Brooklyn, 2009.
Sahil Hamato sat cross-legged beneath his desk, wires tangled in his fingers, eyes glowing with purpose under the flickering light of his jury-rigged lamp.
The listening device was nearly finished.
It wasn't elegant—cobbled together from discarded flip phones, broken radios, earpieces, and salvaged circuit boards. But it worked. Through sheer trial, error, and the twenty percent assimilation of the Baxter Stockman template, Sahil had built a directional audio scanner that could pick up muffled conversations through thin walls and bounce signals off urban surfaces.
Click.
A soft static hissed in his earpiece, followed by a whispery conversation from the apartment three floors down.
> "Clear as day," Sahil thought. "Not bad for a six-year-old."
He smirked. The Arashikage techniques had begun to settle into his body—10% of the Snake Eyes template was active. Muscle memory wasn't automatic yet, but with meditation, breathing control, and joint conditioning, he was well on his way. The training remained hidden from his parents, taking place only at night—because thanks to Arashikage mental conditioning, he only needed six hours of sleep. That left him four uninterrupted hours each night for physical training.
And no one knew.
---
For Sahil's sixth birthday, Kenji—his father—suggested something unexpected.
"We're going to visit the Hamato estate in upstate New York," he said one morning over tea.
Sahil blinked. "Outta nowhere?"
Kenji nodded. "Your grandfather insisted. He wants you to meet your cousins. Said it's time you understand your lineage."
Ananya, Sahil's mother, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She had always respected Kenji's cultural obligations, even if she didn't like how secretive some of them were. At twenty-seven, she carried both fierce independence and gentle warmth—qualities Sahil mirrored, especially when he dove into academic or physical challenges.
Ananya's own family came too—her parents who ran a general store from New Jersey, her younger brother (now an engineer at 25), and her younger sister (a 20-year-old med student). They brought homemade sweets and cheerful laughter, grounding the gathering in genuine warmth.
But the Hamato side? That was different.
The estate in upstate New York felt like a slice of Kyoto in exile—paper doors, rock gardens, incense that never burned out. Sahil had only seen it once as a baby. This time, it felt like walking into another life.
His paternal grandfather was a stern, hawk-eyed man who embraced him with unexpected tenderness. "You've made us proud, even before your training began," he said cryptically.
But that warmth didn't extend to everyone.
Years ago, the Hamato clan had not approved of Kenji marrying outside the clan's arranged traditions. Ananya, an Indian-American math teacher from a middle-class family, had been viewed with cold scrutiny. The union had fractured ties until Sahil's birth began to stitch them back together. Even now, the tension hung in the air.
Ananya's family, cheerful and outspoken, stood in contrast to the formal, stiff traditions of the Hamato gathering. Her mother whispered snarky commentary about the incense and garden rocks, while her father looked for someplace to set down the laddoo box. Her brother and sister looked both awed and mildly uncomfortable.
As the families gathered in the courtyard, Ananya leaned toward her mother with a crooked grin. "Maybe Sahil will finally make you proud. Since I couldn't."
Her mother rolled her eyes. "Shut up. I was equally proud of all of you."
"Yeah, right," Ananya muttered, amused.
---
The cousins were…less welcoming.
The eldest, Karai—a 16-year-old girl—wore black like it was armor and barely spoke. An introverted, sharp-edged "princess" of the clan, she showed no interest in Sahil's achievements. She sat under a tree most of the day, scribbling in a leather-bound journal, earbuds in, expression blank.
The boy—12 and clearly the heir—was worse.
"So this is the genius?" he sneered, sizing Sahil up. "You don't look like much."
Kenji tensed, but said nothing. His older brother Ryota—now head of the Hamato clan—stood nearby, unreadable.
"I bet you've never trained a day in your life," the cousin taunted, lunging at Sahil without warning.
Sahil's body moved before he consciously reacted—an elegant sidestep, pivot, and sweep from the Arashikage training embedded deep in his nervous system.
The older boy slammed into the grass.
The girl cracked a rare grin. "Idiot."
Ryota scowled. "Control yourself, Daichi. You shame our teachings."
Kenji stood still, guilt shadowing his face. Ryota had earlier sent a thick envelope—a "birthday gift" of cash laced with expectation and control. Kenji had accepted it, reluctantly. His past—his blood—never really let go.
> "He left the clan, but the clan never left him," Sahil realized. "And now, they're watching me."
He had some ideas and future plans regarding his clan after getting to know about it although it wasnt mentioned it was plain sight their clan was yakuza.
I dont want to associate with gangs and stay in the shadows but should I really be wssting resources I can easily use.
On one hand his parents wouldnt approve of him being with the clan on the other hand...
This can be a fast track to getting my templates assimilated.
Sahil knew that many aspects of his templates be it Snake Eyes or Stockman required practice in areas that were not possible for civillians, the yakuza certainly wouldnt have moral dilemmas regarding those things.
Grandpa seems particularly fond of me whereas hes quite strict with Daichi, maybe I can use him. The main issue is my age I have to be a bit patient with my plans.