The village didn't sleep well after the bounties went up.
By sunrise, Gosa felt different—not louder, not busier, just… cautious. People spoke softer. Fishermen worked faster. Children were kept closer. Even the sea, calm as ever, felt like it carried weight.
Ryu noticed it the moment he stepped outside.
Eyes followed him now.
Not hostile. Not accusing.
Just careful.
Kenji met him near the shoreline, red-hilted sword strapped across his back instead of left at home like he used to. Ryu had his two grey-handled long knives at his waist, more for comfort than threat.
Kenji nodded toward the village. "They're acting like we brought a storm."
Ryu exblems. "We did, in a way."
Neither of them said the nicknames out loud.
They both hated how the words *Grey Knife* and *Red Blade* sat on their shoulders like someone else's clothing. It wasn't the bounty amount that bothered them most—it was the fact that the world had *named them*.
And naming meant attention.
Jiro was already waiting near the water, staff planted lightly in the sand as the tide rolled in.
"Stand," he said.
No greeting. No explanation.
Ryu and Kenji stood side by side where the wet sand met the waves.
The cold crept in immediately.
"Don't chase it," Jiro said, eyes on the horizon.
Kenji frowned. "Chase what?"
Jiro didn't answer.
Ryu closed his eyes.
He tried to do what he'd done last night—listen without forcing, breathe without reaching for the feeling.
Sometimes it came.
Sometimes it didn't.
Today, it didn't.
He felt only the sea, the wind, the distant creak of boats.
Then the tide shifted and brushed higher over his boots.
Ryu adjusted his footing instinctively.
Jiro tapped his ankle with the staff. Not hard—just enough to mark the mistake.
"You moved because you felt the water," Jiro said. "Not because you understood it."
Ryu clenched his jaw. "Then what am I supposed to understand?"
Jiro's eyes stayed on the horizon. "Later."
Kenji muttered something under his breath.
Jiro didn't react.
They stood another long moment—
Then a Marine bell rang from the dock.
Sharp. Formal.
Jiro's gaze flicked toward the village.
"Stay aware," he said, and walked off without another word.
---
The Marine outpost on Gosa wasn't large—just a small building near the docks with a flagpole and a few soldiers who mostly handled paperwork and occasional patrols. But that morning, it looked like a real base.
Marines were lined up.
Boots aligned.
Uniforms adjusted.
A junior officer barked, "Straighten up! Captain arriving!"
Kenji leaned toward Ryu. "Captain who?"
Ryu didn't answer. He already had a sinking feeling.
A Marine ship slid into view—clean sails, disciplined movement, and the kind of confidence that didn't come from bravery but from authority.
The gangplank dropped.
Captain Nezumi stepped onto the docks.
Short. Stocky. Round glasses. That stiff, self-important posture like he'd never met a mirror he didn't love.
The Marines from the outpost snapped into a salute.
"Captain Nezumi, sir!" the outpost commander shouted. "Gosa Outpost reporting!"
Nezumi adjusted his glasses and looked around.
He didn't look impressed.
"This is Gosa?" he asked flatly, like the word tasted cheap.
"Yes, sir!"
Nezumi's gaze swept over the docks—fishing boats, patched nets, cracked crates, weathered huts. No merchants. No heavy cargo. No fat purses.
His lips tightened.
Then his eyes landed on the bounty board.
Fresh posters.
Two of them.
Nezumi's posture changed slightly—interest sharpening for the first time.
He walked over and read them.
Ryu felt Kenji stiffen beside him.
The outpost commander hurried to Nezumi's side. "Sir, those two were issued yesterday. Orders from higher up after repeated interference in Marine operations."
Nezumi tapped the paper with one finger.
"Grey Knife..." he murmured, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
Then he looked at the second.
"*Red Blade*."
Nezumi's gaze drifted away from the posters and scanned the dock again—more carefully this time.
He wasn't looking for justice.
He was looking for profit..
A wanted man was a walking bag of money—either through capture, leverage, or extortion.
His eyes passed over Ryu.
Over Kenji.
Over villagers watching from a distance.
Then he frowned.
The village had no wealth to squeeze.
Even if he found the boys, what then? There was nothing here worth the effort. No rich mayor. No merchant guild. No tribute. No bribes that mattered.
Nezumi clicked his tongue in irritation.
"This place is a waste," he muttered.
The outpost commander hesitated. "Sir, should we begin a search? The suspects are likely still on the island."
Nezumi didn't even look at him.
"A search?" he repeated, like it offended him personally. "For what? Mud and fish?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "If they're here, they'll show themselves eventually. Wildcards always do."
The commander swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Nezumi turned sharply back toward the ship.
"We're leaving," he announced.
A Marine officer jogged up. "Sir, but—"
Nezumi cut him off. "I don't spend my time in villages that can't pay for my presence."
He stepped onto the gangplank.
Then paused just long enough to toss one final line over his shoulder—loud enough for the outpost commander, but soft enough to still feel like a threat.
"Keep the posters up. If anyone tries to collect, *tax them*. I want my cut."
Then he was gone.
The ship pulled away.
Just like that.
No raid. No inspection. No speeches.
Only the feeling that a snake had slithered through town, tasted the air, and decided it wasn't worth biting.
Kenji exhaled slowly. "He came here to steal, not arrest."
Ryu nodded. "And left because we're poor."
"That's… disgusting," Kenji muttered.
Ryu didn't respond.
Because a part of him had already known.
---
They found Jiro near the shoreline again, as if he'd never moved.
Ryu approached first. "Nezumi saw the posters."
Jiro nodded. "Of course he did."
Kenji frowned. "So what now? More Marines?"
Jiro's staff pressed into the sand. "Not more. Just sharper ones. Eventually."
Ryu's chest tightened. "You said we'd be watched."
Jiro glanced at him. "And you are."
Ryu took a breath. "Then stop speaking in riddles."
Jiro's eyes narrowed slightly—not angry, just… assessing.
"You want a name for what you are feeling," he said.
Ryu nodded.
Jiro tapped his staff once, like drawing a line in the air.
"Haki."
Kenji blinked. "So it's real."
Jiro looked at him like that was obvious. "There are three types."
He raised one finger.
"Observation Haki. Awareness. Intent. Presence."
Ryu's throat tightened. "That's what I've been feeling."
"Yes," Jiro said plainly. "You've had it all along."
Ryu stared. "All along?"
Jiro nodded. "Since before those pirates ever stepped onto this island."
Kenji frowned. "Then why was he so helpless at first?"
"Because it was untrained," Jiro replied. "Like hearing a thousand voices at once and not knowing which one matters."
He raised a second finger.
"Armament Haki. Will made solid. Protection. Power."
Kenji's eyes sharpened. "That sounds useful."
"It is," Jiro agreed. "When you're ready."
He raised a third finger, and for a moment the air felt heavier—not because Jiro did anything, but because the idea itself carried weight.
"Conqueror's Haki," he said. "Rare. Dangerous. The will that forces others to yield."
Kenji swallowed. "Do we have that?"
Jiro shook his head. "If you did, you wouldn't need to ask."
Ryu didn't speak. His mind was stuck on one thing.
"You said I had Observation all along," he repeated. "Then why didn't you just tell me?"
Jiro's expression flattened.
"Because you were slow," he said.
Kenji snorted. "He is."
Ryu shot Kenji a look, then faced Jiro again. "Slow how?"
"Slow to stop forcing everything," Jiro replied. "You trained like strength alone would solve your fear. I tried to push you toward listening."
Ryu frowned. "Those comments…"
"Yes," Jiro said. "The times I told you you were rushing. The times I told you to listen. You thought I was talking about your feet."
Ryu felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I didn't know."
"That's the point," Jiro said. "You didn't want to know. You wanted results."
Silence settled.
Kenji shifted. "So are you training us now or not?"
Jiro shook his head. "Not seriously."
Ryu blinked. "Then what is this?"
Jiro looked out at the sea. "This is me finally speaking plainly because the world has started naming you."
Ryu clenched his fists.
Jiro's voice stayed calm.
"You two can keep stumbling forward on instinct," he said. "Or you can start understanding what you already have before it fails you when it matters."
Ryu exhaled slowly.
"And how do we start?" he asked.
Jiro's staff tapped the sand once.
"Stop chasing the feeling," he said. "Start noticing what triggers it."
Kenji frowned. "That's it?"
"For today," Jiro replied.
He turned away.
"Tomorrow," he added, "you try again. And this time, you don't rush."
Ryu watched him walk off.
He wasn't being trained.
Not yet.
But for the first time, the path ahead had a name.
And names, Ryu realized, had a way of pulling the world closer.
---