It had been a week since anyone had seen Toma anywhere nearby. Kaia and Nana were talking in hushed concern outside the market stall.
Kaia said, "I'm going to visit the orphanage now—maybe something happened to him."
Agreeing instantly, Nana replied, "Let's just go now."
The two of them set off along the winding dirt path that led through the forest to the orphanage. But the closer they got, the more uneasy they felt. Along the path, they began to notice signs of struggle—shattered branches, scuffed dirt, and patches of dried blood splattered across tree roots and rocks. Though no bodies were in sight, the sight of blood alone sent chills down their spines.
Without exchanging a word, they quickened their pace, hearts pounding.
When they emerged into the open clearing before the orphanage, the breeze stopped—and time with it. Several bodies lay on the ground near the entrance, still and lifeless, the earth around them dark with dried blood. The flower garden was half-trampled, petals scattered like broken memories.
Both Kaia and Nana froze in shock, unable to speak.
Just then, the orphanage door creaked open.
From it stepped a boy with messy black hair. His white shirt was soaked and stained in crimson, smeared with blood both old and fresh. His eyes looked tired, more tired than any boy his age should be. He looked surprised to see them—only for a moment—before his expression returned to the same cold calm.
"What are you doing here, both of you?" he asked, his voice flat.
Nana snapped, though fear laced her words, "Why haven't you come to work? What is all this? Where's Ms. Saint? I want to speak with her!"
Kaia stepped forward, softer but still shaken. "You know I'm leaving for the academy tomorrow… Who knows when we'll meet again?"
Toma didn't respond right away. Instead, he motioned silently for them to follow. He led them around to the back of the orphanage, through the overgrown paths of what used to be a vibrant garden.
There, beneath a willow tree with its branches swaying in the wind like grieving arms, stood a fresh grave.
A simple stone marked the earth. The name carved on it read:
"Ms. Saint"
Both girls stared at the grave in disbelief.
Kaia whispered, trembling, "She was fine last week… I just saw her…"
Nana put a hand to her mouth, speechless.
Toma's voice broke the silence, low and hollow. "Some people came to kill me… Ms. Saint stepped between me and the blade. She was cut—deep. She died protecting me. The next day, more came… I killed them."
He turned away from the grave and walked slowly back toward the orphanage. As he reached the doorway, he added, without turning around, "You both can leave now."
Nana called after him, her voice filled with confusion and worry. "What are you going to do now?"
Toma stopped, paused, and replied casually, "I'm going to travel the world. I want to visit every place I dreamed of… Meet people—pirates, sailors, giants… whoever I want."
And with that, he stepped inside the ruined building and closed the door behind him.
Only the two girls remained, left standing in silence. A silence so heavy it pressed against the wind and lingered over the half-crumbled house and the grave beyond.
The Next Morning
Toma stood alone before the graves behind the orphanage.
The air was quiet, and soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the trees. The grave of Ms. Saint sat peacefully under the willow tree, its flowers now wild and free.
Beside it stood a second grave, freshly dug, the stone plain and unmarked except for a single carved name:
"Arman"
Toma crouched beside it, brushing some leaves from the surface.
"If you're reading this, that means Arman is gone," he whispered to the wind. "From now on… I'll live my new life as Toma. Arman is dead. What remains… is Toma."
He took a deep breath, eyes closed for a moment, then turned and walked away—into the dense forest. But not to hide. Not to escape.
To train.
To become someone who could protect what he loved.
Someone strong enough to never feel helpless again.
Three long years passed in the isolation of the wild.
Toma trained relentlessly—day in, day out. Drawing on memories of his past life, he used everything he remembered: hand-to-hand combat drills, survival techniques, and focused meditation. Slowly, he awakened his abilities—Observation Haki to sense the world, Armament Haki to harden his resolve and his body.
The forest had become his home and his battleground. Wild beasts had become his sparring partners. He made no friends, heard no voices but his own. But he grew—stronger, sharper, quieter.
One morning, as golden light broke over the treetops, Toma stood on the hill overlooking the place where it had all begun.
The orphanage lay far behind, swallowed by time. The graves remained, now blanketed in wildflowers. Foxes, rabbits, and butterflies made their homes there—nature reclaiming what once was sorrow.
Toma stood before them, his hair longer now, eyes older. He rested his hand on the gravestone marked "Arman."
"To honor you," he whispered, "I'll carry the name."
He stood tall, shoulders square, and declared aloud to the morning wind:
"I am Arman D. Toma."
With that, he turned and began walking.
The journey ahead was unknown. But one thing was certain:
He would make it something greater than even his wildest dreams.
He would become more than the world expected.
He would become free.