the boy born of two worlds

Inosun’s story began long before he ever set foot in Kyoto.

He was born on Jeju Island 🏝️, while his parents were on vacation. His father, Hirohito Ichiguro, was from Sendai, heir to the grand Ichiguro estate in Tokyo. His mother came from Chinatown, carrying a lineage both mysterious and proud.

As the first son and the only male of his generation, Inosun inherited ninety percent of his father’s holdings—the vast Ichiguro estate, the largest in Tokyo. Hirohito had received it from his own father, a strict and unbending man.

But wealth came with shadows. Inosun’s uncle, Uzumaki, was left with nothing, forced into financial distress. Out of bitterness or duty, a pact was struck: Uzumaki’s children would be trained until the age of forty, but the Ichiguro name—and its fortune—belonged to Inosun.

From the very moment he was born, Inosun was treated like a prince.

At three years old, his life changed. His twin cousin, Icaura Ichiguro, came to live with them.

At first, Inosun thought it strange—sharing his world with someone else. But eventually, he grew used to her presence. By then, he had already learned to speak.

“I can talk,” little Inosun boasted proudly.

But Icaura lagged behind, quiet and confused, her innocence mistaken for foolishness.

Still, they grew side by side.

When Inosun was five, his younger sister, Ichinomiya Ichiguro, was born. The household celebrated, but for the twins, it was a bitter change.

The attention that once shone on them shifted to the newborn. Jealousy crept into their hearts, and they tried everything to regain their place in the family’s eyes.

By seven, Icaura was already struggling—especially with math, earning the scorn of tutors. But Inosun’s father stood firmly by his side.

“Come with me, Inosun,” Hirohito would say.

Together, they went to baseball and soccer practice. On the field, away from the estate’s suffocating walls, Inosun tasted freedom.

It was there he met her.

A girl with bright eyes and a smile that cut through his loneliness.

Her name was Aiko Harume.

And from that day, Inosun’s childhood took on a new meaning.Inosun’s childhood was filled with both warmth and hidden shadows. He spent most of his time with Aiko Harume, the daughter of his father’s closest friend, who often visited the Ichiguro estate. The two bonded quickly, sharing laughter during soccer and baseball practice.

Meanwhile, his cousin Icaura — who had lived with them since they were three — slowly began to fade from his heart. At first, she had been his constant companion, but Inosun began to resent her presence. Their “twin-like” dependence weakened, and Icaura eventually turned to an unusual comfort: an imaginary friend only she could see.

The strange thing was… the household adored her. The mansion’s maids, chefs, and butlers spoiled Icaura with attention, showering her with affection and even favoring her with extra allowance. Only Inosun’s father remained firmly devoted to his son, taking him to soccer and baseball practice and guiding him like a proud mentor.

But when Inosun confessed to Aiko one day that he disliked Icaura, Aiko grew upset and turned her warmth toward his mother, spending hours in the kitchen cooking beside her.

Icaura’s life had its own scars — her mother had died in a brutal battle, and her father, unable to bear the grief, left for California. By the time the twins were eight, they had been given new nicknames: Ino and Ava. The servants teased them endlessly, almost as if trying to push them into roles they hadn’t chosen.

It was also around that time that Hirohito Ichiguro, Inosun’s father, rose to power as the Director of the Jinkai Defense — Tokyo District.

That same year, Inosun, his parents, and his little sister Ichinomiya traveled to Hawaii for a vacation. He even shared a photo of himself at eight years old, standing under the warm island sun. But Icaura… was left behind, alone in the mansion. Despite his new position, Hirohito was protective. He did not want Inosun anywhere near Jinkai High. The dangers were too great, the battles too ruthless. “If you step into that world, you could get hurt… or worse.”

Yet destiny, as always, had other plans.

Hirohito bought the defense supplies like a man buying toys for his heir—armor plates, talisman-lined training dummies, folding blades wrapped in ceremonial cloth. He treated Inosun like the son he expected the world to bend for. At one point, a training exercise was staged so realistically it left a scar on the twins’ childhood: Icaura was made to play the part of a magic beast that the household would “neutralize.” It was supposed to be practice, but for Ava it became fuel.

When they turned twelve, everything changed again. The family moved to Kyoto to live with their grandfather in an old duplex whose rooms smelled of incense and old paper. It was there, in the cramped courtyard between the two halves of the house, that Inosun saw a real magic beast for the first time—its eyes like coals and its fur stitched with binding spells. The sight lodged itself in his throat.

Ava—once the quiet twin—swore then and there to never be the victim again. “I’ll make them pay,” she whispered, the words a promise and a vow. She wanted to avenge her mother, to become the perfect Jinkai student and purge the world of whatever had taken her away.

When the twins returned from Kyoto, Ava surprised everyone: she begged to go back. She craved the training, the danger — anything that would harden her. The argument that followed was the kind that splits families: they dueled in the garden under a grey sky, throwing practiced strikes and curses at each other until Inosun finally bested her. He left, not out of cruelty but from the feeling that something new had to begin—so he went to live with Ichinomiya.

School changed him. At Kigusaki Middle School he met Reo and Yoshino—the two who would become his anchors. Reo was warm, the kind of person who smiled before he spoke. Yoshino moved in a quiet, steady rhythm, the lake to Reo’s flame. Inosun was loud and social; he loved the field, the ball, the crowd of kids who cheered. And somewhere beneath all that laughter, his curse grew, slow as rust and just as certain.

By the time they reached Kabusaki High, Inosun was still the same boy who loved baseball and soccer, but everything else was shifting. Ava enrolled at Jinkai to learn properly; their paths were separating. Then the cult incident happened—an event that changed the course of their lives. The cult’s shadow fell across the town; members were hunted, and when the dust cleared several of them were dead. The chaos pushed transfers, broken families, and new allegiances. That was the beginning of their true Jinkai journey.

A sound pulls Inosun back to the present: the soft chirp of his phone. He blinks open his eyes and finds himself staring at the dorm ceiling.

“Was that… just a dream?” he mumbles.

He reaches for his phone and scrolls his Snapchat. Messages blink like small windows into a life he used to lead.

Rita: Why haven’t you come to school?

Imamura: We mis u

Linda: R u dead?

Ashtray: She loves to see everyone every morning 🌄

A smile tugs at his mouth despite the weight in his chest. He types a quick reply, thumb moving faster than his thoughts:

> I’m kind of in Tokyo Jinkai High now. But Reo, Yoshino and I will visit soon. Don’t worry — I’ll say a final farewell properly.

By four o’clock they were back on the training field for the day’s last round. The metallic clank of the practice robots filled the air as recruits ran drills in the dying light. Today, something felt different in him—calmer, contained. When a dummy staggered toward a younger recruit, Inosun clenched his fists but didn’t use his flame. He let the training run its course. He wanted to earn his power, not throw it around.

“First test soon,” he told Reo that night, voice low with the mix of nerves and hunger only a true fighter knows. “I can’t wait to get my weapon, my techniques—prove I belong.”

Rioten’s voice answered from somewhere inside him, like a ripple of wind through leaves. My next soul could grant shikigami—animal guardians, the whisper promised. The possibility made Inosun’s chest thrum with restless excitement.

Later that evening two familiar faces cut through the crowd—Fushigini and Toshimaru, the transfers who’d become murmurs in the camp’s hallways. They approached with easy confidence, watching him for a beat before Fushigini spoke.

“So you broke the curse,” she said flatly. “Not impressed.”

Toshimaru folded his arms. “We already wrote the test last year. We’re here to transfer, and we’re here to train you—only if you join our club afterwards.”

Inosun blinked, taken aback. “Train me?”

“We’ll help you pass,” Fushigini said. “But you pull your weight. Training starts tomorrow.”

There was no ceremony in the offer, no grand promise—just a simple bargain shaped by combat and code. Inosun felt something warm and focused uncurl inside him: this was the life he had chosen. The tests, the clubs, the duels—this was where he would belong, or where he would be broken trying.

He looked at Reo and Yoshino, who grinned like brothers, and for the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a battlefield with a purpose.

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