The sun filtered lazily through the trees of Mt. Colubo, warm light spilling across the ramshackle clearing that now housed a group of rowdy, unforgettable boys—and the tired adults reluctantly raising them.
The Colubo Mountains were loud.
Not because of beasts or bandits, though both existed in plenty. No, they were loud because of four boys, a tsundere mountain woman with a slipper-arm stronger than Luffy's punch, and a divine serpent who insisted on sleeping with her coils curled protectively around Krishna's corner of the den.
Dadan shouted almost every hour.
"Don't drag mud in, you little gremlins!"
"Oi! Don't wipe your nose on the sleeve!"
"Luffy, pants aren't optional!"
"Who tracked in mud?! You're banned from stew tonight!"
"Krishna, stop meditating under the table, it freaks me out!"
"Stop feeding the snake scraps, she's already spoiled!"
Yet despite the tirades, the house was never cold. Plates were always a little too full. Spare blankets found their way into the boys' bedding before the night got too cold. And every time Luffy tripped and bruised himself, Dadan cursed the mountain, the gods, the very idea of gravity—and then, grumbling under her breath, carefully patched him up with antiseptic and a soft hand on his hair.
One morning, when Luffy had shouted "I'm hungry!" before his feet even touched the ground, Dadan threw a frying pan at the wall—only to follow it up by slamming four bowls of steaming rice and pickled boar meat on the table.
"Eat it or starve, brats."
Ace grinned like a fox. "Thanks, Mom!"
"What'd you say?!"
Krishna chuckled softly over his bowl. This was home now.
Sabo was always the first up—quietly rolling his shoulders and slipping into warmups with a nobleman's discipline and a street rat's adaptability.
Krishna wasn't far behind. He liked to meditate first—eyes closed, breathing steady, heartbeat syncing with the chirps of distant birds and the subtle hiss of Sheshika stretching beside him.
Even Sheshika, his divine serpent companion, had bonded with them all in her own slithery way.
She'd coil loosely near Luffy when he slept, flick Ace's ear with her tail if he got too smug, and once wrapped protectively around Sabo when he fell ill for a day.
Only Krishna, though, did she curl around at night—close, warm, silently watchful.
Makino had once brushed her hand over Sheshika's coils while she rested and said, "You're gentler than you look."
Sheshika responded with a soft thrum in the earth that made the mugs on the table shake.
Luffy and Ace? Absolute chaos. Every. Single. Morning.
Today, it was Luffy chasing a squirrel that had stolen his sandal.
"GIVE IT BACK, YOU THIEF!!" Luffy screamed, one foot bare, the other slapping unevenly against the dirt.
Ace didn't help. He laughed so hard he fell out of the hammock and landed squarely on Krishna's back.
"Oof—Ace," Krishna muttered, bracing with practiced reflex.
"Your spine is way too sturdy," Ace wheezed, clutching his ribs. "That's not fair."
"It's not my fault you forget gravity exists."
Sabo chuckled nearby, twirling a practice staff. "Careful, Ace. If you break Krishna, Dadan will break you."
They all froze.
Speak of the devil.
"WHAT DID I JUST HEAR?!" Dadan's voice rang through the hideout like divine punishment. "Are you idiots wrestling before I've even had tea?!"
She stormed out of the doorway, wearing a worn floral robe, sleep still clinging to her eyelids—and yet somehow, slipper already in hand, ready to throw at them with two hundred percent accuracy at the little shits disturbing her morning.
"IT'S BARELY SUNRISE! YOU—FOUR—ARE—DRIVING—ME—MAD!!"
Krishna scrambled upright. "Sorry, Dadan!"
Luffy tripped over his own foot trying to salute.
Ace vanished behind a tree.
Sabo gave a peace sign and casually blended into the foliage like a seasoned spy.
Dadan glared at the empty space where the chaos had just been. "Tch. Damn kids."
But the moment she turned back inside, Krishna caught it—the way she sighed, then turned and placed four plates on the counter instead of one.
Later that night, he saw her again. Sewing by moonlight. One of Ace's shirts draped across her lap. His own sash next to it, carefully re-stitched. Her face was frowning, as usual, but her fingers were gentle.
Makino visited every Sunday.
She brought a basket filled with jam rolls, bandages, thread, and patience.
She'd check on each boy in turn—rebandaging Sabo's elbow, scolding Ace for not drinking enough water during training, pulling Luffy's shirt down properly, and fixing Krishna's shoulder strap without a word.
She arrived later that week, baskets of supplies tucked beneath each arm, smile radiant enough to bring the sun with her.
"Luffy!" she called out cheerfully.
"Makino!" Luffy practically tackled her into the dirt.
Krishna followed with a respectful bow. "Makino. Good to see you again."
"Oh, Krishna," she sighed, brushing dirt off his cheek, and pulling him into a small hug. "You've been training too much again, haven't you?"
Before he could respond, she adjusted his collar and tsk'd softly, like it was part of her ritual.
"You've lost weight."
"It's lean mass," Krishna mumbled, unsure how else to respond.
"I'll tell Sheshika to drag you away from training tomorrow."
Sheshika, curled nearby like a divine guardian disguised as a sleepy pet, flicked her tongue smugly.
Krishna smiled quietly. "She'll do it, too."
Makino turned with her usual grace—and smiled.
"Sheshika," she said, and the serpent visibly relaxed. She uncoiled just enough for Makino to reach forward and brush her scales, the motion slow and reverent. Sheshika tilted her head like a cat accepting attention.
Krishna watched in awe. "She doesn't let anyone but me…"
"She's protective," Makino said, still stroking her. "But not closed."
"She lets Makino brush her!" Luffy shouted from a tree branch. "She only lets ME ride her!"
"That's because you climb her like a wild monkey," Sabo muttered.
Makino brought more than food and affection. She handed Sabo a bundle of fresh parchment and a new inkwell. "For your maps," she said.
She made Ace drink two full canteens of water and scolded him about passing out during heat training.
"Hydration isn't weakness!" she snapped.
Ace grumbled. But he drank.
When she left, she paused beside Dadan on the porch.
"You hide it well," Makino said.
Dadan scoffed. "Hide what?"
"The fact that you love them."
Dadan nearly choked on her cigarette. "Tch. I let them live. That's enough love."
Makino smiled knowingly. "Sure it is."
Dadan had a special relationship with Sheshika. It had started with a frying pan.
When she first saw the enormous white-scaled serpent slither silently through her door behind Krishna, Dadan had shrieked, grabbed her weapon, and attempted a jumping slam.
Sheshika had blinked, wrapped her tail gently around the pan, and handed it back to her.
Makino had walked in right after, clapped a hand on Dadan's shoulder, and said, "If Krishna trusts her, so should you."
From then on, Sheshika was family. As long as she didn't steal meat from the pot.
Later that day, Garp stopped by.
He didn't say much—just sat by the door and chewed on a bone like he belonged there.
"Well," he muttered. "Looks like they're alive. Mostly."
"You're two days late," Dadan grumbled.
"I'm a busy man!"
"You fell asleep on a cannon again, didn't you?"
"...Shut up."
He left before anyone could ask more.
That night, Krishna sat beneath the stars with his back to a smooth stone, Garp's old Marine journal in his lap, with Sheshika at his side.
She spoke softly in his mind. "You feel settled."
"I do," he admitted.
"You feared this would not happen."
"I did." He looked toward the sleeping hut. "But they made space for me."
Medha's voice joined them from the HUD. "Emotional metrics stabilized. Neural calm achieved. Heart rate resonance: elevated. Diagnosis: bonded."
Krishna smiled. "You're learning to be sappy."
"I have only adapted to your mess."
"…Thanks."
He opened Shanks' journal and found a blank page.
He wrote slowly, letting each word settle before the next.
Maybe family isn't where you begin.
Maybe it's where you keep choosing to return.
To sit at the table. To take the second helping. To let someone fix your collar.
To be called "brat" by someone who'd kill for you.
If that's not home… I don't know what is.
He closed the book softly.
Somewhere behind him, Dadan yelled at Sabo for stealing her teacup again.
Luffy was laughing like a hyena.
Ace cursed as he crashed into the wall again.
Sheshika curled around his side with a content sigh.
And Krishna—
—for once in his life—
—felt full.
That morning, Garp had returned from a supply run—and immediately started snoring so loudly the birds took flight from the trees.
Sabo joked about filing a noise complaint.
Luffy tried to build a fort on his stomach.
Ace threw peanuts into his open mouth.
Krishna journaled in the corner, watching the chaos with a half-smile.
He didn't feel like an outsider anymore.
Luffy sprawled in Garp's lap like a puppy. Ace was flexing his shoulder, pretending he wasn't sore from their last spar. Sabo read by lamplight. Krishna was writing in his journal.
Before he left, Garp ruffled Luffy's hair and muttered, "This brat was born on May 5. That's his birthday."
Everyone blinked.
Luffy looked up. "I was born? Wait, wait—does that mean I have a birthday?!"
Luffy looked personally betrayed. Like Garp had stolen candy from his mouth and replaced it with homework.
Garp, grinning like the devil himself, stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed.
"You were born, weren't ya?" he said. "May 5. Born loud, kicked the doctor, bit the nurse, cried so hard the building shook. Proud moment."
Luffy stared.
Then blinked.
"...I have a day? That's mine?!"
Krishna choked back a laugh. "Yes, Luffy. Everyone has one."
"No one told me!" Luffy flailed. "Why didn't you tell me before?!"
Sabo looked surprised. "You never celebrated it?"
Luffy shook his head. "Nope. Nobody told me when it was. I just thought I was always here."
Ace frowned. "That's messed up."
Krishna, quiet as always, closed his journal slowly.
Garp scratched his beard. "Didn't think it mattered. You didn't care about clothes or baths—why would you care about a birthday?"
Makino gasped like she'd been struck.
"You absolute fossil! How could you not tell him?!"
Dadan looked like she'd aged five years in ten seconds. "Oh, hell. You've started something."
"I'M GONNA HAVE A PARTY!!!" Luffy yelled at the sky.
"You haven't even had breakfast—"
"PARTY!!!"
Dadan scoffed from the kitchen. "Tch. I'm not baking a cake."
"You're absolutely baking a cake," Makino said sweetly.
"…You want a burnt mess of a thing?"
"Your burnt messes are delicious," Makino said.
"Tch."
It started with a snail call.
Garp was halfway through stuffing roasted boar into his mouth when his transponder snail started ringing, loudly and angrily.
He didn't even flinch—just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and picked up the receiver.
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, GARP?!"
The transponder snail's bulging eyes matched Sengoku's perfectly as it shouted across the room, echoing off the cabin walls. Garp calmly shoved another mouthful of roasted boar into his cheek and chewed as loudly as he could.
Krishna, Ace, Sabo, and Luffy all watched from across the room like it was theatre.
"Don't chew like a hog while I'm yelling!" Sengoku snapped. "You were supposed to be at Marine HQ yesterday! We have the entire upper command waiting!"
Garp leaned back, casually. "I told ya, I'm busy."
Sengoku's snail-face twitched. "Busy?! With what?"
Garp thumbed over his shoulder. "Family business. I'm with the kids."
Luffy tilted his head. "We're the business?"
"You don't look like paperwork," Sabo muttered.
"Speak for yourself," Krishna murmured, "I'm technically classified as a walking anomaly."
Sengoku's snail went silent for a beat.
Sengoku gritted his teeth. "What kind of business, Garp? We need you at Marineford! So get you ass back here now!"
Garp shrugged. "Can't. Luffy's birthday's in two days."
The snail blinked. "...What?"
Even Sengoku froze.
"…You're skipping headquarters for a kid's birthday?!"
Garp folded his arms. "It's not just a kid. He's my grandson."
"AND YOU'VE GOT THREE OTHERS UNDER THAT ROOF!"
At that moment, the boys unleashed their most dangerous weapon.
The synchronized puppy eyes.
Four sets of enormous puppy eyes locked onto the snail.
Sabo's were the most controlled—subtle, refined, and with terrifying innocence.
Krishna activated a soft golden glow in his irises, and added a touch of shimmering innocence with just enough wide-eyed humility.
Ace tilted his head like a tiger cub pretending to be sorry.
Luffy, of course, looked like someone had stolen his last piece of meat.
Sengoku's snail actually flinched.
Garp looked proud. "See? Look at those faces. How can you say no?"
Sengoku looked seconds away from retiring early. Then, after a long sigh…
"…Fine," he grunted. "Three days. No more."
"Ha! I knew you had a heart under that chicken hat."
Sengoku's snail twitched. "Happy birthday in advance, Luffy."
"Thanks, Grampa Snail!"
Krishna leaned in just enough for the snail to hear.
"Oh, Admiral Sengoku, before you go—just so you're aware—Garp's been leaking marine combat techniques to a group of six-year-olds."
Sengoku froze.
"WHAT?!"
"We can use Soru," Sabo added with a grin.
"Also Kami-e," Ace added helpfully.
"I'm gonna be Pirate King!" Luffy shouted.
"And I'm not joining the Marines," Sabo said, grinning.
Sengoku turned to Garp's snail with pure horror.
Garp's eyes bulged. "KRISHNA, YOU BRAT—!"
"Call's breaking up!" Krishna yelled, slamming the receiver closed.
The room exploded with laughter.
Makino walked in just in time to see three boys rolling on the floor while Garp chased Krishna around with a sandal, and Garp eventually joining in the laughter.
"What did you do now?" she asked calmly.
"Character development," Krishna called over his shoulder.
"Brat!"
Preparations began before dawn the next day.
Makino and Dadan took command.
Dadan claimed she didn't care. Claimed she wouldn't lift a finger. Then immediately marched into town with Makino to get eggs, flour, and something she muttered was "probably not expired."
Dadan grumbled the entire time—but still pulled out the new bag of flour and a dented mixing bowl from some hidden drawer like it was sacred relic.
Makino brought supplies—balloons, candies, old streamers that still shimmered.
Krishna hand-painted a cloth banner reading "Happy Birthday, Future Pirate King." It took him three hours because Luffy insisted on helping, then spilled red paint across the floor.
Sabo carefully strung them across the support beams like an artist sculpting a masterpiece of chaos.
Ace was tasked with keeping Luffy out of the kitchen. This mostly involved bodily dragging him away from the frosting and taking at least three punches to the stomach.
"Lemme lick the spoon!" Luffy screamed.
"You'll eat the whole thing!"
"I won't! …Okay maybe I will BUT—"
"No!"
Meanwhile, Krishna stood off to the side, carefully painting a long strip of rough cloth, out of reach from Luffy.
Each stroke was patient, deliberate. In the middle, in bold red letters:
FUTURE PIRATE KING
The banner wasn't perfect—some strokes bled into the cloth, the "U" in "FUTURE" looked more like a sideways fish—but it was made with intent. And that made it shine.
Medha hummed softly in his mind. "A primitive social ritual of affection. Crude. Inefficient. Absolutely endearing."
He smiled to himself.
And after a while, Ace and Sabo made party hats from old newspaper and broken beer caps. Luffy wore his upside down and declared himself Captain Birthday.
Makino brought a bundle of small gifts—one for each boy.
"It's his birthday," she said, "but family means no one gets left out."
Even Sheshika wore a small garland around her coils.
The cake Dadan eventually made was lopsided, partially burnt, and leaned sideways like it was trying to escape.
Dadan placed it on the table with the resigned grace of someone offering up their pride for execution.
The boys stared at it.
"It's… beautiful," Krishna said diplomatically.
Ace nodded, though he muttered, "It looks like it lost a fight with a volcano."
Luffy didn't care. His eyes were glowing. He looked at the cake like it was a sacred treasure.
"You made this for me?" he asked, looking up at Dadan.
"It's awful," she said.
"It's perfect," Luffy beamed.
She clicked her tongue, crossed her arms, and said, "Shut up and eat it before I change my mind."
He beamed. "You're the best!!"
Krishna handed over the banner. "Hang this behind you."
Luffy gasped.
"You made this?! It's got my name on it!!"
"It… doesn't," Krishna said. "But yes."
"It's not perfect," He added, awkwardly scratching his neck.
"It's awesome!" Luffy jumped up and hugged him around the waist.
Krishna nearly stumbled. "You're welcome, Captain Birthday."
Sabo lit the candles. Krishna had carved them himself—haphazard numbers that barely stood upright. 6.
Garp watched from the porch, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Ace almost dropped the cake. Caught it at the last second. Laughed like a lunatic.
Makino clapped once. "Okay! Everyone ready?"
Then she whispered, "Let's sing."
They all groaned.
Luffy inhaled.
Then screamed, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEE—!!!"
Dadan groaned and covered her ears. "That's not how it works!"
They ate until their stomachs ached.
The cake was… not great. But no one said a word about that.
Makino handed out sweets in little cloth wraps. One for each of them.
Ace got spicy cinnamon drops. Sabo, mint chews. Krishna unwrapped a single dark chocolate square—his favorite.
Luffy's was a swirl candy that turned his tongue blue for the next three hours.
"It tastes like adventure," Luffy said, drooling.
"You taste like dye," Ace said.
"I am dye!"
"That's not—"
"Dye of the Sea!! Pirate Luffy!!"
"PLEASE STOP TALKING."
As the sun dipped lower, the boys collapsed into the grass in a pile of sugar and laughter.
Garp sniffed once and then loudly pretended it was just smoke from the fire.
Krishna lay with his arms behind his head, watching the sky blur from gold to pink.
He was laughing.
Not the careful kind.
Not the composed chuckle or thoughtful hum.
He laughed loudly, freely—like a boy who had forgotten his burdens for just one day.
Luffy leaned into his side.
"Krishna?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for the banner."
"You're welcome."
"And the chocolate."
"You're very welcome."
"…You think I really can be Pirate King?"
Krishna turned to look at him.
His little brother. The rubber boy with the soul of a storm and the attention span of a spoon.
He smiled.
"You already are, Luffy. You just haven't caught up yet."
Krishna sat back on the porch, journal in hand.
He didn't write anything this time.
He just looked.
Luffy was wrestling with Sheshika and losing.
Ace and Sabo were arguing over who cheated during the last game of tag.
And a distance away from him, Dadan watched them. A cigarette hung from her lips, forgotten.
Makino stood beside her, her expression unreadable.
"They're getting big," Dadan said finally.
Makino nodded. "Too fast."
Dadan chewed her lip. "That brat—he's not supposed to make me feel like this."
"Welcome to motherhood," Makino whispered.
Dadan let out a long sigh.
"…I hate it."
Makino just smiled and passed her another slice of cake.
Krishna let it all sink in like sun on skin.
"Sometimes joy doesn't roar," he thought.
"Sometimes, it's just sitting near a fire… and realizing no one is going anywhere."
The next morning, after the birthday chaos faded and the jungle air settled into its usual misty hush, the boys gathered around the fire pit again—minus the cake and caps, but still full from last night's joy.
Ace sat off to the side, poking the embers with a stick.
Sabo was trimming a makeshift wooden dagger. Luffy was balancing a cup of leftover meat juice on his head for "training." Krishna was journaling beside Sheshika, who had curled around him like a lazy guardian scarf.
"Ace," Sabo said casually, "you gonna say it or just stare at the ashes all morning?"
Ace didn't look up. "Say what?"
"You've been fidgeting for an hour," Krishna added.
"I'm not fidgeting," Ace muttered.
Luffy, perfectly helpful as always, grinned. "He's trying to thank Makino."
Ace froze.
Sabo grinned wide. Krishna closed his journal, already invested.
It started with a grunt.
"Ace?" Makino tilted her head. "Did you say something?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"…Yes."
Krishna glanced sideways. Ace was clutching something in both fists—a crumpled cloth napkin, folded and unfolded at least a dozen times in the last few minutes. The fire had burned low. Dinner was done. Luffy had eaten until he fell asleep with crumbs on his nose.
Sabo nudged Ace with his foot. "You're gonna rip that thing in half."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not!"
"You're—"
"I'M—!" Ace snapped, then stopped. Gritted his teeth. Stared at the fire like it had personally wronged him. Then, in a voice just slightly louder than a whisper:
"…How do you say thank you?"
The question dropped like a stone into still water.
Makino blinked. "To who?"
"To—!" Ace waved vaguely. "You know. For all of this. You and Dadan. And… just…"
He trailed off. Voice fraying at the edges.
Krishna didn't move. He'd seen this moment coming—knew it from the way Ace looked at the birthday banner, at the clumsy cake, at Luffy laughing in his sleep.
This wasn't about manners.
This was about meaning.
Krishna whispered, "Brace for impact."
Ace stood, cleared his throat, and spoke to Makino like a soldier giving a half-forgotten report.
"I appreciate your—uh—womanly… care and… food items."
Makino blinked.
Sabo snorted.
Luffy burst into laughter. "WHAT KIND OF THANK YOU IS THAT?!"
Krishna leaned forward. "Food items, huh?"
Sheshika hiss-laughed in his head.
Ace turned red. "I'm TRYING, okay?!"
Makino smiled gently and walked over, placing a hand on Ace's shoulder.
She smiled gently. "You say it the way that feels right. Doesn't have to be pretty."
Ace nodded solemnly.
Then stood.
Turned.
Marched five steps toward Makino.
Paused.
Looked like he was about to explode.
Then blurted: "THANKS, LADY!"
Sabo fell over laughing.
Krishna coughed into his hand, trying not to choke.
Luffy, half-asleep, bolted upright and shouted, "THANK YOU FOR THE MEAT!"
Ace turned bright red. "I HATE ALL OF YOU!!"
Makino couldn't stop laughing. "Ace, that was perfect."
"No, it wasn't!! It was dumb and weird and I hate feelings!"
"Too bad. I accept."
She opened her arms.
Ace hesitated.
Then, like a boulder giving up the fight, stepped into the hug.
It lasted longer than anyone expected.
Even Sabo sobered a little.
Later, when the fire was just crackles and glowing embers, Krishna found himself thinking of a different moment—one burned into memory like warmth into cloth.
It had been the first week Ace and Sabo came to the Dadan hideout.
Luffy had already claimed Krishna as his "big brother," and had decided Sabo was his "noble brother" and Ace his "spicy brother." Krishna wasn't sure what that made him. "Weird brother," maybe.
It was raining hard that day. Makino had arrived with extra blankets, food, and something else—something that would stick in Krishna's mind forever.
Flashback: Three Years Ago
The rain had turned the dirt path into slush. Sabo's clothes were soaked through, his thin scarf clinging to his neck. Ace looked like a cornered cat—arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Makino stepped inside the hideout like sunshine through a storm.
"Dadan, I brought some clean clothes for the new boys!"
"I didn't ask for—"
"They're not for you, Dadan."
She pulled out two sets—plain, patched shirts and pants, but warm and dry.
Sabo accepted his immediately. "Thank you very much, ma'am."
Makino ruffled his hair. "You're welcome, sweetheart."
Then she turned to Ace.
Held out the bundle.
He didn't move.
Krishna remembered the silence. Long. Uncomfortable.
"Ace?" Makino said softly.
"I don't need them," he muttered. "I'm fine."
"You're freezing."
"I'm fine."
"…Okay."
Makino didn't push.
But she stepped closer. Draped the shirt over his arm. Tucked the pants beside it.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I wasn't gonna."
"That's okay too."
Then she smiled at him—really smiled—and reached out to brush a piece of wet hair from his face.
"You're a tough one," she said. "But tough boys still need warmth. Even if they don't ask for it. And you're also very cute." she finished with a smile.
Ace blushed.
"I AM NOT CUTE!"
Krishna, Sabo, and Luffy all said it at once:
"You're so cute."
Ace's shoulders relaxed slightly, and turned to face Makino. "…Thanks."
Makino nodded, brushing his hair back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You're welcome, sweetheart."
Ace blushed again, more crimson than before, his entire body red.
Krishna, Sabo, and Luffy all gasped in unison.
"Oh my god, he's blushing!" Sabo pointed.
"ACE IS BLUSHING!" Luffy shouted.
"Confirmed visual!" Krishna added, mock-serious. "Prepare for teasing."
"I WILL END YOU ALL!" Ace roared, chasing them with a frying pan he borrowed from Dadan's porch.
Later, as the sun climbed higher, Krishna sat with his arms resting on his knees, looking at the same boy who once flinched from warmth now seeking it, confused by it, grateful for it.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
Somewhere inside, the words had already written themselves.
I used to wonder if I belonged here.
Now I fear ever losing it.
From the far end of the camp, Dadan watched the fire.
She didn't say anything either.
But when Ace turned to head inside, she passed him a fresh blanket without a word.
He didn't say thank you.
Not out loud.
But he wore it all night.
Back in the present, Krishna watched as Ace wrestled Sabo into a headlock, Luffy tried to climb Sheshika like a jungle gym, and Makino just sipped her tea, unfazed.
He smiled to himself.
"I used to wonder if I belonged here," he thought.
"Now I'm scared of what it'd feel like to lose this."
The Colubo Mountains weren't silent—not even at dawn.
It began the morning after Luffy's birthday—when the sugar high had faded, but the warmth remained.
Krishna woke with the quiet breath of dawn brushing against his cheek. Sheshika was coiled protectively at the foot of the hill, her breath slow and soft, her head twitching occasionally in what could only be described as serpentine dreaming. Nearby, the ASL boys lay tangled together like wolves in the same den—Ace with his arm thrown across Sabo's face, Luffy drooling into Sabo's scarf, and Sabo too dignified to complain out loud.
Krishna didn't wake them.
He moved quietly, rolled his joints one by one, and walked into the still woods.
It was time.
His daily routine was grueling by design.
Anantadeha Mārga (Path of the Infinite Body) came first—unarmed combat katas that fused low sweeps with shoulder rolls, elbow strikes with spinning lunges. His body bent and flowed like it had joints beyond the human range—an illusion crafted through micro-corrections Medha fed him in real time.
Every movement had a function.
Every function trained the nervous system and breath cycle to mirror something greater than muscle.
Then came Padanyāsa Vidhi (Discipline of Sacred Steps)—his footwork training. Shifting balance through uneven terrain, keeping his body aligned as he danced across slick stones and sloping roots. Sometimes, he walked blindfolded, guided only by Medha's rhythmic pulses.
"Footwork is prediction," she would say. "But true rhythm is reaction."
Then came the stillness of fire.
Kāya Kalpa Sūtra (Scripture of Eternal Body Refinement) demanded not movement, but control—dynamic stillness where his body pulsed under stress.
He would hold horse stance under freezing waterfall surges while Medha stimulated his muscular structure with mild shocks based on Shanks, Ace, and Garp's physical data.
"Blood samples teach you nothing if your body doesn't know how to listen," Medha whispered one morning.
And Krishna agreed.
He didn't seek to copy the legends.
He trained to deserve what they had become.
His swordwork came last.
Asi Kriyā (Divine Sword Ritual) could not be trained through repetition. The divine blade Asi would only awaken when Dharma demanded it.
Still, he trained sword forms with a weighted wooden blade carved to the dimensions of Asi's dormant shape.
He danced through advanced katas that mimicked no existing school—based on temple diagrams in his system archive and Medha's overlay simulations of how a divine weapon should behave in motion.
Every swing carved understanding into the wind.
Every missed beat was a meditation.
"This path will bloom only in battle," he murmured. "But roots can still grow in the dark."
Meanwhile, the ASL trio evolved beside him.
Ace, always raw power and heat, trained with Krishna to control the emotional spikes that disrupted his combat rhythm. He carried small stones in his hands, forced to maintain delicate balance while sprinting through dense thickets—one drop meant restarting.
He was fire in human skin. Every strike was ferocious—but Krishna had started forcing him to train in silence.
"Power's only useful if you can hear your own heart," Krishna said one afternoon.
Ace hadn't answered.
But since then, he punched quieter.
Sabo, ever the tactician, trained on uneven terrain with weighted packs, blindfolded sparring, and unpredictable noise cues. He learned to react without thought.
He was grace under pressure. He challenged Krishna with sudden jabs, tactical misdirection, and feints that forced Krishna to adapt his rhythm. His adaptability was only rivaled by his natural curiosity.
Sabo asked more questions than Medha's analysis logs.
"Why do you pivot there?"
"How did you know I'd go left?"
"What would you do if I ducked instead?"
Krishna answered them all.
He respected that kind of mind.
Luffy was stamina incarnate. Every day he trained in stretching endurance—both physically and through rubberized control. His task? To leap across a five-meter gap, again and again, until he could stick the landing with precision. His devil fruit control was still infantile, but he had more stamina than Ace and Sabo combined.
None of them were told they were training for Haki.
Not yet.
Rokushiki wasn't mentioned by name, not even once.
They only knew them as "Grandpa's tricks."
And they were getting better at them.
Even if Krishna still lapped them in speed and finesse, the others were catching up. Slowly. Earnestly.
Medha's combat simulator had evolved.
She now adjusted her simulation feedback based on Krishna's strategy changes in real-time, offering resistance that adapted mid-sequence.
"Combat," she said, "is conversation. And you've only just begun to speak fluently."
Sometimes, Krishna let the others spar with the projections, secretly logging their reflex timings, pain thresholds, and adaptive intelligence.
"You're not training them," Medha noted once. "You're preparing alongside them."
He didn't answer.
But she understood.
One night, they all sat around the fire, bruised and exhausted. Sheshika coiled lazily around the log where Krishna leaned back. Makino had left a meal earlier, and Dadan had grumbled something about "saving them from starvation."
Krishna stared into the flames and whispered, "They're not just my friends anymore."
Medha's voice was quiet. Almost reverent.
"Confirmed. Neural alignment, soul harmonic, and emotional resonance suggest—family."
Sheshika nudged his shoulder with her snout.
He scratched her jaw and said nothing.
He didn't need to.
One afternoon, Ace sat cross-legged in front of Makino, arms folded, a scowl tugging at his mouth.
"Alright," she said gently. "Let's begin. We'll keep practicing your greetings."
Ace groaned. "Fine, fine. Let me try—'Yo, nice to meet ya!'"
Makino blinked. "That's… no. That's not quite it. You say, 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'"
Luffy nodded vigorously. "But I think it sounded kinda cool, right?"
Makino sighed. "Ace started this because he wants to properly greet the red-haired captain who helped Luffy. He said—" she smiled, "—he wants to show respect like a man."
Ace blushed and barked, "Don't repeat that!!"
Krishna chuckled nearby, sketching sword forms on parchment. Sabo smirked. "Come on, Ace. Let's hear it."
Ace stood tall. Cleared his throat. Tried again.
"I'm Ace. You bastard—uh, I mean… who are you?"
Makino slapped her forehead.
"That's not it either!"
Sabo burst out laughing.
Ace, mock-serious, doubled down. "Who the hell are you?! Who the heck is that guy?! WHO'S THAT OVER THERE?!"
Makino sighed. "You were doing fine when you were serious. But now you're just messing around because Luffy's talking nonsense beside you."
Makino turned slowly to Luffy. "Stop encouraging him."
"I didn't say anything!"
"You're thinking nonsense and it's leaking out!"
"Hey, I wasn't—!" Luffy protested. "Oh! Ace! Yesterday I found this huge snake nest full of giant eggs! Wanna go get 'em now?!"
Ace's eyes lit up. "Giant eggs?!"
"NO!" Makino said sharply. "We are studying greetings today. You're not going anywhere."
Ace grumbled, but he sat back down.
Later, Ace sat beside the fire, quiet for once.
"…When I meet him," he murmured, "I wanna say it properly."
Makino turned to him, smile gentle as ever.
"You just did," she whispered.
And Krishna?
He watched it all—the bickering, the teasing, the struggle, the progress.
He smiled and whispered into the journal Shanks had left him:
"Legends aren't born. They're bullied, baked, and burned until they shine."
The forest felt different at night.
Still, but not quiet. The kind of stillness that held its breath.
Crickets sang between the trees, owls blinked in the canopy, and the moon poured down light like silent silver.
Krishna stirred in his sleep.
So did Sheshika, head flicking upright like a drawn bow.
"Threat vector detected," Medha whispered inside his mind.
He sat up instantly.
"Source?"
"South quadrant. Eight… no, ten lifeforms. Moving fast."
At the same time, a shout rang out from below the hill.
"BOYS!"
Dadan's voice. Urgent.
Then a scream.
Sheshika's head snapped up. Krishna was already moving.
They came out of the Grey Terminal—filthy men with jagged blades and crooked smiles, bandits hardened by fire and poverty.
They weren't after money.
They were after reputation.
Robbing Garp's grandkid? Harming the rubber brat from Foosha? Breaking the bandit king's stronghold?
It would make them someone.
Unfortunately, that night, they came across four someones who weren't interested in being stepped on.
Sabo barreled out of the woods first. "Bandits—from Grey Terminal! Five or six. Armed. Looking for trouble."
"What?" Ace growled. "They came here?"
"Luffy was tailing a rabbit. They caught him—"
That was all Ace needed to hear. He shot off like a bolt of rage, Krishna and Sabo behind him.
They reached the clearing fast.
The clearing burst into chaos.
Luffy took a bottle to the face and went down with a yelp—rubbery limbs flailing as one of the thugs laughed and lit a torch.
The man sneered. "What's a brat doing alone in the woods? Let's see if rubber burns, huh?"
The flame surged.
Luffy screamed.
That's when the air cracked.
There was no warning.
No scream. No roar.
Ace's world split.
Something in his chest tore sideways.
Just an invisible pressure that slammed into the clearing like a divine hammer.
The torch extinguished instantly.
The torch didn't land.
The thug didn't laugh again.
He hit the ground like a sack of stone—unconscious before he dropped.
So did another. And another.
The bandits dropped—all of them—unconscious, eyes wide, foam bubbling at the mouths.
The entire clearing pulsed.
Krishna, arriving just in time, felt it—like gravity reversed itself.
Ace stood in the center, breath ragged, fists clenched, and Conqueror's Haki bursting like a wildfire.
Sabo fell to one knee, gasping.
Luffy stared at his brother with wide, shaking eyes.
Only Ace stood. Barely.
"Ace…" Krishna said, voice low, calm. "You okay?"
Ace didn't answer.
He just stared at his hands.
"…I didn't mean to."
Krishna stepped toward him slowly.
Ace's eyes darted up.
"Don't."
"Ace—"
"Don't come closer!"
His hands shook. His breath stuttered. His body trembled like it had seen something it never wanted to be.
Krishna stopped where he was.
Ace's voice cracked.
"What if I really am like him?"
The silence that followed hurt more than the question.
Krishna didn't speak right away.
He just walked forward—slowly, steadily—and sat down next to the boy shaking under the weight of a legacy he never asked for.
He looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on the embers of the fire.
Then he said,
"When I was small, I thought pain made people stronger. That breaking over and over again was the only way to become something."
Ace didn't look at him.
Krishna went on.
"But some pain doesn't make you stronger. It just makes you afraid of yourself."
Ace's breath hitched.
Luffy crawled forward, rubbing his cheek with one arm.
"You're not scary," he said softly.
Sabo sat down on Ace's other side. "You're dumb. But you're not him."
Ace choked on a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
Krishna's voice was steady.
"You're fire, Ace. But fire doesn't have to destroy. It can warm, too."
Ace buried his face in his knees.
"I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
"You didn't."
"But I could have—!"
Krishna gently rested a hand on his back.
"Then learn to control it. That's what we're doing here, isn't it?"
"And I know this," Krishna continued. "Fire isn't the problem. It's when you don't have anyone to share the heat with."
Ace blinked.
"I'm here. So's Sabo. So's Luffy. Even Dadan. Even Makino. You don't have to be him. You don't even have to try. You just have to be…"
He paused, then added with a tiny smile.
"…our idiot friend."
Ace snorted. "You're the idiot."
Luffy tackled him with a hug from the side. "You're my favorite firework!"
Sabo clapped his back. "We're with you, even when you combust."
Krishna laughed softly. "You can be fire. Just don't burn alone."
Sheshika arrived moments later, her coils sliding over downed bandits like rivers over rock.
Makino ran behind her with gauze and balm, but stopped at the sight.
Ten grown men unconscious. The four boys sitting quietly in the middle of it all.
And Ace—arms curled around himself, tears still drying on his cheeks.
She didn't say anything.
She just walked forward, gently took his hand, and began to clean the blood from his knuckles.
Back at the cabin, after the mess had been cleaned up and the bandits were tied like sausages and left for the local authorities, Dadan sat on the porch smoking a long pipe.
Makino sat beside her.
"He awakened it," Makino said.
"Yeah. I saw."
"You worried?"
"No." Dadan exhaled. "He's got too many people who'll punch him if he goes off the rails."
"Like you?"
"I'll kick him," Dadan corrected. "There's a difference."
Makino smiled. "It's nice, isn't it? Watching them become themselves."
Inside, the boys had collapsed in a pile near the hearth, exhausted.
Krishna watched Ace sleep—still curled up like he had something to defend, even in dreams.
Medha whispered:
"Conqueror's Haki signature logged. Will resonance: volatile but stable. Potential class: Celestial-tier."
"Like Roger?" Krishna asked mentally.
"Unconfirmed. But close. Very close."
Krishna shut his eyes.
"Then we protect that fire. Whatever it becomes."
Krishna wrote quietly in his journal.
Medha, for once, didn't interrupt.
The ink dried slowly, shimmering under the low flame.
"Power without control is fear. But control without love is emptiness. Tonight, Ace broke—but not apart. He broke open. And from there… we grow."
He closed the journal softly and looked up at the ceiling.
The shadows danced.
And one by one, the stars came out.
Garp was a man forged in war, tempered by loss, and polished by decades of absurdity.
He had faced monsters with teeth like towers. Pirates with ambitions wider than oceans. Bureaucrats with brains like dried fish cakes.
He had seen Devil Fruits bend reality.
He had seen his son nearly tear the world apart.
And yet…
As he watched Krishna move that morning—arms bare, breath steady, clothes soaked in dew and effort—something twisted low in his gut.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something older than that.
A whisper that said: "This boy is going to break something—maybe everything."
Krishna stood in the glade, performing the eighth kata of Anantadeha Mārga. His limbs moved like lines of calligraphy. His feet made no sound.
Then, without pause, he shifted into a grounded stance and began walking Padanyāsa Vidhi patterns—stepping across a grid only he could see, angles precise, like solving geometry with his bones.
Garp watched from a tree stump, chewing on a stick of jerky.
"…He's improved."
Makino, seated beside him, offered a small smile. "That's one way to put it."
Garp didn't reply. His eyes were locked on the boy. And when Krishna finally paused, he was sweating but not winded. His aura was… centered.
Like gravity answered to him, not the other way around.
"That boy," Garp muttered, "has all three Haki types already… and two Rokushiki techniques. At six."
Makino's expression didn't change. "You sound worried."
"I am."
He folded his arms.
"I'm worried because I don't know what the world will look like when he finishes growing."
Makino tilted her head. "You mean if."
Garp snorted. "No. I don't."
Meanwhile, inside Krishna's mindscape, Medha had begun her own analysis.
"Final stage of biological integration: complete," she whispered. "Feedback loop with Shanks and Garp stabilized. Secondary loop linking Ace and Luffy now adapting to projected Conqueror's Haki fluctuations."
Sheshika, wrapped loosely around a boulder nearby, tilted her head. "And what of the simulations?"
"Updating now."
A brief silence.
Then Medha's voice deepened. Not serious—reverent.
"New classification: Unyielding Fist – Myth-Class Template."
"Danger tier: Red."
"Probability of surpassing all known baseline limits within ten years: 81%."
Sheshika hissed low. "And the cost?"
"Unknown."
Krishna, finishing his sequence, sat cross-legged in the clearing and let the energy settle.
He was getting faster now—processing data in real time, letting Medha run subconscious stimulations in the background while he trained his conscious body.
Today, he had sparred with three simulations at once—Shanks, Sabo, and Garp—each one adapting dynamically to his attacks.
He lost.
But the gap was shrinking.
"Your Sovereign Will held for 4.2 seconds longer today," Medha noted. "And your Armament Flow now spreads evenly across your forearms without conscious prompting."
Krishna exhaled. "What about Observation?"
"Fifty-meter radius still stable. Emotional feedback signatures clearer than ever. You're sensing emotional nuance in combat."
Krishna wiped sweat from his brow.
"Then we push it further."
Later that night, Garp joined Krishna by the fire.
They didn't speak at first.
Then Garp said, "So. You want to learn another 'Grandpa Trick,' huh?"
Krishna nodded.
Garp looked into the flames. "I've shown you Soru. You've mastered Kami-e… faster than any brat has a right to."
He squinted at the boy. "But you're not a Marine."
Krishna's lips twitched. "Yet."
"You planning on becoming one?"
"I'm planning on walking my path. If that crosses with yours, I'll salute."
Garp laughed. "Cheeky."
Then he leaned closer.
"Let me show you Tekkai. But know this—it's not just hardening. It's belief in your unbreakability. That nothing gets through. Not fists. Not fear. Not doubt."
Krishna closed his eyes.
"Then teach me to be still."
Elsewhere, Medha's logs updated again.
"Emotional resilience threshold increasing. Mental fortitude locked to adaptive stress response."
She paused.
"Krishna… you know what this means, don't you?"
He nodded.
"I'm no longer mimicking legends. I'm building the path beyond them."
Before sleep, Krishna opened Garp's worn journal—the one he'd gifted him weeks ago.
He began to write.
"He fears me, I think. Not for what I am. But for what I might become.
He sees a legacy, wrapped in silence and ambition. But I don't want to be a legacy.
I want to be the first of something. The bridge.
Between what the world was…
And what it could be."
He closed the journal.
Outside, Garp stood guard under the stars.
Not because he had to.
But because he wanted to.
And perhaps… because he needed to believe the world could still hold boys like these.
That night, Krishna didn't dream of gods, demons, or destinies.
He dreamt of laughter echoing in the hills. Of firelight dancing in tired eyes. Of a world that didn't just demand strength…
…but invited it to protect something.
Author's Note:
Yo, divine degenerates and dharmic dreamers!
This chapter burned through me. Not because it was flashy—but because it was honest.
We saw Ace break—not because he was weak, but because he was strong enough to feel fear and still stand beside his brothers.
We watched Krishna not just grow stronger—but scarier. Because true growth? It's not about power-ups or cheat codes. It's about consequence. About someone like Garp—a living legend—finally pausing, blinking, and whispering:
"What are you becoming?"
This chapter laid bare what this story is becoming, too:
A tale not of overpowered wish fulfillment—
But of painful, deliberate evolution.
Of legends still in their bruised, awkward, beautiful beginnings.
If you felt the heat from this one—drop a review, whisper "I see the spark," or just toss a virtual sake cup my way.
Next chapter: we go deeper.
The mountain's not done burning yet.
—Author out.
(Sheshika now demands weekly Makino brushing. This is canon.)