It was a quiet morning in Foosha Village—the kind that smelled like dew and ash and something clean. The kind of morning where everyone thought the storms had passed.
Then a cannonball of laughter and booted thunder dropped from the sky.
"LUFFYYYYY! WHERE'S THAT BRAT?!"
The villagers winced. Birds scattered. Krishna didn't flinch. He just kept stirring the herbal tea on Makino's back porch, sighing softly as the chaos grew louder.
"You hear that?" he muttered.
Sheshika lifted her head lazily from the sun-warmed wood. "Yes. He's loud. And angry. And smells like fish and arrogance."
Medha chirped from within. "One would think a Vice Admiral could knock."
Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp had returned.
Moments later, the door to the bar exploded open—not literally, but the force was real. Garp stormed in like he owned the planet, grinning wide and carrying a steaming meat bun in one hand.
"Makino! Give me something to drink before I drag my idiot grandson to the mountains!"
"Good morning, Garp," Makino said sweetly, unfazed.
"You still breathing, brat?" Garp barked, landing with a quake in front of Makino's bar. Luffy, predictably, launched himself forward like a sugar-fueled missile.
"GRANDPA!"
The next moment, Luffy was buried headfirst in the dirt, a steaming bump on his head courtesy of Garp's signature fist of love.
"Not so loud, idiot," Garp grunted. "You almost made me sentimental."
Garp walked forward and grabbed Luffy by the collar like he weighed nothing. "And look at you! All soft and bratty again!"
"I'm not bratty!" Luffy protested, legs kicking in the air. "Put me down!"
Krishna folded his arms, watching with calm amusement as Makino brought out tea and scolded Garp for the bump. It had been nearly a year since the Vice Admiral had shown his face—since before Shanks' ship left the coast.
Garp looked older. His coat was still massive, his muscles still ridiculous, but his laugh felt more brittle, his eyes a little heavier. He greeted the crowd, clapped Makino's back hard enough to shake the porch, and caught Krishna's gaze.
The old man gave a half-smile. "Still alive, eh, monk boy?"
Krishna bowed lightly. "Still not a monk."
Garp laughed and waved it off. "Same thing. You'll come around."
That evening, Garp made his grand announcement. "Luffy's going to live with the Dadan Bandits!"
Makino dropped a plate.
Krishna nearly choked.
"Mountain bandits?" Krishna muttered under his breath. "That's your plan?"
"I turned out fine!" Garp said, arms crossed.
"Are you sure?" Krishna asked, genuinely puzzled.
The look he got in return could've collapsed mountains.
As the sun dipped behind the mountains, Garp marched Luffy toward Mt. Colubo with a backpack and a smile. Krishna, watching from the bar's rooftop, quietly slid down and intercepted Luffy halfway up the trail.
"Don't do anything stupid," Krishna whispered. "Just follow my lead."
"Like what?"
"When you meet Ace—act like you've never seen another human boy in your life. Pretend to be lost. Or mute. Actually, mute's safer."
Luffy blinked. "Why?"
"Trust me."
"Uh… okay."
"Good boy."
Luffy did not understand.
But he nodded anyway.
Before Garp could question the exchange, he hurled Luffy over his shoulder and stomped out of the bar with a wave.
"Be back in a bit! Gonna turn this idiot into a man!"
Makino chuckled behind the bar. "Poor Dadan."
Krishna returned to stirring his tea, eyes twinkling.
The next morning, Garp returned to Foosha with a haunted look on his face.
He dropped his bag on the porch, covered in branches and some kind of goat fur.
Makino peeked out. "How'd it go?"
"They're best friends now," Garp said, looking like he'd just fought a bear. "All four of 'em. Can't tell where one ends and the other begins."
Makino covered her mouth to hide a laugh. "Already?"
"I swear the dark-haired one called me 'old man' in my sleep," he muttered. "I think they're planning something."
They were.
"I don't get it," Garp muttered to Makino as they watched the chaos unfold. "I dropped him off last night. They were strangers. I come back, and they're already calling each other brothers!"
Makino grinned. "Kids work faster than you think."
Garp narrowed his eyes.
"This is your doing, isn't it?" he grumbled.
Krishna looked up innocently. "Chaos breeds cooperation."
Sheshika, sunbathing nearby, added, "He weaponized friendship."
By the end of the second week, Krishna had all but installed himself in Dadan's hideout. It wasn't exactly cozy—the floors creaked, the food was sometimes just tree bark and eggs, and Dadan herself was too busy hiding from Garp to be a real authority.
But that didn't matter.
Because this place had Ace, who didn't trust easily but burned like a wildfire once he did.
Sabo, whose mind was as sharp as his fists.
Luffy, who was chaos incarnate and warmth given form.
And Krishna—who, for the first time since being reborn, didn't feel like a misplaced puzzle piece trying to hide his jagged edges.
They trained. They fought. They learned to steal food without Dadan noticing.
They pranked Garp.
A lot.
"You know this won't last," Sheshika murmured one night as Krishna sat by the river, skipping stones and watching fireflies.
"I know," Krishna whispered.
"But you want it to."
He didn't answer. The silence did it for him.
That week, Garp stuck around longer than usual. Krishna suspected it wasn't just to drop off Luffy—but to watch him.
The old man had seen something the others hadn't.
During sparring, he tested Krishna's limits with quiet interest. His haki wasn't sharp like Shanks', but it was overwhelming, like a hammer wrapped in centuries of command. Krishna could barely keep his breath steady under the pressure.
"You've got all three types," Garp muttered during one break. "Observation. Armament. Conqueror's too."
Krishna nodded slowly.
"You barely know how to use 'em."
Another nod.
"You're dangerous."
This time, Krishna smiled.
"So were you," he replied.
That night, Garp sat with Makino at the bar, pouring himself a drink with more sighs than he'd ever admit.
"What are you going to do with him?" Makino asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
Garp sipped. "Can't mold someone like that. The world's already trying."
A few days later, Krishna returned from a hunt to find Sheshika coiled at the doorstep, flicking her tongue in the air.
He paused. "What?"
She said nothing.
But the air smelled like change.
Later that afternoon, the four boys lounged near the riverside, bellies full from Makino's cooking, arms sore from morning sparring.
"That was awesome!" Luffy declared, kicking his feet in the water. "Ace punched a tree and it exploded!"
"I did not!" Ace growled. "It just cracked a little!"
"You screamed!" Sabo said helpfully.
Krishna leaned back, letting the sunlight warm his skin.
This was the kind of peace he never got in his past life. The kind born from simplicity, not silence. From connection, not avoidance.
Medha's voice pinged gently in his thoughts.
"Emotional stability detected. Hormonal levels normalized. Neural stress down 12%. I approve."
He smiled slightly.
"You sound like a sleep tracker."
"I'm the sleep tracker you need, not the one you deserve."
Sheshika slithered lazily into the water and splashed Ace, who retaliated with a stick.
The moment devolved into water warfare.
Krishna just lay back and stared at the clouds.
The next morning.
"Why is there glitter in my uniform?"
Garp's voice bellowed across the clearing like a cannonball. Somewhere behind a rock, Ace stifled a snort. Luffy's giggle echoed from the trees.
Krishna, wiping spice dust off his hands, didn't even turn around.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
Makino chuckled from where she was setting plates on a large makeshift table. "You've survived warzones, Garp. One glitter trap isn't going to kill you."
"I think it's in my underpants."
"Maybe it will, then."
It was Garp's birthday.
The ASLK quartet had learned of it from Makino, who casually mentioned it while peeling potatoes.
The next thing she knew, Krishna had drawn up a supply list, Sabo had mapped a firework layout, Ace had recruited Dadan's gang for grunt work, and Luffy had declared himself in charge of "cake security."
No one knew what that meant.
But they agreed not to question it.
The plan was simple.
Which, of course, meant it would immediately go off the rails.
Makino was in charge of the kitchen. Krishna would handle the spices and core dish. Luffy, Sabo, and Ace were supposed to gather decorations. Which meant… they stole seaweed, stuffed it in buckets, and claimed they were "for ambiance."
Sheshika was the only one being remotely helpful, slithering around with baskets and occasionally snapping at the boys when they tried to light things on fire "just for fun."
Krishna worked quietly over a clay stove out back, sleeves rolled, eyes focused.
The smell of ghee and coastal spices swirled through the village.
The smell of ghee and coastal spices swirled through the village.
"Okay," he muttered, glancing at the rice basin. "Four trays. Chicken portion split across skewers, masala pre-marinated…"
"Karma-adjusted biryani ratios: perfect," Medha whispered in his head.
He smiled to himself and began layering.
Inside, Makino was chopping onions with Ace, who was grumbling about the sting in his eyes.
Sabo was arranging palm leaves in the shape of a Marine insignia, then promptly flipped it over and redesigned it to look like a flaming phoenix.
Luffy had vanished. Again.
"Where's the idiot?" Ace grumbled.
A crash came from outside.
"I FOUND THE CAKE!!"
Krishna walked in, calm as ever, holding the half-destroyed whiskey cake by the tray with one eyebrow raised.
"This is… not how refrigeration works, Luffy."
"It called to me!"
"It didn't."
"I SWEAR IT DID!"
Sheshika sighed. "Do you want me to babysit him or roast him?"
By sunset, the bandits' hilltop hideout had been transformed into a festival ground.
Garp, who had been suspiciously absent all day, wandered back toward the village square with his usual thunderous gait—only to stop cold when he saw the setup.
Palm leaves. Lanterns. A makeshift table with four chairs on one side, and a massive log bench on the other. Bowls of rice, steaming biryani, pickled sides, fruit chutneys, grilled skewers, and a cake that still somehow looked majestic despite Luffy's earlier assault.
Krishna stepped forward with a wooden spoon slung like a sword over his shoulder.
"Happy Birthday, Grandpa Garp."
The Vice Admiral froze. "…What?"
Makino smiled. "You didn't think we forgot, did you?"
"It's just a number!" Luffy yelled. "But it's probably a big one!"
"I'm not that old!" Garp shouted.
"Your knees disagree," Sabo muttered.
"I'LL SHOW YOU KNEES, YOU BRAT!"
Everyone laughed.
Streamers made from stolen navy rations.
Flags that definitely weren't flags yesterday.
And a fire large enough to roast a sea king—if they had one.
"Where did you get these decorations?" Garp asked warily.
"Classified," Sabo said, too innocently.
"You stole 'em."
"Borrowed."
"You little pirates-in-training—"
"Oi, old man," Ace interrupted, tossing him a small wooden box. "Shut up and open this."
Inside was a simple medal—crudely shaped and carved from wood, but clearly painted with care.
It read:
"Hero of the Coast – Even If You're an Idiot"
Garp stared at it. Blinked.
And laughed.
Dinner was a riot.
They sat together under the starlight.
Krishna served. One ladle of biryani after another, perfectly portioned.
Garp stared at his plate like it was sacred.
He took one bite.
Paused.
And set his spoon down.
"This…" he said, eyes wide.
"Too spicy?" Krishna asked.
"No. This is better than anything I've eaten since the damn war."
He picked up the spoon again—and tears welled up.
Real ones.
Ace froze. Sabo blinked. Luffy just kept eating.
Makino reached for a napkin, but Garp waved her off.
"No. These are manly tears. Let them flow."
Everyone broke into laughter again.
Luffy ate half a tray by himself.
Sabo spiked the curry with just enough chili to make Makino tear up.
Ace challenged Garp to a meat-eating contest and lost by two ribs.
Sheshika curled in the center like a contented coil of shadow, pretending not to be emotionally attached. (She was.)
Then came the gift-giving.
Luffy handed him a badly-drawn comic of Garp punching a sea king in space, as well as a skewer of meat with tape wrapped around the stick.
"It's your favorite!"
"You stole that off my plate."
"That makes it more special!"
Ace offered a rare piece of driftwood he'd polished himself, and a neatly folded cloth. "Bandages. I know you get hurt, but you never say anything."
Garp nodded, touched.
Sabo gave Garp a pair of "reading glasses" that were actually tinted goggles and a hand-carved wooden Marine medal, unevenly shaped but clearly heartfelt.
Krishna gave nothing—at first.
Just before the fire died down, he handed Garp a plain brown package.
Inside was a journal—similar to the one Shanks had given Krishna.
On the cover: "To the Grandpa Who Punched Heaven."
Garp blinked.
"You wrote this?"
Krishna nodded. "It's blank. For now. But I thought… you might want to write what you never say."
The old man stared down at the cover for a long time.
Then he closed it.
"You're all idiots," he said softly.
"We know," said all four boys in perfect unison.
The night descended into pure chaos.
Sabo slipped biryani into Ace's seat.
Luffy challenged Garp to an eating contest and lost three rounds in a row.
Sheshika took an entire skewer in one gulp and looked incredibly smug about it.
Makino made everyone clean up or go hungry the next morning.
But it was Krishna who sat last, looking up at the moon.
"This is what peace feels like," he said softly.
"Temporary, but beautiful," Medha added.
And he nodded.
Because for one night—just one—the world was small, warm, and full of laughter.
The party got quieter after that.
Later that night, as everyone lounged near the fire, Garp sat beside Krishna with a plate of scorched fish.
"You planned all this?"
"Mostly."
"You boys…" Garp shook his head. "You're not normal."
Krishna raised an eyebrow. "We're growing."
"That's what worries me."
A long silence stretched between them.
"It's been a long time since someone did something like that for me," he said gruffly.
Krishna didn't look over. "You deserved it."
Garp huffed. "No one deserves anything. You earn it."
A pause. Then,
"Still. Thanks, brat."
Krishna nodded. "You're welcome, old man."
Garp chuckled.
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It felt… full.
Then Garp spoke again, voice softer.
"You know… when I was younger, I thought strength was the only thing that mattered. Hit hard enough, scare big enough, and you'd keep everyone safe."
He looked down at his thick knuckles.
"But strength can't protect you from guilt. From the quiet. From watching everyone else grow old, move on… or die."
Krishna's voice was barely above a whisper. "Then why stay strong?"
Garp looked at him. Really looked.
"Because it's still worth it. Because one punch at the right moment can save someone. Change something."
He gestured at the boys, sleeping in a pile of limbs and dreams.
"Those three… I won't be around forever. But you? You've got something in you. Something I can't name."
Krishna didn't respond right away. The firelight reflected in his eyes.
"I'm scared of that," he admitted.
"Of what?"
"Of being strong and still failing."
Garp chuckled again, but it was gentler this time. "Then you're already stronger than I was."
Krishna looked at him, confused.
Garp smirked. "Only people who care about failing… are the ones worth trusting with strength."
Then Garp exhaled and asked, "You ever think about joining the Navy?"
Krishna blinked. "You're asking a lot for someone who just got glitter-bombed."
"I'm serious. You've got the will. The strength. The stupid sense of justice."
Krishna didn't answer right away.
Instead, he looked across the clearing—at Ace laughing with Dadan's men, at Sabo doodling fireworks into the dirt, at Luffy curled in a food coma on Sheshika's tail.
"I think," Krishna said finally, "that I need to build myself first."
Garp stared at him.
Then chuckled. "That's a better answer than most rookies give."
A few moments later, he pulled something out from his coat. It wasn't wrapped. It wasn't fancy.
Just a small battered journal.
"It was my old field book," Garp said. "Most of it's filled with maps and cuss words. But I think there's room for something better now."
He handed it to Krishna.
"Write who you are," he said. "So you don't forget when the world starts trying to tell you."
Krishna took it carefully, fingers brushing against cracked leather.
"I will."
They sat in silence again, two warriors from different ends of the storm.
Finally, Garp stood up with a groan.
"Get some sleep, Dharma kid. World's not gonna wait for you to figure it out."
He paused.
"But for what it's worth… I think you're already better than you know."
He turned to walk off, then glanced back.
"Oh. And thanks for the cake."
Krishna gave him a half-smile. "You're welcome. Try not to cry next time."
"I'll cry if I want, dammit! It's my party!"
His laughter echoed into the night as he vanished into the dark.
Krishna looked back at the fire, its last embers glowing faint orange.
He picked up the journal Garp left behind. Opened it.
The first line had been written.
"Sometimes, even heroes need to be reminded they're not alone."
Krishna closed the book and smiled quietly.
"I'll remember that."
As the fire dimmed and bellies filled, Garp leaned back with a full stomach and a full heart.
"These damn brats," he mumbled. "They're going to break the world."
He smiled to himself.
"And I'm going to help them do it."
The night after the feast, the hilltop was quiet.
The sun rose slow and soft over Foosha, painting the sea in strokes of orange and gold. Wind teased through the trees, rustling sleepy leaves and sending birds into chirping spirals.
Garp had left early, citing something about "not crying in front of brats." Dadan's gang lay passed out under trees, plates still licked clean. And the fire, now just embers, crackled softly like the fading echo of laughter.
Krishna walked quietly down the dirt road from the bar, hands tucked behind his back, a small brown notebook cradled in his grip.
Garp was already up, of course. The old man was outside, lifting rocks the size of pigs and throwing them into the sea as part of his morning routine. He wore a faded tank top, a Marine dog tag clinking faintly around his neck.
Krishna waited until the last stone hit the surf with a splash, then stepped forward and held out the book.
"It's yours."
Garp took it, blinking. "You sure?"
"It's a gift. Not a loan."
Garp scratched his beard. "Thought you'd want to read it after I'm gone."
Krishna shook his head, eyes steady. "I don't need to read it. You'll write what matters."
Garp studied him for a long second, then gave a small grunt and tucked the journal under one arm.
"You're a strange kid, Krishna."
"Strange is better than hollow."
"Sometimes."
And that was that.
No hugs. No dramatic music. Just two warriors acknowledging something unspoken, and then parting like tides.
Krishna returned to the forest an hour later.
He sat cross-legged in the clearing, the battered journal from Garp resting beside him, unopened.
Sheshika lay coiled nearby, one eye watching. Medha hovered silent in the background—until the flicker of Krishna's Nano-core pulsed green.
"Initiating system unlock. Five Divine Paths—expansion authorized."
"Martial growth log syncing... ready."
Krishna opened his eyes.
Golden light spiraled behind his pupils.
Inside his interface, the space was no longer a sterile black grid. It had changed—grown with him. Five radiant pathways now burned across the void, each one etched with a name, a pulse, a hunger.
They weren't skills. They were ideologies. Whole ways of being.
Medha's voice came, softer now—less AI, more companion.
"Each path corresponds to a system of evolution unique to your intent, your training, and your soul resonance. They do not unlock powers. They awaken truths."
1. Anantadeha Mārga — Path of the Infinite Body (Unarmed Combat)
Krishna stepped forward into the first.
Images surged—his own body in motion, leaping, dodging, striking. But not as a martial artist. As a current. A storm. A singular form using every joint, breath, and heartbeat as one cohesive strike.
This wasn't mere brawling. This was the philosophy of limitless fluidity—like Mok Gyeongwoon, like water given purpose.
"Your body is not your limit," Medha said. "It is your medium."
Krishna's hands flexed subconsciously. His spine shifted with perfect weight. Even without moving, he could feel the combat rhythm evolving.
2. Asi Kriyā — The Divine Sword Ritual (Sword Path)
The second path shimmered like moonlight drawn along a blade. And yet, it was… silent.
Krishna touched it—and nothing moved. No simulation. No projection. Just stillness.
"This path does not evolve in simulation," Medha whispered.
"Only in battle. Only when Asi drinks blood."
Krishna nodded slowly. He knew this was coming.
"The sword doesn't serve form," he murmured. "It reveals truth."
This path would wait. Until the right moment.
3. Hridaya Tantra — Doctrine of the Heart (Haki Flow System)
This one roared.
Three pulsing spheres formed: golden for Flow Sight (Observation), crimson for Armament Flow, violet for Sovereign Will (Conqueror's).
Krishna touched them all—lightly.
Observation now reached fifty meters. Within that radius, he could feel changes in temperature, track heartbeats, notice emotional shifts—if he stilled himself.
Armament flowed like molten iron through his forearms, not yet hardening, but coating his strikes, flowing into impact points with precision.
Sovereign Will remained… distant. Still a burst, not an infusion. But it pulsed. Waiting.
"You've surpassed early Ryou and glimpsed beyond Future Sight," Medha noted.
"But you still lack battle-refinement. These powers must be risked to be realized."
He nodded.
"True strength," he said, "is willed. Not won."
4. Kāya Kalpa Sūtra — The Scripture of Eternal Body Refinement (Body Cultivation)
This path glowed with multicolored light.
Each color represented a sample:
Shanks: Refined control, spiritual balance, Conqueror's mastery
Ace: Chaotic power, burst will, searing offense
Luffy: Elastic cellular integrity, stamina optimized
Sabo: Adaptive reflexes, rapid learning curves
Uta: Harmonic resonance, emotional attunement
But none of the bloodlines were being absorbed.
Krishna wasn't becoming them.
His body was learning from them—mimicking stress responses, replicating energy flow, triggering compatible growth points in his own divine soul.
"The divine is not in your blood," Medha whispered.
"It is in your effort."
He exhaled slowly.
This was his favorite path.
5. Padanyāsa Vidhi — Discipline of Sacred Steps (Footwork)
This path was… alive.
Images flickered rapidly—terrain shifting, enemies moving, rhythms changing mid-fight. It wasn't just footwork. It was intention alignment. Knowing where to be, not just how to move.
The system showed recorded battles with Ace, Sabo, Garp, Shanks. Every motion was logged. Every mistake catalogued.
Krishna watched himself pivot an inch too late. Slide too far. Plant his heel when he should've floated.
"Where you stand," Medha said softly,
"defines what you become."
He smiled. "Then let's stand where we're needed."
"I'm not trying to mimic," he said softly. "I want to understand."
"You are," Medha replied, "And I am too. Every step you take, I evolve. Every choice you make... I unfold."
He sat down, cross-legged in the dust, as five golden paths glowed faintly around his form.
"Then let's keep walking."
"Always."
Krishna stepped back from the system, breathing in the night air. The golden paths shimmered and receded, folding into his core.
Sheshika stirred beside him.
"You're changing," she said.
"Refining."
"You're still yourself."
"I hope so."
A long silence.
Then:
"I felt your soul stretch," she murmured. "Like a snake outgrowing its old skin."
He looked at her. "Was it painful?"
"No," she said. "Just necessary."
Somewhere deep in his HUD, Medha's voice chimed again.
"New feature unlocked: Biometric Combat Simulation. Would you like to initiate test training with Garp profile?"
Krishna smirked. "Later."
He opened Garp's journal.
And began to write.
The first prank was subtle.
Krishna left it beneath Garp's bedroll: a carefully folded flyer with bold letters that read:
"Congratulations! You've been nominated for the World Government's Best Grandpa Award!"
(All you need is to fill out your dreams and deepest regrets in the attached form.)
Makino found him giggling like a high school girl at dawn.
The second was louder.
A bamboo tube, carefully fitted with chili powder and a smoke capsule, hidden inside Garp's bath bucket. He'd barely dropped his towel before—
BOOM!
"ACE!"
"NOT ME!"
"KRISHNA!"
"I was meditating!"
"LIAR!"
Sheshika, dignified as always, slithered out from the steam cloud with a towel on her head and muttered, "Idiots."
Then came the legendary fake bounty poster.
Pinned to Makino's Bar notice board.
WANTED
Monkey D. Garp
Alias: Grandpa Gravel-Fist
Crimes: Grandchild endangerment, meat theft, repeated violations of bedtime hours
Bounty: 2 bellies and a slice of leftover biryani
Last seen threatening minors with affection.
Makino kept it framed.
In retaliation, Garp "trained" them.
And by trained, he meant: kicked them into rivers, threw them at trees, and woke them at sunrise by clapping thunder.
The next morning, Garp stood with his arms crossed outside Dadan's shack, watching the four boys tumble out one by one, half-asleep and already squabbling.
"Rise and shine, you little miscreants!" he barked. "Time to talk about your futures!"
Ace groaned. "Can it not involve screaming for once?"
"Nope!" Garp barked. "I didn't travel across half the Blues to let you waste your lives on pirate nonsense."
Luffy stretched, yawned, and immediately countered: "I'm gonna be Pirate King!"
Ace: "Same."
Sabo: "Something else."
Krishna: "Still deciding."
Garp looked like he'd swallowed a grenade.
"What's wrong with the Navy?! Justice! Order! Dental plans!"
"You punched a Celestial Dragon," Krishna reminded him.
"Exactly! Justice!"
Sabo chuckled. "You make it sound fun, old man."
"It is! Especially when you get to punch smug brats in robes."
"Observation training!" he yelled as he pelted them with acorns.
"Dodge or die!"
Krishna, of course, dodged everything.
Ace grinned through bruises.
Sabo adapted quickly, making mental maps.
Luffy just ran forward screaming, "CAN I DODGE WITH PUNCHES?"
The answer was no.
Later that week, Krishna sat cross-legged while Garp paced.
"You said you learned Soru?" the old man asked, skeptical.
Krishna nodded.
"Show me."
He blurred forward in a single heartbeat—so fast that Garp's eyebrows twitched.
"You learned that from watching me do it once?"
"Twice."
"That's not how this works!"
"It is now."
The old man grumbled something about "cheating monks" under his breath.
He scratched his chin, still not convinced. "Fine. Learn this."
He shifted his stance slightly, chest lowering, spine loose. His body seemed to ripple—not visibly, but in how it moved.
"This is Kami-e. Makes your body go limp like paper. Helps you dodge."
Krishna nodded.
"Master this by the end of the week. Or I'm calling you a fraud."
"Deal."
"Wait, seriously?! You're agreeing?!"
"Yes."
"Brat."
Krishna mastered it in three days.
Garp blinked.
Krishna stood behind him, head tilted, after dodging his fist by using Kami-e.
"I pass?"
The old man grunted. "You pass. And you give me heartburn."
Sheshika watched from the rooftop, tongue flicking.
"He's learning faster. The Martial God Body is accelerating."
"You sound proud," Medha said.
"I am. I'd die for him."
"We already have a queue for that."
That night, he sat on the roof with Sheshika, the wind cool and clear.
"Your movements are getting sharper," she murmured.
"They're getting personal."
She tilted her head. "Explain."
"They're no longer just styles. They're... expressions. Each step, each dodge—it's like breathing intent."
She hummed low in her throat. "Then dance well, little serpent."
"Yeah. Let's Dance." he smiled.
Below, Luffy was sticking a rubber duck into Garp's boots.
Ace watched, unimpressed.
Sabo took notes.
It started with a whisper.
A sacred oath, sworn behind the woodshed with hands in a circle.
"He taught us pain," Ace said gravely.
"Let's return the favor," Sabo added.
"Let's prank the hell outta him," Luffy concluded.
Krishna, hands folded like a monk, simply nodded. "We'll call it... Operation Grandpa Wrath."
Sheshika, lounging nearby, muttered: "I will not stop you. But I will judge you."
Luffy sneaked in at dawn, tiptoeing over creaky floorboards with a cabbage tucked under his shirt.
Medha, in Krishna's ear: "This is a terrible idea."
Luffy replaced Garp's pillow with the cabbage, drew a mustache on the real pillow, and crept back out.
When Garp woke up, groggy and half-blind, he muttered:
"Makino… why does my pillow smell like soup?"
Then he bit into it and yelled.
That afternoon, the boys set up a "ceremonial stage" in Makino's backyard using crates, a wagon wheel, and a sign that read:
"HERO OF THE COAST: 25 YEARS OF GLORY, 100 YEARS OF WRINKLES"
Ace wore a red sheet as a cape.
Sabo read an exaggerated speech:
"Vice Admiral Garp, for your tireless defense of Justice and Your Own Ego, we present you with this handcrafted symbol of chaos…"
He held up the carved medal: a lopsided gull riding a fist.
Luffy blew a trumpet made of sugarcane that squeaked instead of blared.
Krishna stood at attention and declared:
"We recognize your valor in punching dragons, kings, pirates, your own grandson, and occasionally, logic itself."
Garp just stared at them, unmoving.
"You idiots."
"Yes, sir," all four said at once.
"I'm keeping it," Garp muttered.
Then he wore the medal proudly for the rest of the day.
Nightfall.
Sabo and Krishna filled Garp's boots with hot rice paste, carefully sealing them with palm fronds.
"Tactical sabotage," Krishna said, deadpan.
When Garp jammed his foot in the next morning, it squelched.
"WHAT IN THE—?! WHO TURNED MY BOOTS INTO SOUP?!"
He walked into town barefoot, swearing vengeance.
Makino gave him new sandals. Krishna handed him a towel. Luffy offered a spoon and asked if he could eat it.
Krishna slipped a new bounty poster into the bulletin board, this time beside the real Marine notices of Foosha Village notice board.
WANTED – ALIVE OR SHOUTING AND KICKING
The Grandpunching Menace: Garp the Fist
Bounty: One Spicy Biryani and a Lifetime Supply of Painkillers
Crimes: Excessive Fist-Based Parenting. Impersonating a Storm Cloud. Refusing to Retire.
But how did Garp know about this? Apparently the poster was first on the village board, where the villagers saw it and informed the Mayor. And the Mayor called the Marine HQ to confirm if the bounty poster Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp was real. The Marines denied it of course, but still informed Garp that a bounty poster is circulating in the village he is staying.
Makino, of course, claimed she saw nothing.
"Kids will be kids," she said sweetly, handing him tea.
"They're demons," Garp replied, sipping anyway.
Krishna passed by, calm as ever.
"Enjoying your vacation?"
"You're the ringleader, aren't you?"
"I don't confirm or deny without a lawyer."
"I am the law!"
"Then arrest yourself."
Garp grumbled and stomped off while the boys cackled behind a tree.
On the last night, Sheshika helped stage the finale.
Krishna handed her a red cloth and whispered something in her coils.
At midnight, Garp awoke to find Sheshika coiled gently around his bed, wearing the red cape, and hissing softly:
"You have been judged, mortal."
Garp screamed so loud Makino spilled tea three houses over.
Later, as the fire died down and everyone dozed in laughter, Garp grumbled with his medal still around his neck and cabbage juice on his collar.
"You brats are gonna be the death of me."
Krishna sat beside him, stirring the coals.
"Then we'll carve something ridiculous on your tombstone."
"Like what?"
"Here lies Garp. Punched Heaven. Lost to Rice Paste."
The old man chuckled.
"...Deal."
The fire crackled low. The sky above was a deep violet, stars speckling the void like scattered promises.
Luffy snored softly, curled up against Sheshika's side like she was a giant heater. Ace had one arm flung over his face, the other clenched in a fist, even in sleep. Sabo rested with his head against a log, a makeshift sketchbook falling from his lap.
Krishna sat a few paces away, unmoving.
The silence was warm, not hollow.
Stillness had never come easily to him in his past life. It felt like an absence. A vacuum between moments.
But now… it felt like grounding.
"Neural patterns stabilized," Medha said softly in his thoughts. "This is the healthiest you've been in weeks."
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Feels weird."
"That's because you've finally exhaled."
The next day, as the stars came out and the village quieted, Krishna sat beside the campfire, staring at the coals.
His body ached from Kami-e drills. His mind spun with Haki threads. But his soul… felt steady.
Medha whispered in his thoughts.
"You're stronger than you were yesterday."
"Not strong enough."
"You never will be. That's the point."
He smiled faintly.
Across from him, Luffy was balancing a spoon on his nose. Sabo was sketching sword designs on a napkin. Ace was chewing meat like it owed him money.
And Garp?
He stood nearby, arms crossed—but smiling.
"Brats," he muttered.
But he didn't look away.
While Krishna trained quietly, Medha activated her new system functions.
After a moment, a small flicker of light passed across his HUD. A new icon.
Krishna raised an eyebrow. "Something changed?"
"Yes," Medha said, voice steadier than usual. "I've grown."
He blinked. "Grown?"
"You've evolved. So I did too."
A glowing schematic appeared before his eyes—his own body, rendered in shimmering gold and soft blue. Muscle strands, nerve fibers, blood flow, reaction points. It was him. Or rather, a live mirror of him.
"You unlocked three haki types," Medha continued. "I unlocked something too. A new divine function."
[NEW SYSTEM FUNCTION: BIO-COMBAT SCANNER UNLOCKED]
"It activates during direct proximity with a subject. The scan reads physical structure, combat tendencies, emotional baseline, and reaction latency."
Krishna stared as Garp's silhouette projected beside his.
Every muscle fiber. The hardened callouses. The sheer density of his leg tendons.
"Garp's body is… absurd," Medha said. "He's a one-man war. Every ligament is conditioned beyond mortal tolerance. And he's not even in his prime anymore."
The model zoomed in. Stress lines on the hips. A slight misalignment in the shoulder from years of overuse.
"But his rhythm—his internal combat metronome—is perfect. It's how he fights so clean. So impossibly hard."
Krishna breathed in the data, absorbing it not as fact—but as insight.
"This is you learning?" he asked.
"Not copying. Not imitating. Learning. Every soul has a rhythm. I'm tuning to yours."
Then another icon blinked into existence.
Krishna frowned. "What's this one?"
"Another unlock," Medha said, a touch of pride in her tone.
[NEW SYSTEM FUNCTION: COMBAT SIMULATION ENGINE – BETA]
"I can now run sparring routines based on real data—Garp's punches, Shanks' reflexes, even Luffy's unpredictable movements. I simulate combat in your mindscape while you sleep, creating neural pathways in advance."
Krishna's eyes widened.
"I've already uploaded Shanks' movement grid from our early sessions," she continued. "Luffy's reflexes have been partially indexed. Ace's emotional surges are more difficult to process, but I'm adapting."
"And… Uta?"
"Her rhythm is musical. It's rare. Her strikes resonate in harmonics. I'll need to simulate that differently."
Krishna closed his eyes and let the information wash over him.
"You really are growing," he whispered.
"So are you. You think it's one-sided, but… every time you make a choice instead of reacting, you're shaping me too."
Sheshika slithered over quietly, curling beside him with a yawn.
"Still meditating?" she asked.
"Always," Krishna smiled faintly.
"You're lighter tonight," she said. "Your soul is still, but not quiet."
He looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"You're not afraid of the fire anymore."
He nodded once, then looked back toward the dying flames.
"Run simulation," he said.
Medha flickered to life. "Simulation loaded. Scenario: Close-range combat. Opponent: Garp."
His inner world changed.
Suddenly, Krishna was standing in a black space with only footsteps echoing around him. Garp emerged—not the kind, laughing version—but the marine, the warrior.
Muscles coiled, eyes sharp, fists raised.
The fight lasted 12 seconds.
Krishna was defeated in 6.
"Again," he said.
Medha hesitated. > "You've just started the cycle—"
"Again."
This time, he lasted 9.
Then 13.
Then 11.
Each time, he learned something. A breath. A feint. A better pivot.
"You're not just practicing," Medha observed. "You're evolving. You're mirroring him without stealing."
"It's not about being him," Krishna said. "It's about learning what he's learned—and going further."
"You will."
"We will," he corrected.
And Medha—normally dry, sarcastic, detached—actually paused.
"Yeah," she whispered. "We will."
The pranks didn't stop.
They simply evolved.
Ace filled Garp's boots with jellyfish.
Sabo added a frog to his coat pocket.
Luffy painted a mustache on his face while he napped.
But the best one?
Krishna snuck a scroll under Garp's pillow.
"To the strongest old man we know.
Thanks for not killing us (yet).
We're training. We're watching.
One day… we'll catch up."
Garp didn't say anything when he found it.
But that night, the training was just a little softer.
The ASL boys were still asleep. The air had shifted—calm, heavy, sacred.
Krishna stood and walked quietly to the center of the clearing.
He moved through the Five Divine Paths in slow, deliberate motion.
A step into Padanyāsa Vidhi, feeling how the earth shifted beneath his weight.
A shoulder pivot from Anantadeha Mārga, turning inertia into opportunity.
A single focused breath of Hridaya Tantra, channeling Observation.
The grounding pulse of Kāya Kalpa Sūtra, invoking his adaptation protocols.
And finally, a ghostlike flicker of Asi Kriyā, where the blade had not yet appeared—but the intent had.
Each motion felt like a dialogue between his past self and his current truth.
A soft voice from behind broke his trance.
"Krishna… are you glowing?"
It was Sabo—half-awake, scratching his head.
Krishna turned.
"No," he said simply. "Just burning."
Sabo blinked. "That's somehow worse."
Then he smiled and yawned. "Wake me when you start levitating or something."
"Soon."
"Wait, what?"
And Krishna, sitting alone under the stars, allowed himself a rare smile.
Chaos was loud.
But belonging—belonging was quiet.
The world was quiet at dawn.
Krishna rose before the others stirred, before Garp's thunderous voice or Luffy's early-morning chaos shattered the calm. The mountain was still wrapped in silver mist, and the wind brushed past like it had secrets to tell.
He didn't speak.
He simply moved.
Padanyāsa Vidhi—Discipline of Sacred Steps—was the first. His footwork mapped the terrain like it was alive, each step informed by micro-changes in slope, root, and stone. He didn't just avoid missteps—he predicted them, shifted weight, let the world adjust around him.
His observation haki laced every motion. Fifty meters of awareness—beyond vision, beyond sound. Flow Sight was no longer just precognition. It had become:
Perception without delay. Intuition without explanation.
It saw not what was—but what intended to be.
His mind no longer fought to interpret his surroundings. His body simply responded.
"This is beyond future sight," Medha commented. "You don't see the future. You harmonize with it."
He shifted into the Anantadeha Mārga—Path of the Infinite Body.
Every strike used the spine, not just the arm.
Every breath was timed with pivot and pressure.
His knees weren't shock absorbers. They were springs. His fists were not hammers—they were extensions of will.
A spinning heel to a tree didn't snap bark—it cracked the core.
Then a flow-through punch followed by a palm recoil. Not flashy. Not explosive.
But perfect.
He paused, sweat lining his brow, and opened his palm.
Blackness seeped through his forearm—not hardened, not sharp. But smooth. Alive.
Armament Flow.
Not coating like steel. Not an outer shell.
This was inward-directed will—striking from within, bypassing surface resistance.
This was that.
Only now, it was his.
"This," Medha whispered, "is beyond Ryou.
Ryou removes defense.
Flow bypasses resistance—without confrontation.
Like a whisper through stone."
He held the armament for a moment longer before letting it fade.
His muscles throbbed. His bones ached. He smiled anyway.
And then came the hardest path:
Hridaya Tantra—Doctrine of the Heart.
His Conqueror's Haki burned within him—not controlled, but contained.
It was the Sovereign Will—the echo of a divine command.
So far, Krishna could only burst with it in emotion. He couldn't lace his strikes. Not yet.
But today, he sat in silence and called it gently.
No fury.
No fear.
Just stillness.
A wind passed.
A fox scurried down the rocks and paused—blinking in his direction—then scurried away faster.
The birds nearby grew quiet. Not frightened—simply reverent.
The air bent.
"Sovereign Will is not shouting your spirit," Medha said.
"It is walking so clearly in your truth… the world dares not interrupt."
Krishna exhaled.
It didn't flare. It pulsed.
And he finally understood.
The world knew Future Sight, Ryou, and Conqueror's Infusion as the peaks.
But those were only techniques. These—Flow Sight, Armament Flow, Sovereign Will—weren't skills.
They were states of being.
Flow Sight didn't just predict. It synchronized.
Armament Flow didn't armor. It invaded—with intent, not force.
Sovereign Will didn't scream. It shifted reality through silent clarity.
Krishna collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.
Every nerve in his body felt scorched and cold at once.
"You're pushing too hard," Medha said gently.
"I'm not even close yet."
"Why?"
"Because every time I hesitate, someone pays for it."
He closed his eyes, remembering Uta's hair being pulled. Luffy crying in his arms. Shanks' missing arm. The heat of guilt in his lungs.
"That's not Dharma," Medha said.
"I know."
"But it's yours."
He nodded.
Kāya Kalpa Sūtra—Eternal Body Refinement—came next.
His muscles still trembled from training. But he opened the matrix anyway.
Shanks. Ace. Luffy. Sabo. Uta.
Their samples pulsed in his system—not as bloodline theft, but as adaptive models.
The most active today?
Ace.
Krishna's body mimicked Ace's reflexive rage burst style—high intensity, short recovery, offensive loops.
And yet, it didn't consume him. He used Ace's rhythm as a frame, not a prison.
"You're not becoming them," Medha said.
"You're becoming what you would've been… if you'd been born burning."
He didn't respond. He just kept moving.
Hours passed. The sun rose high. His shirt clung to his skin. His heartbeat echoed in his ears.
And still, he trained.
Footwork. Punches. Pulses. Control.
He wasn't trying to become perfect.
He was trying to be so stable in who he was… that imperfection had no sway over him.
Later, he sat under the old fig tree, bandaging his fingers.
Sheshika curled behind him.
"You bleed for ghosts," she said.
"I bleed so they never have to."
The fire crackled low that night—no raging flames, just a bed of glowing embers warming the earth beneath four tired boys.
They were alone. The village was asleep, and even Sheshika had curled into a lazy loop off to the side, watching them with half-lidded eyes.
The four boys—Ace, Sabo, Luffy, and Krishna—sat in a loose circle, skin dusted with sweat and soot, laughter still echoing from their last sparring match.
Luffy had tried to punch Ace, missed, and accidentally knocked Sabo into the well. Krishna had pulled him out with one hand while casually dodging the next two incoming fists.
They were bruised. Sore.
Happy.
"You're insane," Ace muttered, chuckling as he rubbed his shoulder. "You fought us three back to back and still asked for another round."
Krishna shrugged. "I didn't win, did I?"
"You didn't lose either," Sabo said, tossing a twig into the fire.
"You never lose," Luffy added proudly. "You just keep standing."
Krishna blinked at that. It hit deeper than Luffy probably realized.
Below, something unspoken settled in.
"Hey," Ace said suddenly. "We never made it official."
Sabo blinked. "Made what official?"
"This," Ace said, motioning between them all. "Us. The four of us. We keep saying we're brothers—but we never swore it."
Luffy sat up immediately. "OOOH! LIKE A REAL CEREMONY?"
"I brought the sake," Ace added, smirking. "Stole it from Dadan's cellar. She'll never notice."
"She's gonna kill you," Sabo laughed.
"Not if we finish it first."
Luffy leaned forward. "What is it?"
"Sake."
Krishna's brow lifted. "You know we're not old enough."
"You're like eighty in a seven-year-old's body. Don't lecture me."
Sabo barked a laugh. "He's got you there."
Sabo lit a fresh stick to stir the flames higher. Shadows danced across their faces—young but already lined with experiences no child should've had.
"This isn't just for fun," Ace said suddenly, serious now. "We've trained together. Bled. Laughed."
He looked at each of them.
"Let's make it real."
Krishna recognized the weight in his voice.
A vow.
Just the fire.
Just them.
Luffy went first.
"To becoming Pirate King!"
"And protecting everyone I care about! No matter what!"
Sabo raised his next.
"To never being caged again."
"To freedom—mine, and everyone else's."
Ace picked his up and stared into it for a moment.
"To being stronger than the name I hate."
"To burning my own path, not Roger's."
Then came Krishna.
He lifted the cup with both hands, reverent.
"To walking Dharma…"
"Even when it hurts. Even when I'm alone."
"Even when it means burning with it."
"What's Dharma?" Luffy asked, frowning. "Can you eat it?"
Everyone laughed, but Krishna smiled patiently.
"Dharma isn't food, Luffy. It's… doing what's right. Even when no one claps for you."
"It's protecting what you believe in—when no one's watching."
"It's not about winning. It's about not turning away."
Luffy nodded seriously, like he'd just been handed a secret.
A moment passed.
"So cool!" Luffy shouted.
"Sounds lonely," Ace said.
"It can be," Krishna replied. "But not with you three."
They clinked their cups.
And drank.
The sake burned going down.
It tasted like fire and spice and everything they couldn't name.
Sabo coughed. Luffy licked his lips and grinned. Ace sighed like it was the breath he'd been holding all year.
Krishna just closed his eyes and let the heat settle inside his chest.
"This is forever," Ace said. "No matter what happens."
"Even if we go separate ways?" Sabo asked.
"Especially then."
"Even if we fight?" Luffy asked.
"We'll still be brothers," Krishna said softly. "Even if we bleed each other, we'll carry this night."
The fire snapped.
Somewhere nearby, a night bird called.
Later, they lay on the grass, arms behind their heads.
"You really believe in that dharma stuff?" Ace asked, staring at the stars.
"I do," Krishna said. "I think… we all have something only we can carry. And we're here to learn how to carry it without breaking."
Luffy snored. Already out.
Sabo blinked slowly. "That's heavy."
"It's also true."
"What do you think I'm meant to carry?"
Krishna turned to look at him.
"Your fire."
"And Ace?"
"His will."
"And Luffy?"
Krishna smiled. "The world."
Sabo grinned. "And you?"
"Everyone else," Krishna said simply.
"That's dumb."
"I know."
"But it suits you."
They didn't speak again for a long while.
The world didn't change.
But they had.
Somewhere in the shadows, Sheshika whispered:
"Even snakes know to rest beside true fire."
Medha's voice echoed softer than usual.
"This bond you share—between fire, wind, rubber, and resolve—it anchors you."
"It strengthens not just your soul... but your path."
Krishna didn't respond.
He was too busy watching the way Ace's shoulders dropped when he thought no one saw.
The way Sabo glanced at the stars like they might point toward home.
The way Luffy curled up beside him without asking.
The fire had long since faded, leaving only a warm hush and the slow, even breaths of his brothers sleeping beside him.
Krishna sat upright, knees tucked beneath him, both journals laid out in front of him like sacred scripture.
He opened Garp's first.
The leather was cracked, the pages tough and stained from war and salt. He flipped to a fresh one near the back, where his own notes had begun to overtake the old maps and messy curses.
He dipped his pen and began writing with clean, precise strokes.
"Today I tested my limit on sovereign control. It did not flare. It pulsed."
"Armament flow pressure holding, but strain near left shoulder joint. Adjust foot pivot."
"Ace copies raw force. Sabo adapts to rhythm. Luffy… invents mid-motion."
"I learn faster than my body allows. This will break me if I don't calibrate."
He paused, tapped the page lightly, and wrote in the margin:
"Sheshika says I move like a storm. I wonder what that makes Garp—an earthquake?"
Krishna smiled, closed the journal, and picked up the second—Shanks' journal. Smooth. Clean. Unscarred.
He hesitated a moment.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he wrote:
"Dharma is not a road. It's a direction I choose, even when I can't see the path."
"Tonight I became a brother in full. They don't understand what that means to me."
"But it means everything."
"If I must die a thousand times in silence so they laugh once without fear… then I am willing."
He underlined the final sentence. Let it bleed into the paper.
Then he looked up at the stars.
And whispered to no one and everyone:
"Thank you… for letting me belong."
The last image of the night was this:
Four boys asleep by a dying fire.
One snake curled protectively around them.
And far above, the stars blinked quietly, as if recording something sacred.
Author's Note:
Yo, divine degenerates and dharmic dreamers!
This chapter was pure heart.
I won't lie—after the blood and burnout of Chapter 6, this one was my breath. A quiet fire. A reminder that strength isn't just built in battle—it's carved in laughter, trust, and ramen-stained midnight promises.
Krishna is changing. He's evolving. But what I love most is… he's still awkward, still overly serious, still him. And surrounded by chaos (Luffy), fire (Ace), wind (Sabo), and sarcasm (Medha), he's finally realizing that strength isn't about standing alone—it's about choosing who to stand with.
To those who messaged saying, "Where's the warmth? Where's the found family I came here for?"
—this chapter was for you.
To those who said, "Medha's sarcasm gives me life,"
—her upgrades just made her worse. You're welcome.
And to everyone still reading, still screaming "OM SHANTI" into the digital void—you're the real MVPs. We're not even halfway yet. But if you've felt anything, anything at all, I hope you know:
This story?
It's yours too.
—Author out.
(Sheshika now accepts belly rubs. But only from Makino. Everyone else: bite warning.)