The fire within him faded slowly.
Step by step, barefoot across gravel, ropes, and broken boards, Hagoromo walked along the edge of a ruined pier. Seagulls cried overhead, and the waves hissed angrily at the shore, as if the ocean itself rejected his presence. Every movement was heavy. He didn't just feel weak—he felt severed. As though something had ripped out his heart and replaced it with silence.
He tried.
Over and over — to activate chakra.
To feel the flow of life within him.
To summon the Rinnegan. To awaken the Six Paths.
But all he found was emptiness. No flicker. No vibration. No light.
It was as if he were a clay statue of himself.
"So this world has no chakra," he murmured, staring at his trembling hands — not trembling from fear, but from the unfamiliar sensation of being... ordinary.
"And I... am just a man now."
Ordinary.
He, whose name was once whispered like a prayer.
He, who split the Ten-Tails and gave humanity its first choice.
Now powerless. Now exiled.
But not without purpose.
He reached a small village — three wooden houses, a leaning tavern, and a battered dock with a flag bearing a red crab and the words:
"Rum & Fish: All Real!"
An old woman with a pipe sat on the porch, her eyes squinting against the sun. She saw him and scoffed.
— "You from that boat down south?" she asked. "You look like you fell from the moon."
He lowered his head.
— "Not from the moon," he replied. "From the sky."
She laughed. Not cruelly — just tired.
— "Then welcome to reality, sky-boy. No gods here. Only the wet, the hungry, and the dealmakers. If you want to eat, head to the port. Sailors are loading freight."
He bowed politely — the reflex of a man from a world long gone — and moved on.
At the docks, people bustled with crates, ropes, and noisy chatter.
He noticed: these people lived hard lives — but with fire in their hearts.
Two dockworkers argued over whether Shanks or Kizaru would win in a fight.
A girl in uniform chased a half-rotten chicken.
An old man with a brass trumpet claimed his ship had been eaten by a sea king, and that he'd crawled out through its gills.
There was energy in this world. Not chakra — but will.
And then — he felt it.
A vibration. Subtle, but deep. Like a ripple in the fabric of space.
He turned.
Across the pier stood a man in a gray marine coat, one eye hidden by a bandage. At his side — a metallic staff tipped with a glowing sphere that pulsed like a cybernetic eye.
— "I saw what you did to those pirates on the beach," the man said. "No Devil Fruit. No Haki. Who are you?"
Hagoromo said nothing.
— "Doesn't matter," the man went on. "Names don't always explain the soul. But you fought with force of will, didn't you? Not like us. Not like this world."
He paused. Then asked:
— "You broke the law of strength."
The words rang in Hagoromo's head.
The law of strength.
He had seen such laws before. Worlds built on power. On control.
— "I'm not from this world," Hagoromo answered quietly. "And what you call strength... we once called chakra."
The marine frowned.
— "Never heard of it. But if you have power that doesn't belong to this system, they'll try to take it. Tear it apart."
He nodded toward the ship docked near the edge — its sails bore the World Government insignia.
— "Best vanish while you still pass for human."
And with that, he turned and vanished into the mist.
Hagoromo stood silently.
This world ran on a different system — different rules.
But if chakra could be born from nothing once…
then he would bring it forth again.
He looked at his palm.
And for a brief instant — barely visible — a tiny light flickered in its center.
Not chakra. Not yet. But… the seed.
He closed his fist.
And took his first true step.
Ahead lay the sea. And the path. And will.
Somewhere, in these storms and empires, he would find a new truth.
Not as a god.
Not as a weapon.
But as a man who would create power again — through freedom.