The rain had come suddenly.
Thick drops hammered against the dock's planks, rooftops, and waves, hissing like sparks on iron. The air reeked of salt, steam, and metal, as if nature itself had taken up a forge and started hammering out a storm.
Hagoromo sat beneath the awning of an old fishing shed, facing into the wind.
His fingers rested on the wet wood as he once again tried to feel... vibration.
Something. Anything. A trace of chakra.
But it wasn't chakra.
It was something else.
He sensed… intention.
This world breathed differently. Not like a flow, but like a pulse of desire.
He couldn't summon jutsu, but he could feel when someone wanted to kill. Or lie. Or save.
And this wasn't chakra.
It was will.
He didn't yet know that, in that moment, he was beginning to awaken Observation Haki.
Footsteps slammed against wet wood.
Voices followed.
— "There he is!"
— "Old man said he's in a black cloak with a staff."
— "Bounty's five hundred thousand beri. Alive preferred—but a head works too."
Hagoromo rose.
Three figures approached—young men in cloaks. One held a pistol. Another a sword. The third had heavy iron knuckle guards.
Bounty hunters.
In this world, even the "unknown" quickly became prey.
— "You're weird," said the one with the sword. "Not a Marine. Not a pirate. No Devil Fruit. But you broke the jaw of a Logia user. That means you've got something."
— "We came to take it," said the second.
Hagoromo said nothing.
He simply stood. Not aggressively. Not fearfully. Calm.
Then, without warning, the first one lunged with a knife.
Hagoromo stepped aside—smoothly, as if the air itself had carried him away.
He didn't see the attack—he felt the wave of it, like heat before fire.
And with that sensitivity, he struck the man's shoulder—not hard, but perfectly placed. The knife flew from his grip.
The second came with his gauntlets, swinging wild—missed.
Hagoromo's body had already predicted his weight, his direction, even his fear.
— "What the hell is—" the third began.
Hagoromo spoke, voice low:
— "This is not jutsu. Not magic. Not a Devil Fruit."
— "It's the ability to hear a man before he moves."
— "It's… will."
He touched the ground, drew a thin line in the mud with one finger.
— "Step past this… and I respond. Only once."
They hesitated. The first shifted forward—but the second stopped him.
They had seen something.
This man wasn't eager to kill.
He wasn't even angry.
He stood like a king without a throne.
They backed away. Quietly. Quickly.
A few minutes later, he was alone again.
Hagoromo closed his eyes.
What he had just used—wasn't chakra.
Wasn't a technique.
But he had sensed every breath, every hesitation.
He had known who would lie. Who would panic. Who would strike first.
He had brushed against a new kind of power.
He had named it within himself: instinct of will.
The world knew it by another name—
Haki.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, Hagoromo smiled.
— "You once gave humans will," he whispered to himself.
— "And now… you learn from those born with it."
Outside, the rain eased.
The clouds split like parchment, and the first streaks of sunset cut through the sky.
Hagoromo took up his staff and walked on—leaving the pier behind, heading inland.
Ahead lay a ruined temple.
And within it, he felt… something alive.