I Became The Loved Grandson Of The Powerful Japanese Masculine Clan. Book 1: New Life

Someday, somehow, somewhere... someone took me away from the horror. Away from the pain. But where is here? Why does my head feel like it’s splitting in half? Why is everything spinning? Is it… a car? No, it’s louder… Am I finally being taken away from that tyrannical house? Could I finally… rest? In peace? In love? Yes… Yes, I agree— AGH! This noise! So loud! Wait, an airplane?! An airport?! It’s all fading again… I’m slipping… back into the dark… I want to sleep… in Papa Aizen’s arms…

***

“Urgh… Where am I…?” I groan, barely conscious, as I rub my aching skull. My head rings louder than a sea bell in a storm. My blurry vision settles on an unfamiliar room—traditional sliding doors, tatami mats, and a silence so absolute it nearly hums. It feels… old. Like something sacred and terrifying. “Akashi!” I jolt in bed with a startled yelp, my eyes as wide as the whale's open mouth. There is a tall, imposing man with handsome features and eyes like glass daggers standing in the doorway —Sōsuke Aizen, now known only as Aizen Kudou, patriarch of the Kudou Clan. Once a feared traitor to dimensions, now a father… my father. He walks in with eerie grace, the shadows clinging to his shoulders like loyal pets. My mind stirs — "So you’re finally waking up, huh, brain? About damn time." “I apologize for scaring you, Akashi,” Aizen says, his voice calm, composed, and disturbingly gentle. “Don’t try to move. Your body is frail… on the edge because of your Qi center is shattered by the wounds in your mind.” He reaches out and rests his hand atop my head. It’s so soft… so clean. Nothing like the gnarled hands of the man I once called uncle, who taught me fear before language. “Papa… Where am I?” I ask in a quiet, almost childlike voice. “Is this home…?” There is a pause. Aizen tilts his head ever so slightly, studying me. And then: “Yes. You are home, my little one. This is the Kudou Clan’s ancestral estate,” he says. “In time, you’ll come to see its full majesty. But for now, rest.” I stare at him. “Papa,” I murmur. “Yes, son?” “…Are women in charge here?” I ask, my voice flat, eyes empty. His face hardens instantly. The warmth in his tone disappears like a vapor. “No,” he replies coldly. “No woman holds power here. The Kudou Clan is fully patriarchal. Women are servants. Some are considered rare treasures. But none rule.” My chest rises slowly… and for the first time in nineteen years, I exhale without fear. So this is it… A world where I, a boy, am allowed to exist. Not as a tool. Not as property. But as a name. A future. A voice. I sink deeper into the sheets. They smell of ironed linen and old incense. I close my eyes and let the quiet surround me. Maybe… just maybe… I can finally belong.

Few Hours Later

A long time passes by and Papa Aizen is still out, hunting down some obscure medicine for my body. Something ancient and alchemic, probably. Meanwhile, I’m left to rot in this room – this gigantic, oppressive, clan-crafted room where every creak in the wood feels like a judgmental ancestor breathing down my neck. I groan, flipping over in bed. My fever is mostly down, but the boredom is worse. My eyes flick between the window, the clock, the carved ceiling. I would give anything for something to happen. And then it does (to my unluck). SLAM! The door bursts open as a man storms in wearing traditional healer’s robes in Kudou green, his arms overflowing with pill bottles, vials, bandages, and gods know what else. “Time for your comprehensive treatment, young master,” he says with forced cheer, already uncapping something that smells like vinegar and despair. “We will start with soul stabilizers, fever reducers, then Qi flow restoration, and—” “What?!” I bolt upright, the sheets flying off. He doesn’t stop. The man’s like a pharmaceutical tornado. “Now open your mouth. This one is for your liver. That one’s for your lungs. This—” “No! Stop!” I slap the pills out of his hand on instinct, smacking him clean across the face. He stumbles back and looks absolutely shocked. His face is expressing utter stunn and the question "What the fuck was that in the first place?!" I scramble to the head of the bed, yanking the sheets over me like a shield. My heart races, panic rising like bile. “D-Don’t touch me! Get away!” The healer stares at me, stunned. “I… I didn’t mean to—” But I’m not listening. I’m already lost in the memory of cold hands and sterile corridors. This isn’t like before. It can’t be like before. A low hum of spiritual pressure rolls through the house. Far off in the oldest wing of the Kudou estate, something ancient awakens. His heavy footsteps echo through the hall. Silent. Unrushed. Each one heavier than the last. And then, he enters, Kudou Eijin. The Old One. The Immortal Patriarch. The First Blade of the Kudou Line. He steps into the room, tall and gaunt, framed by the paper shoji doors like a spirit out of legend. His beard trails all the way to his ankles, silver and well-grommed, one line of gray hair that flows like a trail of melted iron with silvery glow. His ancient eyes, sunken, pale, unblinking, land on me. The air turns to stone. I freeze under his gaze. My pulse thrashes in my neck. My hands tremble, clutching the sheets to my chest like a child hiding from the storm. He says nothing, just stares at me with his wrinkled white irises stoically. The healer vanishes without a sound and then Eijin walks toward me. His every footstep is deliberate, ancient, slow, final. I press further into the bed, my voice locked in my throat, my body trembling. I expect judgment. A declaration. A lesson, everything! Instead… he sits. He sits on the edge of my bed, as if this is normal. As if I’m not on the verge of a breakdown. Then his hand, gnarled, slow, impossibly heavy, reaches out. I flinch and try to back away, but my back hits the wall of the room. I am dead! His hand is so close! It looks so thin and fragile, yet surprisingly terrifying at the same time. But all he does is rest it on my shoulder. Gentle. Solid. Real. And then, gods above, he pulls me into a hug. Not cold or ceremonial. Not royal or forced. Just… quiet. Ancient. Unshakable. “You are Kudou blood now,” he says. Just like that. My breath catches. My body goes still. The terror, the panic—it doesn’t vanish, but it settles. Like dust after a quake. Eijin doesn’t leave. He stays with me. All night. Sitting beside me like a guardian carved from stone. Neither of us says another word. But somehow… the room doesn’t feel so cold anymore.