Tachibana Kyūjō held the storm of fury boiling inside his chest, forcing himself to remain calm as he waited for the intelligence agent, Aisha, to finish her call on the den-den mushi.

— — —

The moment the call ended, Aisha’s expression changed in an instant. She turned to her partner, Lux, and said flatly, without a shred of emotion,

“Total cut is four million three hundred sixty thousand Berries. You can take one million.”

“One million? Based on wh—”

Lux’s protest died in his throat the second he met her icy gaze.

He fell silent. Not out of respect—out of fear.

Lux knew exactly who the woman in front of him was. Aisha was no ordinary agent. She was a viper in human skin—deceptive, cold-blooded, and lethally precise.

One million was more than enough. If he dared to demand more… tonight might very well be his last.

Aisha glanced away, her eyes gleaming with scorn.

At least he knows his place, she thought.

But just as the two were about to divvy up the stolen bounty, a voice cut through the darkness of the room, sharp and deadly as a drawn blade.

“Don’t move. Or you die.”

They both froze, eyes widening in disbelief as they turned to the source.

It was that child—the one they had brushed off so casually earlier. Now, he stood just a few steps away, a long sword in his grip.

A murderous aura swirled around his small frame like a pressure storm, suffocating and invisible, but impossible to ignore.

Lux opened his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to scream.

But Aisha, driven by razor-sharp survival instincts, grabbed his arm and shouted urgently,

“We sincerely apologize for what happened today!”

“We’re CP9, agents of the World Government! If you—”

Her words were abruptly cut short by something far colder than fear.

A blade.

The sword pierced straight through her mouth, exiting clean through the back of her head. The tip gleamed red behind her neck.

Warm, dark red blood sprayed across Lux’s body, mixed with clumps of brain matter—soft and white, like crushed tofu.

Lux froze in horror. His body locked up.

He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe.

The world spun.

And then he collapsed—like a rotted log crashing to the ground. Heavy. Lifeless.

Silence swallowed the room.

Tachibana Kyūjō exhaled deeply, releasing the fire building in his chest. Not because he was cruel.

Not because he was greedy.

But because those two were simply too dangerous to leave alive.

They were CP9—an elite black ops unit under the World Government. Not just dangerous, but politically untouchable.

Especially Aisha.

She was the kind of creature Kyūjō feared the most.

Experience had taught him a simple truth—burned into his soul through betrayal, blood, and survival:

A vengeful woman is a catastrophe you cannot outrun.

And Aisha was more than just vengeful.

She was cunning. She was manipulative. She was beautiful.

A perfect storm.

If he didn’t end her now, she would haunt him later. Whether he chose to resist, retreat, or stay neutral, she’d twist it into a reason for revenge.

Kyūjō had seen it before.

He remembered a story from another world—Kang Min from Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils. Just because Qiao Feng rejected her, she framed him, ruined his reputation, and almost got him killed by his own brothers.

If someone like that decided to hate you… nothing you did would ever be enough.

So Kyūjō acted with no hesitation.

Cut it at the root.

No mercy. No second chances.

In his eyes, there was no difference between man or woman. No prejudice.

Only one question: Are you a threat to the innocent?

And Aisha, along with Lux, absolutely were.

— — —

After doing what he could to clean the scene, Kyūjō retrieved the box of money and slipped into the night.

He knew he had to vanish. Tonight.

Not just because he had killed two CP9 agents.

But because, as mentioned during Aisha’s call… someone from HQ was coming.

A hunter.

Even CP9 called them “the executor.”

With a body still too small to fight the World Government head-on, Kyūjō knew one thing:

Staying here meant death.

He rushed back home and grabbed only the essentials—his fishing rod, fire-starting stone, a map of East Blue.

He took his sword, and the box of money, and stepped out of the house that had sheltered him.

Then he paused.

And made a decision.

Kyūjō burned the house to the ground.

He didn’t want to leave any trace. Who knew what kind of Devil Fruit powers the Government might send next? For all he knew, they could track his scent from a strand of hair or a splinter of wood.

He couldn’t take that risk.

Once he confirmed the house had burned to ash, Kyūjō made his way to Loguetown’s harbor.

Cloaked by the cover of night, he stowed away on a merchant ship bound for East Blue.

From there, he hopped ship to ship, every time the boat made landfall—six or seven times in total—each jump a new step in erasing his trail completely.

Until finally—

He arrived at a peaceful, picturesque village nestled beside the sea.

Shimotsuki Village. Also known officially as Shimozuki Village, or Shimotsuki-mura in World Government records.

The very place where the legendary dojo of Shimotsuki Kōshirō stood.

The same dojo that once trained a certain green-haired swordsman destined to shake the world:

Roronoa Zoro.

— — —

Thirty years ago, Kōshirō’s father—Shimotsuki Kozaburō—was one of the great samurai of Wano Country.

He fled the Land of Wano with a band of fellow swordsmen, escaping oppression by sailing across the Grand Line.

Eventually, they arrived at this quiet land in East Blue.

Here, they defeated the local bandits, taught the villagers swordsmanship, and slowly built a new life.

Kozaburō fell in love with a local woman and chose to stay.

That’s how Shimotsuki Village was born.

And from it, the Isshin Dōjō.

(PS: Kozaburō was also a master swordsmith—two of his legendary blades are the famed Wadō Ichimonji and Enma.)

— — —

At the gates of the sturdy wooden dojo, a large sign greeted him with bold kanji:

「一心道場」

Isshin Dōjō

Kyūjō gripped the sword at his side tightly. His eyes burned with determination.

“Finally,” he whispered. “Now I can see for myself what real swordsmen in this world are like.”

He took a deep breath, walked up to the door, and knocked—three steady, calm taps.

— — —

A moment later, the door creaked open.

A man with neatly tied black hair stood at the entrance. Middle-aged, calm, with a wise air about him.

He looked at the boy, tilting his head slightly.

“Hey there, kid. What brings you all the way out here?”

Kyūjō met his eyes without hesitation.

His voice was serious. Sincere.

“Good afternoon. My name is Tachibana Kyūjō. Are you Kōshirō-sensei? I’ve come to train at Isshin Dōjō. Please… accept me as your student.”

Kōshirō raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“You came all by yourself? Where are your parents?”

Kyūjō answered without blinking, his voice steady and cool.

“They were killed by pirates. A long time ago.”

Kōshirō fell silent.

There was something off about the boy—not in a bad way. It was his eyes. That heavy, mature gaze didn’t belong on a child’s face.

And yet…

Without another word, the man smiled gently and said,

“Come on in. You must be tired… and hungry.”

He reached out and took the box Kyūjō was carrying. But the moment he lifted it, his expression shifted slightly.

Not because it was heavy—Kōshirō was a trained swordsman. But for a child to carry something this heavy… and still look composed?

That was no ordinary feat.

Inwardly, Kōshirō nodded.

“Strong body. Calm demeanor. Maybe… this kid really will become a great swordsman someday.”

With that, the two of them stepped into the Isshin Dōjō together.

A new chapter was about to begin.

One that would test the mettle of this young traveler—a wandering swordsman from beyond the worlds.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep