The sun bathed the city of Verdurosa in a warm, golden glow, washing its terracotta rooftops and spiraling garden towers in light. Hanging vines spilled from balconies, bearing fruits that shimmered like gems — star-shaped mangos, glowing plums, and citrus that pulsed with sparks.Above them, hundreds of Fruit Spirits danced lazily in the breeze, drifting between the trees like living ornaments. Each spirit was linked to a human — a bond forged at birth. A symbol of potential. A source of power.
Everyone had one.Everyone except Yuzu Kaien.
He stood alone on the final platform of the Germination Ceremony, surrounded by murmurs and awkward silences. His palms were sweaty, clenched at his sides. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but his heart thudded like a drum in his ears.
One by one, students had stepped forward, pressed their hand against the Bloomstone, and watched in awe as their Fruit Spirits emerged — floating beside them like small deities. Each with its own aura, color, and fragrance.
— "Lychee Lin — Scarlet Lychee, class B!"— "Banano Slice — Wild Banana, class A!"— "Marra Plum — Frozen Plum, class C!"
But when Yuzu pressed his hand against the Bloomstone... nothing happened.
No aura. No glow. No spirit.
A cold silence spread through the crowd. Then came the voice of the Registrar, sharp and echoing.
"Yuzu Kaien. No fruit aura detected. Zero-Flavor. Rejected."
The words echoed like a death sentence.
Yuzu didn't move. He couldn't. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts swirling. The crowd shifted uncomfortably. A few students snickered. One of them — a tall boy with a glowing citrus spirit floating beside him — leaned closer and hissed:
— "You belong in the compost pile, not the Academy."
Yuzu didn't respond. He couldn't. He felt like something inside him had snapped — or maybe it had always been broken.
The ceremony ended without him. The other students celebrated, surrounded by their families and their newly awakened spirits. Bright fruits hung in the air, laughter echoed, and energy filled the courtyard.
Yuzu walked away alone, his footsteps echoing off the polished stone tiles of the Academy Garden.
He sat beneath an old, twisted fig tree at the edge of the grounds, staring at the back of his hand as if the fruit mark would suddenly appear. As if the Bloomstone had just… made a mistake.
But deep down, he already knew.He had always known.
Since he was a child, the spirits had avoided him. In the nursery, when the other kids learned to speak to their budding fruits, he could only watch. His mother had told him it would come late, that some children "blossomed in winter."
But the seasons had passed. And nothing had bloomed.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a figure approached.It was Master Gelmo, the head gardener of the Academy — an elderly man with bark-like skin and leafy eyebrows. He knelt down slowly beside Yuzu.
— "You know," Gelmo said, "some seeds don't sprout until they're buried."
Yuzu blinked. "...What?"
Gelmo smiled faintly. "Just because a fruit doesn't bloom on the outside, doesn't mean it's not growing on the inside."
Yuzu turned away. "I don't have anything inside."
— "Maybe you're just not meant to grow... like the others," Gelmo said, tapping the trunk of the fig tree. "This one didn't bear fruit for a hundred years. Then, one spring, it exploded with figs. So many that it cracked its own bark."
Yuzu stared at the tree, unsure whether the story was meant to comfort or confuse.
— "Come back here tomorrow," Gelmo said, standing with a groan. "I'll show you something the others don't get to see. Something old."
Yuzu didn't answer. But something in the way Gelmo looked at him made him wonder — just for a second — if he hadn't been completely forgotten by the world.
That night, he lay in his small room in the Academy dorms, unable to sleep.
The ceiling above him was a mural — like every student's room — showing the fruits of their lineage. Bright pomegranates, golden apples, glowing cherries.
His mural was blank.
He stared into the void for hours, wondering what it would feel like to command lightning from an orange, or illusions from a blueberry. To matter. To belong.
He closed his eyes, just before sunrise.
And dreamed of roots — twisting, reaching — wrapping around his chest like vines made of flame and ice. Of a voice calling from the dark soil beneath the world.
"Come find me."
Yuzu awoke with a start.
It was still early. The sky was painted in the pale peach colors of dawn.He dressed quickly and ran to the edge of the gardens, where Master Gelmo waited near a moss-covered archway.
Without a word, the old man led him down a winding path, far beyond the Academy walls, into a place no student was allowed to go.
A forgotten greenhouse.
The door groaned as it opened. Inside, vines covered broken glass. Trees grew in crooked patterns, and strange, half-rotted fruits hung from the ceiling like lanterns.
In the center of it all stood a twisted tree, black as obsidian, with red veins pulsing across its bark.
Yuzu took a step forward. His chest tightened. The air here felt thick — not with rot, but with flavor. Every scent in the world — sweet, sour, bitter, spicy — hit him all at once.
He fell to his knees. Something deep within him stirred.
The tree pulsed.
"Come find me," the voice whispered again, this time louder. "Harvest begins."
Yuzu reached out, hand trembling.
And the tree opened its eye.