The forest was still.
Sunlight poured through the thick canopy like golden rain, casting long beams of warmth over the earth below. Wind rustled through the treetops in soft whispers, like a farewell song only the leaves could understand.
Haru knelt before two simple graves, one hand resting gently on the moss-covered stone that marked his grandfather's resting place. His long pink hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, swaying slightly in the breeze. His body, now lean and toned with muscle, stood as a quiet testament to years of training. His twin blades—crafted from ironwood and reinforced by years of haki—hung quietly at his sides.
He was thirteen now.
And today, his journey would begin.
"One year, Grandpa…" he whispered, eyes fixed on the name etched into the stone: Miyamoto Musashi.
The name alone would command fear and respect across seas, especially among veteran Marines. But to Haru, it meant something far greater—teacher, protector, father.
"You said I'd be ready by thirteen. You said I'd feel it in my bones. I never believed you." He gave a dry chuckle. "But… here I am."
He turned slightly to the second grave, his voice lowering.
"And Mom… I don't remember your face. I was just a baby when you brought me here. But I remember your warmth. The way Grandpa said you shielded me… how you bled and still crawled to this forest, just to keep me safe. I remember your lullaby, even if I don't know the words."
He pressed his forehead gently to her gravestone.
"I'll make both of you proud. I swear."
He stood slowly, brushed off the dirt from his hakama, and stepped back. There were no tears in his eyes—only quiet strength. A strength built not on vengeance or ambition, but on purpose.
He turned his back to the graves, not in abandonment—but in trust.
The forest that raised him, the dojo that shaped him, and the ghosts who guided him—he would carry them with him, always.
The path to the town was winding and steep. For thirteen years, he had never ventured beyond the trees. His entire world had been the dojo, the clearing, and the forest around it.
Musashi had kept him hidden.
Not out of fear, but protection.
"Some people hunt power, Haru," his grandfather once said. "Some would see your gift and try to bend it. Others might fear you. Until you're strong enough to carry your truth, remain in the shadows."
Now, Haru was ready to walk in the light.
The dirt road became gravel. Gravel turned to cobblestone. Familiar wilderness gave way to distant rooftops and the faint hum of a town waking to life.
As he crested the final hill, the town revealed itself—small, peaceful, nestled near the coast, where fishing boats rocked gently in the harbor.
This was the town his mother had fled with him in her arms.
He had no memories of it. Only his grandfather's quiet stories: of pirates who once ruled these streets, of civilians living in fear, of the fire that burned half the town in the chaos.
Haru had imagined a ghost town—broken, abandoned, haunted by the past.
But what he saw was… life.
Children laughing as they played tag near the town square. A baker pulling fresh loaves from a stone oven, steam rising into the morning air. A man patching his roof, humming a sea shanty with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
Haru stopped and watched.
No one recognized him. How could they? He had been a baby when he left. He was a ghost to them, a memory never made.
But to him, they were part of his story. A story written in blood and sacrifice.
His hand clenched at his side. His mother had died running from this place. His grandfather had trained him for it. And yet… he didn't feel anger.
He felt peace.
Because this—this laughter, this calm—was proof that their sacrifice meant something.
He took a deep breath and smiled faintly. "You'd be happy to see this, Grandpa."
The Marine Base
The town's Marine base stood modestly near the coast, its white walls washed by sunlight and trimmed with blue. It wasn't large or intimidating—no fortress or stronghold—but it had presence.
Ten years ago, this base had been useless. Corrupt officers, weak leadership, and open fear of pirates. That's what had forced his mother to flee.
But things had changed.
As Haru approached the gate, two guards straightened.
"State your business."
Haru met their gaze with calm, confident eyes. "I'm here to enlist."
One of them tilted his head. "Name?"
"Haru. No family name."
The guards looked at each other, confused.
"You look… trained. Who sent you?"
Haru opened a small wooden case from his belt and handed it over. Inside was a Marine-issued medal, old and weathered, marked with a name etched in gold:
Miyamoto Musashi – Rear Admiral, Retired.
The guards went still. One of them whistled.
"Wait… that Musashi? The one from the Old Sea Wars?"
"He died years ago," the other murmured. "He disappeared."
Haru said nothing. Just waited.
Eventually, the gate opened.
Inside the Base
The base commander, a middle-aged woman with dark skin and sharp eyes, examined Haru from head to toe.
"You trained under Musashi?" she asked.
"He raised me," Haru said. "Since I was a baby."
Her brow furrowed. "We never even knew he was hiding someone up in those hills."
"He didn't hide me," Haru said simply. "He protected me. Until I could protect others."
Her eyes lingered on his swords. "Do you have any idea what it means to join the Marines?"
Haru nodded. "I'm not here for glory. I'm not here for revenge. I'm here because this town is peaceful now. I want to help other towns become like it."
She studied him for a long moment. Then she stood and extended her hand.
"Welcome to the Marines, Recruit Haru."
He shook her hand firmly.
That Night
Haru stood on the roof of the dormitory, staring out at the town bathed in orange light.
The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across rooftops and the bay beyond.
He breathed in the salty air. He felt the wind on his face. The world was so much bigger than the forest—and now, he was a part of it.
Tomorrow would bring drills, orders, rules, and maybe even pain.
But for now… this was enough.
His heart was calm.
His blade was ready.
His journey had begun.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, the seas of the world waited.