The mountain hadn't changed.
The trees of Mt. Hakobe didn't move when the boys returned. They simply acknowledged.
The sun caught their shadows first—longer than before. Heavier. Carved.
But the boys who returned to it no longer walked — they resonated.
Ace stepped out of the brush first, a low grunt in his throat. "Place still smells like pine sap and regret."
Sabo emerged second, lifting a branch. "Regret or Luffy's sweat?"
"That's nature, idiot," Sabo said, brushing a leaf off his shoulder. "And Luffy doesn't sweat — he leaks enthusiasm."
"Which is worse," Ace growled.
"I HEARD THAT!" came Luffy's joyful screech as he stumbled through the undergrowth, somehow already covered in leaves, twigs, and what looked like fish scales.
"Where'd you even find water?" Ace asked.
"Found a puddle. Wrestled a frog. I lost. We're friends now," Luffy grinned.
Sabo blinked. "That checks out."
Dadan's hideout loomed ahead — crooked roof, stubborn walls, and smoke curling from the chimney like the house itself had been waiting.
Still… they were home.
Makino stood in the doorway, hand frozen over her chest.
Dadan was behind her, arms crossed and lip twitching.
"You idiots better not have grown taller than me."
Ace grinned. "Too late."
And just like that — they ran.
Makino sobbed openly now, rushing forward. "You all look like warriors—what have they done to my little boys!?"
"We ARE warriors!" Luffy declared, pouncing into her arms.
Dadan stood motionless as Sabo stepped up.
"Still smoke those cheap cigars?" he said.
She flicked his forehead hard. "Still smug, huh?"
Ace offered a hand.
She pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Dumbass."
Ace yelled "Idiot!" at everyone while hugging them. Luffy clung to all of them at once. Sabo smiled so wide it hurt.
That night, the fire crackled like it remembered their voices.
Logs hissed with the heat of welcome.
"I still can't believe you fell off a cliff trying to Geppo up a tree," Sabo laughed.
Ace pointed a bone at him. "You said I could!"
"I said you might be able to," Sabo smirked. "Luffy was the one who said you'd fly."
"I BELIEVED IN YOU!" Luffy roared, then choked on a yam.
They laughed harder.
Ace leaned back, resting one boot on the stump, flicking a toothpick between his fingers. "You guys remember when Luffy tried to combine Soru with Gomu Gomu no Rocket?"
Luffy stood. "Hey! It almost worked!"
"You broke three trees," Sabo added.
"I hit that bear so hard, it thought it was a deer!" Luffy argued.
Sabo smirked. "That's… not how biology works."
Ace chuckled. "Remember your first successful Tekkai, Sabo? You froze up so hard, you couldn't unfreeze for ten minutes."
Sabo rolled his eyes. "At least I didn't scream 'Gomu Gomu no Panic' and fall into a river."
"I BELIEVED IN THAT MOVE!"
They laughed, again, until their ribs ached.
But one of them stood in silence, just outside the fire's reach.
Krishna watched them—his brothers. The flame's warmth on their skin. Their jokes, their scars, their rhythm.
He smiled. But it didn't quite reach his chest.
Because as the fire warmed the others, something else stirred within him — a hum, a pull, a breath that didn't match theirs.
It should have drawn him in.
Instead, it pressed gently against something just out of reach.
So he turned away. Let the firelight fall behind him.
And walked.
Quietly.
The forest was older than even Garp's temper, filled with the same silence that raised them, alive with the same breath it had always carried—thick with memory. Each step cracked a leaf, stirred a scent, bent a memory. The world parted for him like a curtain. Even the birds stopped chirping.
Krishna walked until the fire's laughter faded.
He let the solitude wrap around him.
And the memories began to unspool—
Ace, screaming with bloodied fists, "Again! I can take it!"
Sabo, tracing wind patterns blindfolded, whispering the steps of Kami-e.
Luffy, soaked and shivering after surviving 30 seconds in seawater, "I did it! I only passed out a little bit!"
And Krishna?
Krishna, alone before dawn, balancing a waterfall on his shoulders, listening to his blood shift under his own command, meditating in ice, bleeding into rivers, tracing divine paths through pain and peace.
He didn't envy their paths.
He remembered nights spent in silence — not because no one spoke, but because he couldn't answer.
He remembered watching them grow.
But he remembered when he used to walk with them.
And wondering… if he'd left them behind.
A sound.
Not loud.
But full of ache.
He turned.
The sound came again — melodic, but hoarse. Ragged, strained.
He moved.
Down a sloped ridge, half-buried under thorned vines, lay something not born of this forest.
A peacock.
But not any ordinary creature.
Its feathers shimmered like a celestial tapestry. Sapphire, silver, amethyst, and deep emerald melted together in gradients only the divine could craft.
Its body was leaner than any he'd seen—smaller, but strangely regal.
One wing bent awkwardly. Blood matted the edge.
Its eyes—narrowed and furious—even in pain, refused to look away from him.
Something glowed faintly near its neck. Krishna narrowed his gaze.
And deep in its flesh, just above the spine—a shard of Seastone, humming with cruel intent.
Even as it bled, it radiated presence.
Not Conqueror's Haki. Not killing intent.
But something older.
A silent demand for dignity.
Krishna approached slowly.
Its eyes opened. Fierce. Refusing pity.
The peacock hissed softly. Its feathers rippled—faint threads of colored energy sparking at its tail before fizzling out in pain.
Even in agony, it glared at him like a god meeting another.
Krishna kneeled beside it. "You're not from here."
The bird did not answer — but it did not flee.
Then—he felt them.
Krishna stilled.
Five signatures. Moving fast. Haki partially masked. Controlled footsteps. Blade-ready stance. Cipher Pol. Not CP9 — not elite. But trained. Professional. Efficient. Watching.
Direction: North-northeast. Moving fast.
Eyes: Sweeping for movement.
They hadn't seen him yet.
But they were close.
Krishna's fingers brushed the peacock gently. "Stay still."
It didn't resist.
He didn't hesitate.
He scooped the bird into his arms — its body surprisingly light, its breath sharp and —
Flash.
He vanished.
The agents arrived seconds later.
Too late.
No prints. No rustling. No blood trail.
Nothing.
Only silence.
High in the trees, cloaked in the weave of Observation Haki, Krishna listened.
Their voices carried just enough.
"Where the hell did it go?"
The lead one swore under his breath. "It was here. I felt it."
Another hissed, "Don't raise your voice. If we're caught with no visual—"
"We can't report this."
"We have to. That peacock's supposed to be delivered before the Celestial Dragon's arrival."
"Still a month and a half away—plenty of time."
"Not for us. Goa Kingdom imported it illegally from the Grand Line. It's a gift. They want it to look legitimate when it's paraded."
"It keeps triggering its ability. That's how it escaped again."
"We were told to keep it contained until formal transfer. No hiccups. No headlines."
"Now it's loose. If word gets out—"
"If it's gone when the Celestial Dragon arrives, we're dead."
"This wasn't supposed to be our problem."
"The Goa nobles wanted insurance. We're it. Now we lost the damn thing?"
Krishna's eyes narrowed.
Celestial Dragon. In a month and a half.
He listened.
Eyes closed.
Face unreadable.
He memorized their faces. Their voices. The lie of their feet.
He said nothing.
Just faded.
He returned to Dadan's hideout just past midnight.
Everyone else was asleep, half-collapsed around the fire.
Ace snored like a dragon. Sabo had curled against a tree. Luffy mumbled something about meat gods in his dreams.
Krishna stepped softly, the divine peacock swaddled gently in his cloak.
It barely stirred now.
He laid the peacock gently under an open canopy, away from wind and moonlight.
It stirred once. Its wing twitched.
He made a shaded bed for it beneath the sloped awning, gathered herbs, stitched the wound cleanly.
He laid his hand gently over its wound, pulling the Seastone shard free with delicate pressure.
The peacock didn't resist. It did not cry.
It simply closed its eyes.
And let Krishna's hand rest lightly against its feathers.
Morning arrived on Mt. Hakobe not as a fanfare, but as a hush. Golden light filtered through the trees like memory passing through leaves.
Not in hurry. Not in silence.
But with the kind of light that remembered every scar earned under it.
Makino was the first to stir.
She stepped out from Dadan's hut, shawl wrapped over her shoulders, hair tied loosely.
And paused.
A few feet away, under the sloped canopy, nestled in a bed of dry leaves and wild herbs—
—was a creature unlike any her eyes had ever witnessed.
The peacock lay nestled under a shaded overhang, resting on a bed of herbs and carefully woven vines. Her body was delicate but lean, every feather a marvel — colors alive with strange gradients: sapphire veined with gold, silver blooming into emerald, and at the crown of her head, a flare of opal hue like moonlight on fresh rain.
Her chest rose and fell gently now, no longer strained.
Makino whispered, "What…?"
Behind her, Dadan muttered mid-yawn. "Another one of Luffy's wildlife experiments?"
"No. He's still asleep," Makino said. "Thank heaven."
Then Dadan saw it too.
Her voice sharpened. "What in the actual hell is that bird wearing?"
"Those are feathers, you fool."
"I know that! I meant—why does it look like a god's parade float?"
Sheshika slithered forward, low and still, her golden eyes narrowing.
She didn't coil to strike. She simply observed.
"…She isn't native to this forest," the serpent whispered. "She isn't even native to this age."
Makino looked to her, startled. "You know it?"
"No. But I recognize the aura."
'She's touched by divine resonance. But it's fractured.' Sheshika thought to herself.
Behind them, a faint glow began to radiate.
Krishna sat nearby, cross-legged, his palms hovering just over the peacock's side.
Faint red light shimmered from his skin — a soft pulse of controlled infrared waves, barely visible to the human eye but unmistakable to the senses.
The air shimmered faintly. The peacock's breathing grew steadier with every cycle.
Makino stepped forward, awestruck. "What are you doing?"
Krishna didn't open his eyes.
"Helping it heal. A little faster. That's all."
Medha's voice flickered in his mind like silent wind chimes.
"Pulse consistent. Healing acceleration optimal for non-fatal tissue trauma. Infrared pulse output: 22% of max efficiency."
"Energy cost remains excessive: 22% stamina drained every 5 minutes. Cellular activity within target tissue accelerated. Natural healing curve compressed by 36%."
"Energy drain on your stamina is severe. Technique highly inefficient. Do you wish to disengage?"
Krishna's reply was quiet.
"Not yet," Krishna replied. "Her pain is not inefficient. She breathes more evenly now."
"Technique is inefficient. You are not recovering."
"It's not about me."
"…Logged. Divine Path auxiliary technique recognized under Kāya Kalpa Sūtra — Scripture of the Eternal Body Refinement."
He focused, breath shallow but steady. He wasn't regenerating her — merely nudging her own healing forward, one slow wave at a time.
This was no miracle.
He did not glow with power.
He simply was — still, focused. Divine in design, human in intent.
And still, he continued.
A few meters away, the three brothers had found their seat — an old fallen log that had once been their lookout during training. Moss covered its edges now. The bark was cracked from repeated impacts.
A few meters away, under the massive oak they once used for target practice, the ASL trio stirred awake one by one.
Sabo sat up first, stretching until his back cracked. "Ugh. The ground missed us."
Ace tossed a stick at him. "You snore. The ground's scared of you."
Luffy drooled loudly and muttered, "Mmm…meat trees…"
They burst out laughing.
Time Passed.
Luffy sat cross-legged on it, munching on dry bread, awake now. Sabo leaned back, arms folded behind his head. Ace balanced a stone on the tip of his boot.
"Two years," Ace murmured.
"Feels longer," Sabo replied.
"Feels shorter," Luffy said. "I only passed out thirty times this year."
"You mean this month," Sabo said.
Ace chuckled. "Remember when I told you to hold your breath and Observation would come easier?"
"You nearly drowned me in a pond," Luffy pointed out, pouting.
"You lived."
"Barely!"
They laughed.
But their laughs were deeper now — earned, not reflexive.
The silence that followed was companionable.
Then Ace sat up and tapped his knuckles together, a faint sheen of Armament Haki coating his right forearm. The obsidian black glimmered in the morning sun — not perfect, but stable.
"First time I managed that without shaking," he said, "was when Krishna knocked me halfway through a tree."
Sabo raised a brow. "That's when?"
"Yeah," Ace muttered. "Something about losing with nothing held back made it click."
"The next time I tried hardening my arm, I thought it cracked my bone.", Ace said, staring at his callused palms.
"You did crack your bone," Sabo said. "That's why Krishna made you punch a boulder every morning for a week."
Ace rolled his eyes. "Sadist."
Luffy grinned. "I remember when you yelled 'Fire Max Power!' and blew off your eyebrows with a stick on fire."
"They grew back!"
"Eventually!"
Sabo smiled, quieter.
"I started feeling people in my Observation. Not just footsteps. Like… emotions. Intent."
He tapped his chest. "Felt like I was listening to their heartbeat through mine."
Luffy blinked. "That's cool! I just dodge stuff when it feels right."
Ace leaned in. "You still suck at aiming, though."
"Nope! I aim for chaos and hit everything!"
Sabo held up his index and middle fingers, pointed them forward — and then blurred.
Shigan.
Not quite silent, but lightning-precise. The tree bark ten meters ahead had a tiny dent in it.
"No wasted motion," he said. "Krishna taught me that by not teaching it. Just watching."
Luffy clapped. "Cool! I made a new move too."
He inhaled, clenched his fists, then bounced on his toes.
"Gomu Gomu no… Crane Head Rush!"
He launched forward — only to trip over a root, spin midair, and land flat on his face.
Ace buried his face in his hands. "You'll kill us before the Marines do."
They helped Luffy up, brushed him off, and sat again.
A deeper silence settled in.
Ace stared at his hand again. "We got stronger. All of us."
Sabo nodded. "But not just stronger. Sharper. Cleaner."
"Still loud," Luffy added.
They laughed again.
Then Ace looked toward Krishna.
He sat still as stone, red aura dimming as the peacock breathed deeper, her wounds no longer oozing. She looked at him now with something new: recognition.
They leaned back, the air buzzing with memory.
"I think," Ace said, "I stopped trying to be stronger than Krishna."
Sabo nodded. "Same."
Luffy said nothing at first, then murmured, "He's still our brother. Even if he walks like… thunder."
Ace stared ahead. "We're not catching up."
Sabo added, "But we're not chasing either."
"We're just walking beside the same fire," Luffy said.
For once, no one laughed. The three of them looked at each other.
No need to say more.
They understood.
They turned slowly.
Krishna was still kneeling beside the peacock.
The faint red aura around him faded, his eyes now open, fingers resting lightly on the divine bird's feathers.
The peacock blinked slowly—then lowered its head without protest.
Makino knelt beside it, brushing its head gently. "She trusts him."
Dadan, arms crossed, muttered, "I still don't trust it."
Sheshika said nothing—but her golden eyes watched Krishna with something rare.
Not suspicion.
Not awe.
But concern.
Sheshika uncoiled, moving to Krishna's side. Her coils curled protectively around him — not to defend, but to witness.
Dadan huffed and folded her arms.
Makino laid a soft hand on the peacock's feathers. "She's healing," she said.
Krishna opened his eyes, faintly.
"She'll live."
No flair. No pride.
Just truth.
The three brothers joined them at the canopy's edge.
Ace said nothing, just stood beside Krishna and looked at the peacock with a strange flicker of awe.
Sabo knelt, brushing two fingers near the bird's talons. "This isn't coincidence."
Luffy leaned in close and whispered, "Can we keep her?"
Makino chuckled. "She's not a pet, Luffy."
"She's family now," Luffy said.
And somehow… they all agreed.
Later that night.
Sabo nudged Ace. "You think he even sleeps?"
Ace snorted. "Doubt it."
Luffy whispered, "I think he listens when we think."
Krishna didn't move.
But he heard them.
And—for just a breath—he let himself believe,
He still belonged.
The river didn't move loudly.
It whispered.
Soft currents curved between stones like breath between ribs, parting around Krishna's ankles as he sat on a flat rock beneath the trees. Mist hung low over the water, as if the mountain still wasn't sure whether to release the morning or cradle it a little longer.
Krishna stared at his reflection.
And for once… he didn't recognize it.
Gone was the boy with bruises and brilliant rage.
In his place sat something quieter.
Not calmer.
Heavier.
The eyes staring back at him glowed faintly—not with power, but with layered intention. Red and black flickers pulsed from within, only visible when the sun hit them wrong.
His skin bore no scars. They didn't last anymore. His bones adapted too quickly. His soul stitched wounds before his body even noticed them.
He should have felt pride.
Instead, he felt…
Distant.
Medha's voice hummed softly in his inner auditory cortex.
"Your reflection has deviated from your prior visual signature by 14%. Muscle architecture restructured. Haki nodes fully formed."
"Your Martial God Body no longer operates within standard divine projections."
"Your soul has entered a recursive divine feedback loop."
"Evolution rate accelerating. Exponentially."
Krishna breathed in. Deep. Steady.
"Can you still predict where this path leads?"
"No."
A pause.
"And I no longer try."
But Krishna could still hear it.
The way the current shifted around stone. The way droplets bounced off moss. The breath of birds before flight. The tremble of a falling leaf still clinging to life.
And beneath all that—
Heartbeat.
Emotion.
Thought.
He stood barefoot in the shallows, eyes half-lidded, arms relaxed at his sides.
The entire island stretched beneath his Observation Haki — a living map of breath and blood.
Every sparring motion. Every yawn. Every flicker of tension or joy.
He could feel Sabo's quiet focus as he practiced Shigan near the cliff.
Luffy's ecstatic burst of joy as he hung upside-down from a tree with meat in his mouth.
Ace's low simmer of frustration. He was training harder today.
They weren't close.
But they were present.
And Krishna… was between them.
Not ahead. Not behind.
Apart.
"System report," he said.
Medha responded instantly.
"Observation Haki: Absolute spatial dominance," Medha intoned from within.
"Sensory field stabilized at 100% island-wide resolution. Predictive layering stable."
"You are one step from Future Sight."
Krishna inhaled.
Then exhaled.
"I won't cross it yet."
"Noted."
He stepped out of the stream. Water curled around his calves but never dragged.
His muscles hummed with perfect weight distribution. Bloodflow redirected, joints adjusted on instinct.
His steps were precise—like they'd always been meant for divinity.
And yet… there was hesitation in the stillness.
His skin began to shift—slowly darkening as Armament Haki crawled across his limbs.
Not just a shell. Not just hardening.
Weight. Density. Purpose.
He formed it with such solidity that his aura vibrated under it — not because of rage, but because of how controlled it was.
He held the form for twelve seconds. Then let it fade.
"Armament Haki: Ultra-stable hardening confirmed. Flow-alignment approaching emission. One step from Ryou."
"Stop tracking that threshold," Krishna murmured.
"Acknowledged."
Finally, he closed his eyes—and let the air twist.
A subtle shift in pressure. A wave of tension in the leaves. The stream rippled without cause.
Conqueror's Haki flared—not violently.
It settled over the world like a cloak.
Breathable, but unescapable.
Birds froze mid-chirp. Insects quieted. Even the sun felt warmer as if it too recognized the presence standing in its light.
"Conqueror's Haki: Fully stabilized cloak-state achieved. Passive field suppresses lower threats within 30-meter radius. Conscious suppression confirmed."
"Note: Aura is now constant. Suppression protocols in effect unless consciously lifted."
He opened his eyes.
Red-black lightning did not crackle.
But if you looked closely — it waited in his pupils.
And yet—he had stopped.
Not by failure.
By choice.
"I could've pushed further," he whispered.
"Yes. Your soul interfaces allow ascension through training alone. You are nearing enlightenment thresholds without combat."
Krishna nodded.
"I built this body in the image of Mok Gyeongwoon, the First Heavenly Demon. I know I could've broken through."
"Confirmed. Your Martial God Body now sustains projected enlightenment without external combat stimuli. But you chose to stall."
"Because it feels... incomplete without the fire of life behind it."
"Understood. Evolution paused. Control prioritized."
He nodded.
"Divine Paths?"
"Anantadeha Mārga — Path of Infinite Body: All close-quarter combat feedback loops complete. Unarmed styles mimic pressure differentials. Adaptability scaling confirmed."
"Asi Kriyā — Divine Sword Ritual: Blade path harmonized. Strike angles now align with bio-rhythm and kinetic memory. Combat-ritual synchronization complete."
"Hridaya Tantra — Doctrine of the Heart: Haki triplet synchronization sustained. Emotional state and spiritual clarity affecting combat response time."
"Kāya Kalpa Sūtra — Scripture of the Eternal Body Refinement: Infrared healing field functional. Seimei Kikan node access achieved."
"Padanyāsa Vidhi — Discipline of the Sacred Steps: Rokushiki techniques fully mastered. Enhanced Geppo and Soru fluidity confirmed. Additional movement microtechniques detected."
He walked further upstream, where the pebbles beneath his feet sang sharper tones.
The sun traced his shoulders now, golden light flashing briefly off the ripples of his muscles.
His fingers moved through three distinct stances in perfect sequence:
First, the open spiral of Anantadeha Mārga (Path of Infinite Body) — unarmed, flowing like breath made stone.
Then the sweeping, vertical slash of Asi Kriyā (Divine Sword Ritual) — blade movements designed like prayers.
Next, a subtle tension through his spine as Hridaya Tantra (Doctrine of the Heart) harmonized the Haki in his chest.
His breathing changed.
Kāya Kalpa Sūtra (Scripture of the Eternal Body Refinement) activated.
He contracted his lungs without exhaling.
Shifted blood from left to right shoulder to simulate injury and response.
Redirected oxygen toward his eyes, then shut off all sensation in his legs.
His heart slowed.
Then sped up.
And stopped just short of stagnation.
"Seimei Kikan node active. Internal control achieved. Vital targeting complete."
He moved again.
This time not with steps, but with Padanyāsa Vidhi (Discipline of the Sacred Steps).
Soru was no longer a burst.
It was glide.
Geppo, no longer forceful.
It was invitation.
He leapt. Redirected midair. Pivoted on nothing. Landed without echo.
A single drop of water hovered midair, caught in the slipstream of his footwork — then kissed the ground long after he had landed.
He stood still again.
Not tired.
But quiet.
He exhaled.
Slowly. With reverence.
Then bent his knees. Hand on water.
And vanished, again.
He reappeared mid-air, suspended for half a second—not with Geppo, but something beyond it. A soft-angle spiral, his momentum coiling and redirecting without resistance.
He touched down without a sound.
Seimei Kikan engaged.
Bloodflow shifted. Adrenaline suppressed. Muscle density increased in his right arm.
He placed a hand over his heart.
And listened.
Not to the beat.
But to the hum.
His soul was no longer just an anchor.
It was alive — pulsing with its own memory.
It remembered every opponent. Every technique. Every breath taken during battle.
It was recording.
Evolving.
Shaping itself in response to everything around it.
"I've expanded everything I could," he whispered.
"And yet… I feel the edges of something waiting."
"Then you wait," Medha said.
"Build the foundation until the storm demands the roof."
He turned, and looked toward the forest now, where the ASL trio were sparring again.
And watched them.
Luffy dangling upside down, yelling about "meat clouds."
Sabo meditating, fingers twitching with silent drills.
Ace hammering the same strike combo again and again, sweat pouring off his brow.
They were… trying.
And doing so with love.
And in that distance…
He realized what he was still fighting for.
Behind him, a voice slithered through the silence.
Sheshika.
Then, "You've stopped climbing."
"I've started digging."
"…Why?"
Krishna's voice was softer now.
"Because I want to stand with them."
Sheshika coiled beside him, silent for a long moment.
"You've grown beyond comparison."
Krishna didn't answer.
"You walk like thunder and speak like stone. But I see you cracking."
He turned slightly.
"Cracking?"
She slithered around his feet.
"You've surpassed them in strength, speed, soul, and clarity."
"And yet," she hissed softly, "you look like someone mourning his own heartbeat."
He didn't answer right away.
Then, in a whisper,
"Because I finally understand what I can never have again."
That's what Krishna had said.
He stood there still — barefoot in the streambed, light shimmering on his skin like he'd stepped out of myth and into mourning.
The water around his ankles slowed. Not because the current shifted, but because he did.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Then everything was still.
"New log sequence initiated."
Medha's internal voice pulsed through neural resonance — not for Krishna, but for herself.
"Subject: Krishna. Martial God Protocol – Status: Active. Monitoring sequence: 3,429."
"Note: Growth curve trajectory no longer follows predictive models."
She accessed the deeper threads — the logs tied to the Martial God Body's self-regulation:
Mitochondrial restructuring in less than 0.3 seconds during combat rehearsal.
Reflex feedback loops closing before stimuli occurred.
Seimei Kikan activating autonomously — redirecting energy based on subtle emotional shifts, not just battle conditions.
"Subject's soul no longer mirrors divine templates from celestial database."
"Signal pattern: Unique. Recursive. Organic."
"A soul evolving through its own memory."
She paused.
"Recommendation: Halt optimization?"
…
"Denied."
Even she wasn't in control anymore.
Sheshika coiled in the roots of a high ridge overlooking the stream, her scales dappled by filtered sunlight. She said nothing. Did nothing.
She simply watched.
Krishna's breath wasn't loud. But it carried.
She could feel the aura in her teeth — not because it burned, but because it no longer needed to.
The boy she once protected… now sang a frequency the earth had started to hum back.
It unsettled her.
Because gods were supposed to shine.
And Krishna?
He didn't shine anymore.
He blended.
She missed his laughter.
Missed the way he used to fall mid-spar and curse the ground like it was his rival.
Missed the way he once turned to her for advice — not with reverence, but with genuine need.
Missed being the ancient one, the guardian, the protector.
Now?
Now she could barely track his movements unless she forced herself to.
And he never asked anymore.
He only knew.
Beneath her coils, the root pulsed with his residual haki — that constant Conqueror's aura woven through everything he touched.
It didn't scream for dominance.
It merely existed.
Like gravity.
Like fate.
Like existence.
Krishna remained in silence.
He had moved beneath a tree now, sitting with his back against it, eyes closed. His fingers rested lightly against his knees, pulse low and calm.
But neither Medha nor Sheshika believed he was meditating.
Not really.
He wasn't reaching for insight.
He was avoiding something.
"Cognitive assessment," Medha whispered to herself.
"Behavioral divergence noted."
"Subject is exhibiting restraint well beyond biological thresholds. Capable of Future Sight, yet halting development. Capable of haki infusion, yet suppressing ascension. Capable of cellular control matching late-stage Seimei Kikan… yet refusing integration."
"Conclusion: Subject is holding himself back. Not due to failure. But because the soul has refused revelation without external validation."
She didn't need to say it aloud.
But she logged it anyway:
"He is waiting for pain."
And from the ridge above, Sheshika whispered a thought Medha could never log:
"He doesn't burn anymore."
"He hums."
"And I don't know if that hum still remembers joy."
Krishna opened his eyes.
Softly.
Without urgency.
And yet both Medha and Sheshika felt it.
He hadn't moved.
Hadn't looked at them.
But he knew.
They were watching.
And… he let them.
He did not hide.
But he didn't speak either.
Not yet.
Medha's internal monologue shifted.
"Recommendation: Psychological reconnection."
"Emotional tether points need reinforcement."
"Subject is no longer alone."
"Subject chooses it."
She paused. Then rewrote it.
"Subject is surrounded."
"But becoming unreachable."
Sheshika watched the peacock stir slightly beside Krishna's feet.
Its feathers shimmered — not with aura, but with trust.
The divine recognized the divine.
And that made it worse.
Because Sheshika was older than stars.
But in that moment?
She felt mortal.
Finally, Krishna spoke.
To no one.
To everyone.
"I'm still here."
And both of them flinched.
Because that voice—
That voice wasn't unsure.
It was tethered.
Which meant… he wasn't lost.
But he was close.
"Log Entry End."
"Status: Watching."
"Status: Waiting."
"Status: Praying."
The fire crackled loud that evening.
It wasn't just heat—it was welcome.
Dadan had thrown three extra logs on "just in case," and Makino had brewed tea strong enough to make Garp choke and grin at the same time.
The day had nearly ended when the mountain shook again.
Not from haki.
Not from lightning.
But from laughter and yelling and the unmistakable crack of an old man's gravel-punch through the treeline.
"BRATS! Did you forget to write your damn grandpa a letter?!"
"GARP?!"
Dadan's shout echoed through the woods.
Garp had returned again, right as the sun dipped below the treeline, carrying a sack of fish in one hand and a tree branch he used to beat a wild boar in the other.
"DIDN'T YOU BRATS MISS ME?!"
Luffy leapt out of a bush screaming, "GRANDPA!" only to get immediately clotheslined mid-air by Garp's open palm.
Ace winced. "He's still got it."
Sabo blinked. "He never lost it."
Krishna raised an eyebrow as Luffy hit the ground with a happy grunt and bounced back up like a rubber pinball. "He didn't even flinch."
"I MISSED YOU TOO!" Luffy yelled, hanging off Garp's arm like a towel.
Garp laughed. "Damn right you did!"
Dadan groaned. "Ah shit! Here we go again."
Later, they all sat around the fire. The boys were sweaty from training. Sabo had bandaged Ace's knuckles, and Luffy had leaves in his hair from a tumble during Geppo drills gone wrong.
Garp watched them—really watched. At the way their shoulders sat straighter. The way their muscles moved with purpose. The way Krishna stood still without being still.
He didn't whistle. Didn't nod.
Just grunted.
"Your stances are solid. Your control's tighter. Even Luffy's not tripping over his own lungs anymore."
"I tripped on a root!" Luffy protested. "Roots cheat, Grandpa!" He whined.
The old Marine smiled. But not quite reaching his eyes
Then muttered under his breath, "Damn kids. If I didn't know better, I'd think they had a god teaching them."
His eyes landed on Krishna.
"…Maybe they do."
He didn't say it with awe.
He said it like a man watching thunderclouds form.
Krishna said nothing.
But for just a second, he smiled.
That night, Garp sat alone on a log, cracking peanuts and muttering about the old days when men had seaweed for brains and still charged into battle shirtless. Krishna sat beside him, quiet as the fire crackled between them.
Just a seat under the tree, tea in their hands, night breathing through the forest.
"You've gotten strong," Garp said.
Krishna nodded. "So have they."
"Yeah." Garp's voice lowered. "But they're still human."
Krishna didn't flinch.
Without turning, Garp said, "You know what scares me more than the government?"
Krishna raised an eyebrow. "Sea Kings?"
Garp chuckled. "Close. Dragons."
Krishna blinked.
Garp continued, "Not the lizards. The man. My damn son. Dragon."
Krishna almost dropped his tea.
"…Wait."
Garp looked him dead in the eye.
"Luffy's dad."
Flashback – A Month Earlier
They were sitting under a tree after training. Everyone was sweaty, bruised, and full of fried roots Makino called dinner.
Krishna had casually mentioned, "I don't remember my parents. Makino raised me after she found me as a baby."
Ace shrugged. "My old man's famous. Don't care about that. It's my mom that matters."
Sabo nodded. "I had parents. They were rich, and were awful. So I chose a better family."
Then Luffy tilted his head. "Hey... Do I have parents?"
The whole forest stopped. The silence could've cut trees.
"…What?" Ace asked.
"I mean, someone made me, right?" Luffy scratched his head. "But I don't remember anything except Gramps punching me and Makino giving me apple juice."
Krishna, with a completely straight face, replied, "That… sounds about right."
Sabo nodded solemnly. "Canon event."
They cornered Garp immediately and dragged him over.
He looked annoyed.
Luffy pointed. "Grandpa! Who are my parents?!"
Garp stared at them. Then sighed.
He grunted. "Your dad's Monkey D. Dragon."
"...WHO?!" they all yelled.
Sabo's brain short-circuited and rebooted.
He jumped up like he'd been struck by lightning. "THE Monkey D. Dragon?! Leader of the Revolutionary Army?! The world's most wanted man?! My hero?!"
He sparkled.
Literally sparkled.
Ace leaned away, creeped out. "You okay, Sabo?"
Sabo grabbed Luffy by the shoulders, eyes sparkling. "Luffy, you're the chosen one!"
Luffy blinked. "Neat. Can I have meat now?"
Back in the present, Garp chuckled.
"Kid's growing up. Even if he's still an idiot."
Krishna stirred his tea. "You're concerned."
Garp's smile faded.
"I've fought monsters. Pirates. Revolutionaries. But this world's changing, Krishna."
He looked into the flames.
"Celestial Dragons are getting braver. Marines are being used like tools. Something big's coming. I don't know when. But it's coming."
He looked at Krishna then.
And didn't blink.
Long. Quiet.
"You're strong. Your Heart's probably stronger than mine."
Krishna said nothing.
"The world doesn't like it when power forgets how to laugh… and punishes strength without humanity."
He looked away again.
"Don't become something your brothers can't follow."
Krishna opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Then smiled, barely. "You're worried I'm going too far."
"I'm worried you'll forget why you started."
"I KNEW YOU WERE DRAMATIZING AGAIN!" Dadan yelled, barging into the firelight with a mug in each hand. "Stop brooding and drink some tea, you walking bag of trauma! And Let the kid breathe!"
Garp blinked. "I'M GIVING HIM LIFE WISDOM, WOMAN!"
"Yeah, well, shove it between your ribs and sit down!"
Makino appeared like a breeze between them, offering tea.
"Careful," she said gently. "You're both getting loud again."
Dadan shoved one into Krishna's hand. "You too, Krishna. You might be a martial miracle, but you still need carbs."
Krishna coughed into his fist.
Makino sat beside him with a gentle smile. "He's not just strong," she said to no one in particular. "He's kind."
Krishna looked away, embarrassed.
"...That's rarer."
Garp grumbled. Dadan shoved him. Krishna sipped.
All was balanced.
They gathered around the fire again, laughter louder now.
Luffy was balancing a stick on his nose.
Ace was threatening to ignite the stick even though he couldn't.
Sabo was writing down Luffy's stupidity for blackmail purposes.
As the night burned lower, so did the noise.
The night settled into quiet chaos.
Luffy ate too fast and choked on a dumpling.
Ace yelled at him while trying to punch his back.
Sabo laughed so hard he spilled tea on himself.
Dadan stormed about keeping the house clean while wiping suspicious moisture from her eyes.
Makino sat quietly near the fire, humming something only Krishna recognized from years ago.
And Garp?
He snored so loud a squirrel fell from a tree in terror.
Dadan sat near the fire, legs stretched out, snoring softly between snores that could wake the dead, similar to Garp.
Later, when most had dozed off, Krishna stayed behind by the fire. He hadn't touched his food. Not because he wasn't hungry — but because he was full of something else.
Makino returned, barefoot, hair loose, cup in hand.
"You're still awake," she said softly.
Krishna nodded. "Couldn't sleep."
She sat beside him.
"You didn't eat," she said gently, passing him the cup of warm tea.
"I'm not hungry," he replied, but took the cup anyway.
They sat in silence.
Then, slowly, like muscle memory from childhood, Krishna leaned sideways…
And rested his head on her lap.
Makino blinked, surprised. Then smiled, fingers slipping into his hair.
"You still do your hair the same," she whispered. "Even now."
He gave a soft hum. "It's practical."
She snorted. "It's pretty."
He scoffed. "Handsome. Maybe. Pretty is pushing it."
Then added, almost smug, "But the part stays clean. Always has."
She giggled. "It's handsome."
He groaned. "Pretty, then handsome. Which is it?"
"You're a disaster."
"I have very symmetrical hair."
She laughed again. Then stilled.
He felt it a second later — the soft drip of tears landing on his cheek.
He didn't move.
Just closed his eyes.
And listened.
Just closed his eyes and let her cry.
"I knew from the moment I found you," Makino whispered. "You were always going to be something more,"
"You weren't like anyone else. Not even as a baby."
"You looked up at the stars like you already missed them."
She cradled his face.
"You weren't meant for just this world. I knew that."
"But…" her voice cracked, "I didn't think it would hurt this much to let you go."
He reached up.
Took her hand in his.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.
"Just forward."
She nodded.
But her tears didn't stop.
"But you're still… mine. So please, Krishna…"
She leaned down, voice trembling.
"Be safe."
He didn't reply right away.
Just rested there. Silent.
Then slowly, he reached up and held her hand in his.
"I'll try."
And beneath the fire, beneath the stars, beneath everything divine pulsing in his bones…
Krishna held her hand.
And let himself just be someone's… son.
Two years.
That's how long it took for the forest to stop echoing.
Now it listened.
The mountain no longer startled at shockwaves. The trees no longer flinched at flying bodies. Even the rivers had begun to part with practiced reverence—flowing around the boys not as obstacles, but as pilgrims might circle sacred flame.
The boys no longer trained.
They simply moved.
Ace, bare-chested and breathless, stood before a row of stone pillars. Each one marked a failure once shattered. Today, he didn't punch them.
He walked between them.
His arm shimmered with obsidian — not full hardening, but stable, nearly seamless coating.
He didn't grunt. Didn't shout.
Each strike left sound behind.
Tekkai, Geppo, and Rankyaku flowed into one another now—not techniques, but extensions of breath.
The fire in him no longer flickered.
It burned cold. Focused. Real.
Sabo meditated in the shadow of the cliff, fingers twitching mid-air. Each motion was paired with a heartbeat that wasn't his. His Observation Haki had become second nature—not sight, not sound, but intent.
His Kami-e moved his body before he thought to. It was indistinguishable from breath.
His Shigan wasn't just fast — it was intentional now. A whisper of force instead of a stab.
Where Ace was fire, Sabo had become steel under silk.
Luffy, drenched and grinning, stood beneath a waterfall that would have crushed him a year ago, letting the cascade slam into his rubber body over and over as he kept his stance steady.
His Armament shimmered across his arms in rippling black veins.
His Observation would flare without prompt — not sensing threats, but life itself.
He could hold his breath in seawater now—almost three minutes.
And for once, even Luffy knew: he wasn't just strong.
He wasn't perfect.
He was becoming real. Even the sea was beginning to give him space.
They didn't speak much anymore while training.
Not out of distance.
But because silence now meant trust.
And far above them, on the highest cliff of the mountain, Krishna stood barefoot.
Hair brushing in the breeze.
Eyes closed.
Not to focus.
But because he no longer needed to open them.
Observation Haki stretched over the forest, over the coastline, over the ocean beyond.
He could feel birds' feathers shifting in midflight.
The heartbeat of a Sea King thirty leagues away.
The twitch of a nervous foot soldier in Goa Kingdom tripping over stolen silver.
He could hear fear.
Not because they feared him.
But because they sensed they should.
His Armament Haki didn't flare anymore. It settled—a second bloodstream running beneath his skin. Not hardened like stone. Not jagged like iron.
But adaptive. Responsive.
Almost liquid.
He had not yet achieved internal destruction.
Because he chose not to.
His Conqueror's Haki no longer arrived like a scream.
It breathed through his lungs like incense through a shrine.
A constant cloak that the world bent around rather than try to touch.
The birds didn't fly overhead anymore.
Not because they feared him.
But because they knew the sky already belonged to him.
And still, he had not stepped beyond the final thresholds.
Because Krishna had refused enlightenment.
Not for lack of ability.
But because it felt wrong to ascend without conflict.
Without pain. Without fire.
Without learning what it meant to bleed for the answers.
So he had built something else.
A foundation that could not crack.
"You are ready," Medha whispered in his mind.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, "No."
"Your soul has aligned. Martial God Body now harmonizes with divine recursion."
"Observation: Entire island range."
"Armament: Near emission."
"Conqueror's: Passive suppression field active."
"You are capable of Future Sight. Emission and Internal Destruction. Haki Infusion."
"You have chosen restraint, Krishna. Why?"
His answer came gently.
"Because I don't want to shatter what I haven't tested, and I haven't bled enough."
"Your design was built for stillness-born enlightenment. Like Mok Gyeongwoon."
"You can ascend without war."
"I know."
"Then why stall?"
A breeze lifted across the ridge.
Krishna opened his eyes slowly.
There was no golden shine. No ethereal flame.
Just a glint of something deeper.
Red and black lightning shimmered in his pupils—brief. Controlled. Dormant.
He didn't flare.
He simply was.
"Because I want to know what I'm made of before the world finds out."
Behind him, the wind paused.
Below, the ASL brothers were laughing, sparring, eating.
Above, the clouds gathered softly.
And far across the sea—across palaces and shadows and thrones—
Something flinched.
Not because it saw him.
But because it felt him coming.
"The world isn't ready," Medha said again.
Krishna smiled—softly, like a boy remembering a secret he'd never told.
Not wide.
Not cruel.
But as if he remembered something the world had forgotten.
"Good."
Author's Note:
Yo, divine degenerates and dharmic believers—
This chapter wasn't just a breather.
It was a reckoning.
Two years passed not with flashy power-ups or screaming declarations—but with scars that healed, foundations that deepened, and laughter that grew teeth.
We saw Luffy balancing instinct with patience.
Sabo weaving steel into silence.
Ace forging his fire into something colder, sharper.
And Krishna?
He didn't evolve like a hero.
He waited like a god.
His soul refused ascension without meaning. His body stood at the edge of transcendence—and still, he chose restraint. Not because he wasn't ready.
But because the world wasn't.
And in that choice, he became terrifying.
Garp returned. Dadan ranted. Makino cried. The peacock lives. And a storm begins to hum in the east.
This is the calm before divine eruption.
This is the breath between myth and massacre.
And if you listened closely…
You probably heard the thunder already.
If this chapter resonated, left you smiling softer, dropped your jaw, or just muttering "oh, he's HIM," then drop a review and let me know you heard the thunder building.
Next up?
The celestial dragon arrives.
And someone is going to learn why we don't cage the storm.
—Author out.
(Sheshika, Ace, Sabo, and Luffy are now officially jealous of the peacock. No one's talking about it. But everyone's glaring at Krishna. He remains oblivious. Probably.)