earned it," Kenzo said, trying to back away. "I need it for school."
"We didn't ask," the twins said in unison.
Victor shoved him to the ground while Alexis began rummaging through the room. He ignored Kenzo's worn bag—it looked too worthless—and eventually found a small pouch hidden under a mattress.
"Well, well. Look at this," Alexis said, grinning. "You had 160 copper coins. That's almost a silver!"
Victor gave Kenzo a kick in the stomach. The world blurred and then went dark.
Kenzo woke up on the cold wooden floor, groaning. His lip was split, and his left eye was swollen shut.
He dragged himself to the washroom, cleaned his wounds as best he could, and dressed in his usual ragged shirt and pants.
He picked up his bag—thankfully untouched—and checked the hidden compartment. The 60 copper coins inside were still there. Enough for a bit of food.
Outside, he walked barefoot through the streets, as he always did. His shoes had been ruined or stolen too many times to bother.
Eventually, he reached a bread stall.
"One loaf, 15 copper," the vendor said, eyeing him with distaste.
Kenzo silently paid, took his bread, and walked away without a word.
He wandered until he found a quiet tree at the edge of the village, sat down, and began to eat.
No one saw him.
No one cared.
That thought triggered some unpleasant memories, but he shook his head, trying to forget. He needed to focus on his meal—a rare, good one, nothing like the scraps he got at the orphanage.
The stares felt a little less harsh today. Maybe he was growing used to them. Or maybe the bruises on his face made people turn their eyes elsewhere.
It had been a few years since people from the Land of the Sun were allowed into the Empire, but that didn't erase the prejudice. Especially not for a Hybrid like him.
Kenzo finished his bread and stood up, brushing crumbs from his jumpsuit. He still had to prepare for the academy, which started in two days. Realistically, he could only afford a cheap notebook and a pencil—but it was something.
As he walked down the cobbled streets, he thought of the granny from yesterday. Maybe he could find her again. Maybe he could thank her... pay her, even.
But when he arrived at the same spot, the shop was gone.
Not just closed—gone. The space where it stood was an empty alley.
He stared for a moment, then turned to a passerby. "Excuse me, sir... wasn't there a shop here yesterday? With an old woman?"
The man paused, turned, and scowled.
"There's never been a shop here. You cursed brat. Don't ever speak to me again."
He stormed off, leaving Kenzo rooted in place, stunned. His chest tightened. The only person who'd shown him kindness had vanished like a dream.
Then came a shove from behind. Kenzo stumbled forward.
Laughter followed.
Victor. Alexis. And their friends.
Of course, they couldn't leave him alone—not even for a day—after robbing him the day before. And now, here they were again, messing with him like it was a sport.
As Kenzo bent to stand, a fist caught him square across the face.
Crack.
His head jerked sideways, and he tasted copper before he even felt the pain.
"Look, there was trash blocking the way, so let's clean it," Victor said with a sneer, shaking out his hand like it hurt to hit him.
Blood ran down Kenzo's upper lip from his nose, warm and thick. He staggered but didn't fall this time. Not again. Not in front of them.
Alexis stepped forward next, his voice oozing mockery. "Aw, don't cry, Eyepatch. We're just making space for the real students."
Kenzo's fingers clenched around the strap of his bag. Not because he wanted to fight back—he'd learned long ago that fighting back only made things worse, he learned when he tried in the past.
"You guys already took my money," Kenzo said quietly, his voice hoarse. "Just... leave me alone."
Victor leaned in, his breath hot and sour. "You think you can tell us what to do, freak?"
Alexis circled and grabbed Kenzo's bag. "Let's see what the little rat's hiding this time."
"No—don't!" Kenzo lunged forward, pure instinct.
That bag wasn't just important—it was the only mysterious good thing that had happened to him in years.
But as Alexis yanked the bag away and tried to open it—
Nothing happened.
No zipper, no flap, no latch. It didn't move.
"What the hell...?" Alexis frowned and shook it harder. "Why won't it open?"
Victor stepped in. "Give it to me, you're doing it wrong."
He tried. Same result.
"Is this... locked?" Alexis said, confused.
Kenzo blinked through the blood. Could I only open it? He wondered, breath catching.
The bag's secret was holding—for now.
"You freakin' weirdo," Victor hissed. "Did you curse this thing?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kenzo muttered, still clutching his stomach where they had kicked him.
Victor threw the bag at Kenzo's chest, hard. "Keep your creepy stuff. Just don't bring your freak show to the Academy."
"Better stay in the back of the class—quiet and invisible," Alexis added with a shove. "Like the trash you are."
With that, they left, laughing and pushing each other like they'd just won a game.
Kenzo sat there for a moment, dazed and breathing shallowly. Then he wiped the blood from his face, took a shaky breath, and looked down at the bag.
It was perfectly still. Untouched. As if it had protected itself.
He didn't know what the bag truly was or why the shop vanished, but he was sure that he would figure it out.
Unfortunately, he needs to go back to the orphanage and prepare himself for the first day.