Five Years Later
( Late 1500 )
It had been five years. Five years since the world of Wano began to crumble.
When Kozuki Sukiyaki, the great Shogun of Wano, fell to illness, the country trembled. The people had expected the natural heir, Oden Kozuki, to ascend. Yet Oden was far away, sailing seas unknown, and time spared no one. On his deathbed, Sukiyaki named a proxy Kurozumi Orochi.
The daimyō of each region, bound by loyalty to the Kozuki, were stunned. Whispers spread like wildfire through the capital, through the ports, through the mountain villages: A Kurozumi? The very name dripped with venom. The Kurozumi were a clan of treachery, long despised for their schemes. How could Sukiyaki entrust the throne to him?
But a shogun's word was law. And so, though unease weighed on their hearts, the people bowed.
Yet the unease became dread.
Orochi, who wrapped himself in false humility and weakness, revealed his true fangs the moment he sat upon the throne. With him came pirates—strangers from the outside world, men with beastly powers led by one who called himself Kaido of the Beasts.
The Flower Capital darkened. The people began to toil not for themselves, not for their families, but for Orochi's schemes and Kaido's greed.
Where once the rivers of Wano ran clear and pure, now black sludge seeped from factories. Chimneys rose like scars across the once-verdant hills, coughing ash into the sky. Forests withered. Fields turned barren.
The people labored in these factories from dawn until their hands bled. Men and women alike, children and the elderly—no one was spared. And for all their sweat, for all their pain, they were given scraps. A handful of coins that could not even buy a loaf of bread.
Mothers wept as their children starved. Fishermen who cast their nets into the rivers pulled up nothing but poisoned, belly-up fish. Farmers saw their soil hardened with toxins. The proud land of Wano, once untouchable, was rotting from within.
The people had hoped for salvation when, at last, Oden returned in the year 1499.
He stormed the Flower Capital like a typhoon, slashing down all who barred his way. Joy rang through the streets: At last, our savior has returned! Men and women dropped to their knees, tears streaming as they called his name. They waited outside the castle gates for the proclamation that Orochi's reign was over, that the chains on their necks would be broken.
But when the gates opened, Oden Kozuki did not bring freedom.
He danced.
Barefoot, half-naked, his body marked with ink and shame, he capered through the streets while the people gawked. At first they thought it a ruse, a ploy to humiliate Orochi before the final blow. Yet the days turned into months, and Oden returned again and again ,stripping, twirling, howling in grotesque spectacle.
The people's laughter turned to confusion. Confusion to anger. Anger to despair.
"Why?" they asked him. "Why do you do this? Why do you disgrace us?"
His reply was simple, spoken with weary eyes: "It is my job. It is how I provide for my family."
The land of Wano, once proud and strong, sank further into misery.
Ringo The Eternal Graveside
Far from the capital's chaos, in the snowbound region of Ringo, another life quietly unfolded.
The clang of steel rang through the courtyard of the Shimotsuki estate. A boy, his navy-blue hair tied back messily, stood with a wooden practice blade clutched in his calloused hands. His feet slid steadily through the snow-crusted earth, each swing sharper than the last.
"Four thousand nine hundred ninety-nine…" he muttered through gritted teeth. His breath fogged in the cold air, sweat dripping down his brow. "Five thousand!"
He lowered the blade at last, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. At ten years old, Mamoru Shimotsuki already towered at five feet, his frame lean but showing the early edges of muscle forged from relentless training. His robe clung damp to his back, and his haori navy blue like his hair rested loosely on his shoulders.
From the engawa, Ushimaru watched with his arms crossed, Onimaru the fox sprawled beside him like a silent sentinel. Ushimaru's sharp eyes studied every movement, every stance.
"You've sharpened your basics well," the daimyo said at last, his voice steady but carrying pride. "Your form is sound. Your grip is strong. Already you wield a blade like a seasoned youth, not a child of ten."
Mamoru straightened, gripping the wooden sword tightly. "I'll get stronger, Father. Strong enough to protect Ringo… strong enough to protect you."
Ushimaru's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, though his eyes betrayed deeper thought. "Strength is not built on swordsmanship alone. Your body must endure. Soon, we will begin the training of ryuo."
Mamoru's eyes lit with determination. "I'm ready! Whatever it takes, I'll do it."
He knew what ryuo is , his father had once explained it to him . The word ryou meant "flowing sakura". It is a type of power which allows the user to use their "fighting spirit/will" to create an invisible armor around themselves. It is capable of being used for offensive and defensive purposes. When Mamoru had first learnt of it he was amazed that such a power existed. He wanted to learn it right then and there but he was brought back to reality by his father , he didnt have the qualifications yet to start learning such a power .
Ushimaru studied him in silence for a long moment. The boy's eyes still held innocence, a softness untouched by the world's cruelty but there was something else there now, a depth carved by the battles he had already seen.
Ever since Orochi and Kaido's pact, raids had spread even to the snowy lands of Ringo. Pirates and mercenaries sought to defile the eternal gravesides, to seize weapons buried with the dead, to trample on the Shimotsuki legacy. Each time, Ushimaru rose with his samurai to repel them and each time, Mamoru was at his side.
Not at the front, never left unguarded, but close enough to taste the fire of battle. To feel his sword clash against real blades. To see blood, to smell iron, to learn.
And Mamoru learned well.
Though a child, he cut down men thrice his age. His strikes were unpolished but fierce, his instincts sharp. He was a prodigy, as expected of the Shimotsuki line.
Ushimaru exhaled slowly.
'I'll teach him ryou soon, he'll need it. We'll have to gloss over some fundamentals '.
He rose from the engawa and clapped his hands. "Thats enough for today. Come in and lets drink tea ."
Mamoru hurried inside, his sandals padding over the wooden floor.
---
Inside the Shimotsuki Estate
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Where once servants bustled through the halls, where laughter and footsteps once filled the space, now there was only emptiness. The hearth was cold, the storerooms sparse.
Mamoru moved through it silently, as if sensing the weight pressing on the air. He fetched the teapot and cups himself, heating the water over a small flame.
When he carried the tray back to the veranda, Ushimaru was waiting, seated with Onimaru still at his side.
The boy knelt and poured the tea carefully, his movements steady though his small hands trembled under the hot weight of the pot.
Mamoru sipped his own. The bitter taste sat heavy on his tongue, but he did not complain.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Only the distant caw of crows and the whisper of wind against the eaves filled the air.
Finally, Ushimaru spoke. "The world has changed, Mamoru. Even daimyō feel the weight of it. The people starve. The land rots. Money is scarce, even here. The house is emptier than it was years back"
Mamoru lowered his gaze. He remembered the laughter of the maids, the kindly cook who once gave him extra sweets, the old stablemaster who told stories at night. One by one, they had left. Not because they wished to—but because Ushimaru could no longer pay them.
"Father…" Mamoru whispered.
Ushimaru's eyes were steady as steel. "This is the burden we carry. As daimyō, we must endure what others cannot. But you… you must become more than me. Stronger, wiser. The weight of Ringo will be yours one day."
Mamoru clenched his fists tightly in his robe. "I wont let you down , i promise ."
For the first time that day, Ushimaru's lips curved into a true smile. A rare thing, fleeting as snow in spring.
"We'll see," he said softly.
Together they sipped their tea, silent but bound by the unspoken promise between them: that father and son would endure, no matter how heavy the shadow of Orochi and Kaido grew.
Outside, the snow of Ringo fell, pure and untainted still—though even here, for how long, no one could say.