He did not cry when he was born. Instead, he laughed—a sharp, ringing sound that sent shivers through the midwives' spines. As he grew, so did the chaos that followed in his wake. Glass shattered when he walked past. Animals cowered. Fire flickered in his presence, almost drawn to him.
By the time he was six, his parents feared him.
They tried everything—discipline, education, even isolation—but the boy was relentless. At eight, he cracked his father's ribs in a fit of rage. At ten, he set his own bed on fire just because he wanted to see the flames dance.
Nothing could contain him.
Then, in desperation, his parents sought the wisdom of a wandering monk. The man was old, his robes faded, but his eyes gleamed with knowledge that had long been forgotten by the world. He looked at the boy once, then sighed, as if he had seen this before.
"This child... is not like others. He is a storm caged in flesh. If left unchecked, he will burn everything in his path."
His mother wept. His father clenched his fists. "What do we do? How do we save him?"
The monk reached into his robes and pulled out a thin, crimson thread—a bracelet, simple yet unbreakable in its purpose. He tied it around the boy's wrist.
"This will bind what must be bound. But a name carries weight. The name he bears feeds the storm within. Change it. Call him Xuan—so that he may know steadiness, so that his soul may learn peace."
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And so, the boy who had been Jin ____, whose name was lost to the past, became Jin Xuan.
His family left their homeland. They moved to Japan, hoping that distance and a new name would change his fate. And for a time, it seemed to work.
Jin Xuan was a different child.
He was polite, composed. His eyes, once wild, now held only quiet calculation. He still held power within him, but it was no longer reckless. He no longer shattered windows with a scream. He no longer woke up in the middle of the night with his hands burning.
The bracelet remained on his wrist, its red string never fraying, never loosening.
But there were moments—small, fleeting moments—where he felt something stir. When his heart pounded too fast. When his breath came too sharp. When he wanted to tear it all apart.
And then he turned seventeen.
Present Day.
The world had stopped making sense.
Jin Xuan stood at the edge of an abandoned temple, his breath heavy, his pulse pounding against his ears. His hands burned. Not with fire—but with power. Something ancient had latched onto his soul, whispering, pulling, binding.
"I see... so you are my vessel."
The voice was inside him. Around him. It had always been with him.
Memories not his own flashed behind his eyes. A boy on a lotus. Rings that bound him. A spear that could tear gods apart.
The Nezha Protocol had awakened.
Jin Xuan gasped, his knees buckling as his body rejected and accepted the presence within him all at once. His red bracelet burned—but did not break.
Then came the pain. Like fire searing through his veins, like shackles digging into his skin. He felt it. The other presence—the one beneath the surface—the one that had always been there, waiting, waiting, waiting.
And then the world snapped back into focus.
A voice. Measured. Calculating. Cold.
"Fascinating. A 92% compatibility at first awakening... I've never seen such numbers before."
Jin Xuan lifted his head, his vision clearing to find himself no longer alone. A man in a pristine white coat stood before him, a faint smirk on his lips.
Dr. Mensah.
"Congratulations, Jin Xuan. You're going to be very interesting to study."