Iwa woke under a sky that felt cracked. The dawn light crept over the stone roofs, but the village itself moved like a creature missing half its bones. Whispers traveled faster than carts rolling on the morning roads. Every household, every shop, every squad of shinobi spoke in hushed, fearful breaths.
The Tsuchikage had fallen.
Official announcements had not yet been made, but the truth tore through the streets like a cold wind. Families of shinobi gathered in clusters, arguing, mourning, demanding answers. Some called it an assassination, others insisted it was a foreign plot, and many simply couldn't believe that a man who had shaped mountains with his bare hands could truly be gone.
Even the ground seemed to hold its breath.
High above the murmurs and tension, Shanks strolled through the village like a wandering tourist whose map had been drawn by a drunk carpenter. His red hair gleamed under the sun as he admired the architecture with the bright curiosity of someone who considered a new country a playground.
"Stone chimneys shaped like fists… impressive," he muttered, hands behind his head. "And the people here glare like they want to punch the weather."
He wandered aimlessly, greeting suspicious Iwa civilians with a lazy smile, ignoring the occasional sneer from shinobi who wondered what clan this strange red-haired foreigner came from.
His stomach gave a tribal war drum beat.
"Sake time."
He followed the fragrant trail of alcohol like a man entranced, eventually finding a tavern pushing an ambitious signboard: "Best Sake in All the Land of Stone."
Shanks chuckled. "A bold claim. Let's see if you can back it."
The tavern was dim, smoky, and loud. Miners, shinobi, and merchants sat shoulder to shoulder, drinking away the tension of the day. Shanks slid into a seat and waved at the bartender.
"Strongest thing you've got. Twice."
The bartender blinked, shrugged, then served him a steaming cup of amber liquid.
Shanks took a sip. His eyebrows shot up. "That's… new."
It burned, then cooled, then burned again. By the time he finished the second cup, three shinobi from nearby tables had already challenged him to try different regional drinks. Shanks accepted, humming, "Never tasted this… or this… or whatever this is."
Hours passed in a haze of clinking cups and increasingly unhinged drink names.
A commotion rose outside.
Shanks ignored it at first. In Iwa, loud noises were probably as common as bad decisions. But the noise escalated, turned sharper, more violent. Metal clashed. Explosions cracked. The tavern's walls trembled. Patrons froze mid-sip.
"That… doesn't sound like a bar fight," Shanks sighed, standing. "Iwa hospitality takes interesting turns."
He walked out into the street.
Two groups of masked shinobi clashed violently. One wore Iwa's ANBU masks. The other—also masked—moved with equal precision but bore no clear allegiance.
Shanks tilted his head. "Hmm. Clan feud? Political coup? People arguing over the last drink discount? Not my business."
He turned away casually and walked back toward his inn.
For thirty minutes, the fighting seemed to disappear behind him—until a thunderous explosion erupted from the southern quarter. The ground shook. Birds scattered. Civilians screamed.
Shanks stopped mid-step.
"That one was big… Prison district?" he guessed aloud.
He tapped a nearby old man on the shoulder.
"What's down that way?"
"The holding facility," the man gasped. "Why?"
Shanks was already gone.
His curiosity refused to be strangled this time.
He arrived to find the remains of a battle that looked like two storms punching each other. The prison walls were cracked, some parts collapsed, and smoke spiraled into the dusky sky.
More fighter pairs clashed—ANBU versus ANBU. No coordination, no mercy. Shanks frowned.
"What kind of circus is this?"
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Observation Haki.
The world stretched open to him. Movements slowed. Heartbeats rang through the rubble like drums. Dozens of life signatures flickered, clashed, dimmed. But inside the prison…
All the cells were empty.
Except one.
Shanks' eyes opened. "Well now… that's interesting."
He stepped through a broken doorway and followed the faint pulse of life deeper into the quiet hall.
In the last intact cell, a teenager about fourteen knelt with his arms chained to the wall. Seals glowed faintly on the cuffs. The boy lifted his head as dust settled.
"Hah. So the rumors were true," the teen muttered. "The Tsuchikage's dead, and now the village tears itself apart. Took them long enough."
A voice drifted from the darkness behind him.
"Any idea what's happening?"
The boy snapped alert. "Who's there? How did you get in my cell?!"
Shanks stepped forward, smiling as if he'd walked into a restaurant rather than a war zone.
"Name's Shanks. Just taking a tour."
"A tour…" The teen squinted. "In a sealed prison. Through a locked cell. During a civil clash?"
"Your security might need work."
The boy clicked his tongue. "You didn't answer how—"
"You didn't answer my question first."
The teenager glared. "I don't answer outsiders."
Shanks nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."
Silence stretched. The teen finally sighed.
"Fine. I'm He Mu-Ji."
Shanks raised an eyebrow. "Fancy name."
"Don't mock it. Apparently I'm the illegitimate son of the Second Tsuchikage. Congratulations to me."
Shanks whistled softly.
Mu-Ji continued, bitterness chilling his words. "They imprisoned me because I refused to join the war. I have Dust Release, though mine is weaker than Onoki's. But to them, that's enough to throw me onto a battlefield I don't believe in."
His voice trembled, but not out of fear.
"This village never treated me as one of their own. Now that I have something they want, suddenly I matter. So they locked me up 'until I reflect.' Idiots."
Shanks leaned against the bars. "And the fighting outside?"
"Two factions. One wants me dead. The other wants me to inherit the Tsuchikage hat. Both are insane. I want none of it."
He looked down at his bound wrists.
"I just want to be left alone."
Shanks rubbed his chin. "Then don't stay."
Mu-Ji blinked. "…What?"
"I'm traveling the world. Could use someone interesting at my side."
The teen stared at him as if Shanks had sprouted three heads.
"You… want me to join you? You're younger than I am."
"Age doesn't measure adventure."
Mu-Ji scoffed. "You're either stupid or lying."
Shanks smiled gently.
He placed his hand on the steel cuffs.
A faint crack echoed.
The chains shattered like candy glass, seals included.
Mu-Ji froze.
"…Okay. Maybe you're not lying."
"Good. Let's get you out of here."
They slipped through the ruined corridors, weaving between shadows and collapsed stone. Shanks casually nudged aside debris with taps of his foot, while Mu-Ji tried not to stare at him like he was a natural disaster wearing human skin.
Outside, ANBU squads were still locked in battle, too occupied to notice two figures sliding along the broken outer wall.
Shanks whispered, "Stay low."
Mu-Ji whispered back, "I'm literally shorter than you."
"Good. Makes it easier."
They dodged patrols, slipped behind a merchant wagon, crossed a damaged bridge, and eventually reached the quiet district near Shanks' inn.
The innkeeper was asleep behind the counter, unaware of the chaos outside.
Shanks gestured. "Home sweet temporary home."
Mu-Ji exhaled slowly, the first breath of actual freedom he'd felt in years.
"Fine," he murmured, "I'll go with you… for now."
Shanks grinned. "Great. Tomorrow we plan our escape route."
Mu-Ji raised an eyebrow. "Escape?"
Shanks winked. "Oh, I'm pretty sure the village will notice you missing."