Krishna awoke to the golden warmth of sunlight pooling through wooden blinds. Soft sheets rustled beneath him. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped. And for the first time in both his lives, he felt no weight on his shoulders.
Just warmth.
Just breath.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
Then he reached up to rub his eyes—
—and stopped.
Tiny fingers. Round knuckles. Soft, useless wrists.
"Oh no," his soul whispered.
Not again.
Panic bloomed instantly. His heart, now thudding in his small chest, hammered like a faulty pressure valve. "This isn't a dream," he thought wildly, thrashing. "This is my new reality. I'm still a baby. Why am I still a—"
PING!
A familiar chime bloomed in his mind's eye.
Medha Online. Initializing: SnarkOS.
"From six-foot-four to fun-sized chaos gremlin," Medha announced cheerfully in his HUD. "Peak regression achieved. How does it feel to be portable?"
Krishna groaned.
Well, he tried to groan. It came out as a squeaky hiccup.
"Come on," he babbled, glaring into the ether. "I used to bench-press eighty—hic—eight—hic—"
Censorship Protocol Engaged: Profanity Detected in Infant Babel.
"I hate you."
"I live for your tantrums."
Suddenly, something soft shifted beneath him.
A gentle warmth cradled his back, and he realized: he wasn't lying on a bed.
He was lying on Sheshika, his celestial serpent guardian, her body curled into a cradle around him. She hummed gently—yes, hummed, like a mother cooing to a fretful child. Her heartbeat thumped slow and steady through her scales. It calmed him.
It felt like his mother's lap. Only divine. And scalier.
"Let me show you someone from your world," Medha said, her tone curiously reverent for once. "A mortal. But not just any mortal. The one whose body was blessed by the gods and whose mind carved the blueprint for every martial path that followed."
A soft projection appeared in Krishna's HUD—an ancient figure in red robes, seated in unmoving meditation before a cave, eyes closed, but exuding a pressure that could silence storms.
"Bodhidharma," Medha said. "The father of martial arts. The one who crossed oceans to awaken warriors with breath, discipline, and silence. He trained until stone broke beneath his feet. He moved through monks like wind through grass. No flashy power, no divinity. Just raw, earned mastery."
Krishna blinked. "...Wait. I've seen this guy."
A memory surged.
The actor Suriya—long hair, bronze skin, sharp eyes—walking across an ancient temple courtyard. "7th Sense", the Tamil film. He'd watched it one weekend on a bunk bed in his college hostel, surrounded by ramen wrappers and overly enthusiastic roommates.
The actor had played Bodhidharma.
A warrior-monk. The Father of Martial Arts. A god in human flesh who trained his body to move like iron, and his breath to calm storms. Krishna had loved it.
At the time, he'd laughed at the reincarnation part. A mythical hero waking up in the modern day?
Now he was a divine avatar in a toddler's body.
"That was him," Krishna whispered. "That was Bodhidharma."
"Loosely dramatized," Medha replied. "But accurate in spirit. And now, his path becomes yours."
The protocol loaded:
>> Initiating: Breath of the First Flame — 'Little Bodhi' Protocol v1.0
Level 1 Objective: Observe. Breathe. Stabilize.
Warning: Baby lungs detected.
Little Bodhi. Sure. Why not?
Training began with breath awareness.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Simple… except not.
Baby lungs were fragile. Diaphragm control was laughable. After two minutes of trying to follow Medha's guidance, Krishna hiccupped so hard he drooled on Sheshika's coils.
"New record," Medha chirped. "Three hiccups and a spit bubble. You're a prodigy."
Sheshika nuzzled his cheek.
He felt… safe.
Warm.
Maybe even happy.
Later that day, Makino came in.
She wore a simple apron and hummed an old tune—one Krishna couldn't place, but felt ancient and sweet. She picked him up with easy grace, like she'd done it for years. He didn't resist.
She bathed him, dried him, dressed him in a tiny onesie with ducks on it. He didn't fight.
She held him against her shoulder and said softly, "You're so calm, little one. You really are something else."
He didn't know what emotion bloomed in his chest.
Shame? Gratitude? Longing?
All of it.
"You used to feel like a burden," Medha whispered. "Now you're allowed to feel held."
But the mind never rests.
Not for Krishna.
That night, while Sheshika rocked him with her tail and Makino hummed nearby, he tried again.
Breathwork. Stillness. Mantra.
Aum. Aum. Aum.
Hold the image. Hold the sound.
He lasted fifteen seconds before:
A memory flashed—
His sister's laughter in a rainstorm.
Another—
His mother whispering "Eat before you leave. Please."
Another—
Blood on tile. The scream.
"Sorry, Amma."
He broke.
Tears fell silently. Sheshika curled closer. Makino, not understanding, kissed his forehead and wiped his eyes.
"You are not failing," Medha said quietly. "You are surviving."
Days passed.
He tried again.
And again.
Every breath steadier. Every flicker of emotion… just a little quieter.
Sheshika matched her breath to his. Makino fed him stories and soup. Medha upgraded "Little Bodhi" to Level 2.
One evening, Krishna crawled across the floor, determined to reach the base of a stool—his battlefield for the day.
He wobbled.
He toppled.
But he didn't cry.
He pushed again.
He reached it.
Tiny hands curled over wood. Chest heaving.
He turned. Looked up.
Sheshika watched silently.
Makino, across the room, clapped and smiled without knowing why.
Medha whispered:
"Congratulations. You didn't win the crawl.
You won your will."
Krishna flopped into a coil, smiling faintly.
"This body is small," he thought, as stars blinked through the window.
"But it will become a temple. A battlefield. A blade."
The days drifted by like petals on a stream. Two years of breath, balance, and babyhood.
Krishna was growing, but the world outside remained still—too still.
He didn't see any other children his age.
No monkeys with straw hats.
No giants with freckles.
No red-haired pirates bursting into taverns with sake and storms.
Makino's bar remained peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
It wasn't a bad life. In fact, for the first time in either of his lives, Krishna found peace… boring.
He had his daily routines.
Meditation in the morning with "Little Bodhi" Protocol 2.3.
Breathwork while Sheshika curled protectively around him.
Mental resilience drills from Medha, often including stimulus denial (where she intentionally played irritating sounds just to break his focus).
"Today's distraction: Goat bleating at 20Hz, looped," Medha said once.
Krishna stared blankly at the ceiling.
"You're getting better," she admitted, almost disappointed.
Despite the training, something gnawed at him.
He hadn't seen Luffy. Or Ace. Or anyone from the One Piece world yet.
"Is this even the right world?" he finally muttered mentally one evening, lying in Sheshika's coils like a very serious, very over-trained cinnamon bun.
"You're asking now?" Medha chirped. "We've been here two years, and only now it occurs to you?"
"I was a baby! Emotionally unstable! You locked my swear module!"
"Fair," she conceded. "Still funny though."
Sheshika raised her head lazily. "The energies of this realm do feel… turbulent. Heavy with imbalance. But not apocalyptic."
Krishna exhaled. "So not the Bleach universe, then."
Medha processed a few trillion probabilities.
"Let's play a game. Top Candidate Worlds by Dharma Imbalance, Pirate Economy, and Existential Absurdity…"
Three worlds flashed across his HUD:
One Piece
Hunter x Hunter
A third world Krishna immediately vetoed because it had sentient trains.
"Based on your spiritual resonance and Makino's name tag," Medha finished, "we're probably in One Piece."
He sat upright.
Well. Wobbled upright.
"That means Luffy's here. Shanks. Ace. Garp."
His heart did a weird somersault. "I have to meet them."
"Maybe give it a year or two," Medha said. "Y'know, after you finish growing a spine. Literally."
Later that week, during a nap-turned-meditation-session, he decided to ask Makino outright.
"Makino?" he said softly (well, tried to—his baby voice still made 'M' sound like a mewing kitten).
She was cleaning behind the counter and turned, smiling warmly.
"Yes, sweet pea?"
"Are there any… kids my age?" he babbled.
She blinked, surprised by the clarity of his phrasing. He was precocious, sure—but this was something else.
"Well," she said, drying her hands on a cloth, "not in town, love. But there is a child in the mountains. I go up sometimes to check on him. He's about your age."
Krishna's heart leapt.
"Who?"
"His name's Ace. He lives with the Dadan Bandits. His grandfather asked me to keep an eye on him."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
Krishna knew.
Ace.
He was here.
Alive.
He didn't act on it right away.
He waited another year. Trained harder. Grew stronger. Grew calmer.
On his third birthday, he donned a camouflaged nano-suit Medha modified to match toddler proportions. It looked like a silk bodysuit to anyone else, but inside it pulsed with thousands of microscopic machines tuned to his body and soul.
He ascended the mountain.
Sheshika moved beside him like a silent silver ribbon.
They didn't get close. Not yet.
Just watched.
From the treeline.
Ace was wild, running shirtless across rocks, leaping between trees, shouting at the sky. Krishna watched with quiet awe—and a pang of something else.
Loneliness.
He returned without approaching.
Another year passed.
He was four now.
His emotions were mostly stable. His thoughts sharp. His steps quiet.
But even now, Krishna couldn't forget the wild kid on the mountain.
He tried again.
This time, he asked Makino directly.
She gave him a long look and finally smiled.
"You've been such a good boy," she said, ruffling his hair. "Fine. But only if I'm with you."
He beamed.
"Joy detected," Medha noted dryly. "Infant glee levels approaching dangerous thresholds."
That afternoon, Makino took him up the trail.
With Sheshika coiled around her neck like a scarf (something she barely tolerated) and Krishna walking beside her like a miniature monk, they reached the edge of the Dadan Bandit hideout.
Garp was already there.
Krishna's heart leapt in his tiny chest.
Garp.
The Hero of the Marines. The one who punched mountains for breakfast and justice for dessert.
Krishna had to stop himself from glowing.
But the moment they arrived, Garp laughed his lungs out and picked up Krishna in one hand like a loaf of bread.
"Well, you're a funny-lookin' baby. What's your name?"
Krishna stared, eyes wide.
Makino answered for him. "His name is Krishna."
Garp blinked. "Krishna? Huh. I knew a guy named that once. Real mischievous type."
Krishna smiled innocently. Internally, he was screaming.
And there—just behind Garp, scowling like a small storm cloud—was Ace.
Krishna stepped toward him slowly.
He didn't know what to say.
He wanted to say a lot.
But all that came out was:
"Hi."
Ace narrowed his eyes.
"…You smell like soap."
Medha whispered:
"Off to a great start, Casanova."
Sheshika sighed.
Krishna smiled awkwardly.
He had no idea how to make a friend.
But maybe, just maybe, he'd figure it out.
One weird word at a time.
Just as Krishna thought he was making microscopic progress with Ace—on a day filled with more silence than swearing—a new voice cracked through the trees.
"You're not one of the mountain rats," it said, matter-of-factly. "You don't smell like mud, either. Who are you?"
Krishna turned.
A blond-haired boy stood confidently at the edge of the clearing, clothes tattered but posture proud. A top hat tilted rakishly on his head—far too big for his face. He wore a grin like he knew how the world worked—and didn't much care to follow its rules.
"Sabo," the boy said, offering a half-smile and no handshake. "Resident noble turned forest escapee."
Ace grunted from a few feet away, arms folded, looking like he was trying to decide whether to leave or scowl harder.
Krishna gave a small smile. "Krishna. Resident weird kid trying very hard to make friends."
Sabo chuckled. "That so?" Then he noticed something else. "Why's there a giant snake curled around your snack basket?"
Both boys stared at the gleaming coils stretched beside Krishna—until now, peaceful and silent.
Sheshika uncoiled slowly, regal and calm. Her pale, silvery-white scales glistened under the canopy's filtered sunlight, her cobra hood marked with glowing sapphire lines. She raised her head slightly, blinking slowly—measuring, observing.
Ace flinched. "That's… a snake. A big one."
"She's not just a snake," Krishna said proudly. "She's my companion. Her name is Sheshika."
Sabo's eyes went wide. "She's beautiful. Like… not creepy-snake beautiful, but actually majestic."
"Thank you," Sheshika said softly, voice like a warm breeze.
Ace almost jumped. "It talks?!"
"I talk," she corrected.
At that moment, Garp, who had been lying against a log munching rice crackers, looked over.
"Huh. Pretty big," he mumbled. "She bite?"
Sheshika nodded serenely. "Only those who harm children."
Garp grunted with approval. "Good girl."
Krishna blinked. "That's it?"
"I've seen dragons and giants," Garp shrugged. "Big snake that doesn't try to eat me? I'll take it."
Apology Apples were Krishna's first offering.
He held them out—red, shiny, cleaned with a cloth Makino gave him. Peace offerings for the silent tension.
Ace narrowed his eyes. "You bribing me?"
"…It's an apple?"
Ace took one and bit it like it owed him answers. Sabo grinned and took his. "If I die in five minutes, avenge me."
Krishna chuckled. "Noted."
The DIY Bento Disaster came next.
Krishna tried to replicate one of Makino's recipes with Medha guiding him.
It tasted like guilt, soot, and confused ambition.
Sabo crunched a rice ball that could break bricks. "Crunchy and creative. I like it"
Ace bit into his and immediately spat it out. "Did you poison me after all?!"
Krishna groaned. "Why do people keep asking me that?!"
Medha buzzed in his ear:
"Culinary skill: -10. Threat to culinary dharma detected. Recommendation: spiritual exorcism of the kitchen."
Later, Krishna stood up on a rock and chanted loudly:
"Om Shanti, Om Shanti!"
Both boys stared at him like he'd lost his last marble.
"What was that?" Sabo asked.
"It's a purification chant. Every time someone swears, I will restore karmic balance with sound waves."
The next time Ace tripped and cursed at a log, Krishna yelled:
"OM SHANTI, OM SHANTI!"
Sabo howled with laughter. Ace glared. "You do that again, I'm swearing twice as hard."
Next time Ace cursed at a mosquito, Krishna chanted:
"OM SHANTI, OM SHANTI!"
Sabo collapsed into the dirt laughing. Ace threw a stick at Krishna's head.
Next came the Pocket Gift Disaster.
Krishna had carved tiny figurines: a tiger for Ace, a falcon for Sabo. Handcrafted symbols of strength and vision.
He handed them over awkwardly.
Sabo accepted right away, with a big grin on his face and thanked him.
Ace held his tiger for all of two seconds before hurling it into the river. "I don't want your pity."
"It wasn't pity," Krishna said, softly.
Ace didn't answer.
That night, Medha's voice chimed.
"Shadow activity confirmed. Ace retrieved the tiger 500 meters downstream."
Krishna smiled faintly to himself.
Two days later, he put on the first Dharma Puppet Show in a clearing.
Using old socks, sticks, and his baby voice, he performed the story of a bandit who gave up violence to protect an orphanage, guided by his conscience (and a puppet version of Sheshika).
Sabo clapped like it was a festival.
Ace groaned. "The moral of the story is don't punch bandits?"
"Or at least punch only deserving ones," Krishna offered.
Sheshika slithered closer. "The snake puppet had noble posture."
"Thank you, I practiced," Krishna said.
And then… mosquito war.
Twilight fell. Buzzing rose.
They declared war.
Armed with sticks and banana leaves, the boys battled the swarm with the valor of gods.
Sabo ran in circles shouting battle cries.
Ace fought in grim silence.
Krishna got bit seventeen times, then slipped into a puddle.
"You alive?" Sabo asked.
"I died in mud. My legacy is shame," Krishna groaned, fanning wildly.
Krishna rose, dripping mud, fanned three mosquitos away in one sweep, and said, "This is why I meditate."
Ace… laughed. Laughed.
Real laughter. Brief, but real.
The next evening, Krishna sat with Sheshika beneath a sloping tree.
"They're warming up," he whispered.
Sheshika's tail curled around him like a blanket. "And you didn't stop trying."
"I think," he said, looking up at the starlight, "I want them to know I'll stay. Not because they're legends in the future. But because they're lonely now."
Later that night, they all lay in the grass.
Sabo watched the fireflies blink above. "Y'know… you're weird."
Krishna smiled. "I get that a lot."
Ace muttered, "But not annoying weird. Just… not used to you."
That's when Krishna took out the scroll.
On it:
ASK Brotherhood Contract
We agree to:
– Share food.
– Protect each other.
– Kill all mosquitoes.
– Build the best fort ever.
– Not betray each other, even for pie.
– Share Maggi during celebrations.
Signed: Krishna
(Pending: Ace, Sabo)
He handed it over silently.
Sabo read it and grinned. "This is legendary."
He signed in berry juice.
Ace stared at it. For a long while.
Then he said: "You're still weird."
"…Thanks?"
Ace smirked and signed. "You try too hard. But maybe… that's not a bad thing."
Medha pinged softly.
"Social bond achieved. Emotional loyalty anchor established.
Congratulations.
The Brotherhood of ASK is now live."
Sheshika curled her tail protectively around the trio as they whooped and ran off to rebuild their fort.
Krishna looked down at his small, berry-stained hands.
And smiled.
Sheshika nuzzled his arm.
"I told you," she whispered. "Fire can melt even iron. You only had to warm them."
Garp showed up again like a thunderclap.
No letter, no warning—just the sound of footsteps stomping down the hill with all the grace of an avalanche. Makino nearly dropped a plate, while Sheshika looked up from her coils with a lazy blink.
Krishna was sweeping the floor with a straw broom one-third his size.
"You again?" Garp barked, grinning.
Krishna blinked. "You again."
The old man laughed. "Still tiny."
"Still loud," Krishna replied.
Makino served tea with a practiced smile, then left them outside in the shade of the bar's veranda. Sheshika coiled behind Krishna protectively, flicking her tongue at Garp.
"Relax, noodle," Garp grunted. "I didn't come to steal your hatchling."
Sheshika hissed lightly. "Try."
Krishna looked between them nervously. "Please don't provoke the giant snake, Grandpa Garp."
"I've punched dragons."
"She'll wrap you into a praying knot."
Garp grinned. "Now that I'd like to see."
Sheshika uncoiled from the shade beside him, raising her hood. "Your spiritual pressure is an insult to earthworms."
"Good to see you too, Noodle Queen."
As they sat under the veranda's cool shadow, Krishna tilted his head.
"Granpa Garp… are you a Marine?"
Garp blinked like it was the dumbest question ever asked.
"Am I—?! I'm the best damn Marine in the world, brat!"
He puffed out his chest, causing birds nearby to evacuate the tree.
Sheshika hissed. "Volume unnecessary."
Krishna looked up, wide-eyed. "That's amazing! Can you… show me something cool?"
Garp laughed. "You want a demonstration, huh?"
He stood suddenly. The earth cracked slightly beneath his foot.
Then—vanished.
A shockwave of air pressure burst in his place. Krishna's hair flared back.
Ten meters away, Garp stood, grinning smugly.
"That's Soru. One of six Marine techniques. Rokushiki. Step fast enough to vanish from sight. Useful for all sorts of situations—offense, defense, sneaking snacks—"
He paused mid-sentence. His smile froze. One eye twitched.
"...Wait."
He turned slowly to Krishna, who stared up like he'd seen god sprint.
"Oh… I'm not supposed to tell civilians that."
He turned, coughed awkwardly, and waved his hand. "Forget I said anything!"
Krishna blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Forget it! Classified! Top Marine secrets!"
"You just demonstrated it!"
"Don't tell Sengoku!" Garp barked.
"You named it, explained it, and used it—"
"NOTHING HAPPENED!"
Makino poked her head out from inside the bar. "Garp, did you just reveal Marine secrets to a four-year-old again?"
"NO—okay, yes—but he's not just any four-year-old!"
Krishna tilted his head. "I will treasure this illegal knowledge forever."
Garp grumbled, stuffing a rice cracker in his mouth. "Stupid kids with memory and brains."
Medha chirped:
"Soru Analysis: 100% complete. Side bonus: generational trauma harvested."
A few minutes later, as Garp cooled down, he studied Krishna again.
"You ever think of joining the Marines, brat?"
Krishna considered it for a moment. "Maybe."
Garp's face lit up.
"But… Ace said something."
Garp's eye twitched again.
"He said Marines don't protect people. Only power. That they'd rather follow orders than do what's right."
There was silence for a beat.
"…Tch. That brat's mouth." Garp cracked his knuckles. "Talking like he knows everything."
"He's not wrong," Krishna said gently. "But he's not all right either."
Garp's gaze softened just a bit. "And what about you?"
"What do you follow?"
Krishna stood slowly. The wind curled around him like a question.
Sheshika stopped moving. Medha went quiet.
Krishna looked up—not at Garp—but beyond him.
"I follow Dharma."
Garp squinted. "That some religion thing?"
"No," Krishna said, voice gaining strength. "It's truth."
"When I came to this world, I was nothing. Weak. Small. Powerless. I cried more than I breathed.
But I trained my mind. I wrestled my emotions. I studied breath, will, and silence.
And now—"
He lifted his chin. His voice deepened.
"I stand here not as a warrior. Not as a soldier. Not as a pawn of anyone's system.
But as someone who saw pain—and didn't turn away."
His fingers curled.
"Dharma is not obedience. It is not blind peace. It is not submission.
It is the courage to do what is right. Even when everyone else calls it wrong.
It is giving your last breath for someone else without needing to be remembered."
His voice cut through the silence like thunder.
"Even if I am alone.
Even if I fall again, and again, and again—
I will rise.
Not for vengeance.
Not for glory.
But because someone must choose to rise."
The world was still.
Garp stared at him.
Then looked away, rubbing his eyes.
"Damn pollen."
After a pause, the old man sighed and ruffled Krishna's hair.
"You're still a weird little punk."
"Thanks," Krishna smiled.
"But you got a fire. You could change the damn world."
"And you sound like Sengoku and Dragon had a baby and raised it on mountain air."
"…Is that a compliment?"
"Kid," Garp muttered, standing slowly, "that was the best answer I've heard in decades."
He turned toward the slope.
Stopped.
Then looked over his shoulder.
"I still think you'd make a hell of a Marine," he said.
"Maybe," Krishna replied. "But I want to walk the line between fire and water first."
"…Whatever that means, kid. Just don't die too young."
Then Garp muttered under his breath, "...And I swear if Ace's smart mouth keeps poisoning you with cynicism—"
Krishna blinked. "He didn't mean harm."
"I will punch that kid."
With that, Garp disappeared in a boom of wind and leaves.
Medha chimed cheerfully:
"Would you like me to prepare trauma-absorption protocols in advance?"
That evening, Krishna heard a distant thwack and a boy yelling in the woods.
Garp had paid Ace a… motivational visit.
Sheshika coiled tighter around Krishna.
"You… really meant that."
"I have to," Krishna whispered.
Medha's voice was soft.
"Emotional signature stabilized. Internal conviction aligned with projected path of Dharma."
Krishna looked at the trail of footprints Garp left in the dirt.
"I'm going to walk further than any of them," he whispered. "But not because I'm better."
"Then why?" Sheshika asked.
"…Because someone has to."
And the world felt a little more aligned again.
Krishna lay sprawled on the roof of Makino's bar, arms behind his head, staring at the constellations.
Krishna couldn't sleep.
His limbs were calm. His breath steady.
But his mind was dancing with a thousand frames per second—the moment Garp vanished using Soru replaying on loop.
The sheer absurdity of the technique. The blur of motion. The boom of wind left behind. Krishna hadn't even seen the transition.
"Still processing Grandpa Fist Rocket's technique?"
"I saw the world bend," Krishna murmured. "He didn't move. He vanished."
"He moved faster than your eyes and brain could track. With some coordination, compression physics, and neural fire syncing—"
"Yeah," Krishna grinned. "He vanished."
Sheshika slithered along the rooftop beside him, scales whispering against the tiles. "It stirred you deeply."
"It's not just the speed," Krishna whispered. "It's freedom. To move like that. To control yourself so deeply your body obeys your will like breath."
"Medha," he whispered.
She appeared above him like a soft aurora, blue hair tied back in a chibi ponytail, holographic curls bouncing with each blink.
"Yes, speedy senpai?"
Krishna smiled faintly. "We're starting something."
Krishna exhaled slowly, then grinned.
"Project Insight. We begin tonight."
Medha's tone turned clinical:
"Launching: Project Insight. Subprograms:
– Rokushiki Reverse Engineering
– Life Return Integration
– Internal Energy Loop Mapping"
A soft ping rang in his ear, and suddenly his view was filled with diagrams, simulations, and an entire neural blueprint of the Rokushiki technique set.
"I like the last one," Krishna nodded. "Sounds like I'll glow in the dark."
"Only if you ignite your liver."
Sheshika lifted her head from the corner, blinking slowly. "Is it time already?"
Krishna nodded. "We begin with theory. Just theory."
"Correct," Medha confirmed. "Training protocols won't start until your musculoskeletal maturity hits base 40%. Still 2 years out."
"Perfect," Krishna said. "Time to build the foundation."
Sheshika curled nearby on the roof, eyes glowing like coals in the dark. "This will not be easy."
"I hope not," Krishna said. "Anything worth doing shouldn't be."
Medha pulled up a labeled schematic of Rokushiki—Six Powers, one by one, like pages of a sacred martial text.
Each was accompanied by internal data points, muscular regions involved, and base requirements for mastery.
Krishna leaned in, eyes sharp with focus.
Medha projected a glowing silhouette of Garp mid-Soru.
"Let's break this down. Soru relies on explosive kinetic displacement—dozens of high-speed steps executed in milliseconds."
The projection zoomed into the legs—highlighting tendons, muscle groups, and torque patterns.
"Every joint becomes a piston. Every muscle a spring."
Krishna frowned. "And if someone with stronger bones and tendons tried it?"
"They'd shatter their legs."
He whistled. "So it's not just speed. It's control."
"Exactly. The brain must coordinate micro-adjustments per muscle to preserve structure during burst acceleration. The margin for error is microscopic."
Krishna grinned. "So… my body's not ready yet."
"Nope."
Sheshika hummed. "How will you train something the body isn't ready to perform?"
"With modeling," Medha said. "Virtual simulation, muscle priming, and nerve conditioning. We start by building the system before executing it in reality."
Krishna nodded. "We train the ghost of movement before the body dares to follow."
"That was poetic," Medha said. "Recording that one."
"Now," Krishna said, "What about the rest of them?"
Medha's display shifted. Six panels lit up, each labeled with a Rokushiki technique:
1. Soru (Already Demonstrated)
Flash-step movement.
Launch point of the project.
"We already have firsthand data," Medha noted. "Muscle-torque optimization, foot-piston acceleration, and tendon elasticity are key here. Garp-san's raw physicality allows him to bypass standard technique refinement."
Krishna muttered, "What if we train for reflex precision and explosive control?"
"Noted. Adding: Micro-reflex overload drills."
2. Tekkai (Iron Body)
"Temporarily hardens the user's muscles to the point of near-invincibility. It's not just brute tension. It's neuro-muscular density locking."
"Let me guess," Krishna said. "You flex so hard that nothing moves you?"
"More like vibrating all muscle fibers at once to simulate stone. Full-body muscle tension hardened like steel. It dampens impact by redistributing shock."
"But wouldn't that make you immobile?"
"Yes. Tekkai is rarely used in motion. Some advanced users unlock Tekkai Kenpo—mobile versions."
Krishna stared at the anatomical diagram of muscle-locking and internal bracing.
Sheshika hissed thoughtfully. "If done incorrectly?"
"Paralysis. Crushed nerves. Internal tearing."
Krishna winced. "Fun."
"I'm going to feel this one," he muttered.
"Recommendation: Controlled impact testing with Sheshika's tail."
Sheshika blinked. "That sounds… enjoyable."
Krishna groaned.
3. Geppo (Moonwalk)
A simulation showed the user kicking the air to gain height and hover.
"Jumping off the air itself by redirecting force downward in bursts."
Krishna stared. "That's possible?"
"In theory, it's a matter of downward thrust coordination and force redirection. It's not flight—it's air compression. Kicking hard enough at high speed creates brief repulsion points. Similar to rocket propulsion with organic leg jets."
"…You're saying I'll grow leg rockets?"
"Spiritually."
Krishna grinned. "I want to fly with my legs. Let's do it."
"Logged: Skykicking protocol—pending core leg mass increase."
4. Rankyaku (Storm Leg)
A blade of wind burst from the foot in the hologram.
Krishna blinked. "Is that… a kick sword?"
"Essentially. By kicking with extreme speed and precision, the air is sliced like a blade.
You concentrate force at the moment of extension and direct it outward. The foot becomes a sharp wave, traveling at slicing velocity."
Krishna blinked. "Air blade. Got it. Physics can suck it."
"Correct."
"I want this yesterday."
"You can't even reach the countertop."
"Let me dream."
"Dream logged."
5. Shigan (Finger Gun)
The simulation shows a figure, finger outstretched and thrusting into a rock, making aclean hole on the solid surface.
"A stab delivered with the finger alone. Force is concentrated into a small surface, delivered faster than a traditional punch."
Krishna raised an eyebrow. "Could you, in theory… do it with other fingers?"
"I knew you'd ask that."
6. Kami-e (Paper Art)
The simulation shifted again.
A figure swayed gently, avoiding blades and bullets like paper on a breeze.
Krishna sat up straighter.
"Muscle relaxation to the extreme—so much that the user moves like paper in the wind. It requires full control of micro-movement, tension release, and skeletal relaxation. It's the breath of the six."
Sheshika blinked. "How is relaxing a technique?"
Krishna laughed. "Imagine dodging a bullet not by blocking—but by folding out of its way."
"It's full-body muscle and tendon elasticity training," Medha added. "Combined with total emotional detachment mid-combat. Harder than it sounds."
Sheshika hummed. "The art of flowing like wind. Subtle, but divine."
Krishna whispered, "Like Bodhidharma's breath redirection in battle."
Medha nodded.
"Exactly the connection I hoped you'd make."
Krishna nodded. "So… mind and body in harmony."
"Almost like Dharma."
After the panels faded, Krishna leaned forward.
"And Life Return?"
Sheshika tilted her head. "What is… Life Return?"
Krishna blinked. "She doesn't know?"
"She's divine, not cybernetic," Medha said. "Let me translate."
A 3D model of a human body appeared in Krishna's vision—muscles, organs, nerves, and blood vessels glowing in transparent overlays.
"Life Return—or Seimei Kikan—is a combat system that allows users to control every biological process in their body. Hair length. Muscle density. Blood pressure. Even digestion. All on command."
"Imagine flexing your blood vessels to redirect toxins. Or shifting your fat to form temporary armor. Or stopping your own bleeding at will. You could shift muscle mass between limbs, increase oxygen efficiency during combat, and enhance cell regeneration in real time."
Sheshika tilted her head. "It is unnatural… but elegant."
"Correct. And entirely achievable with training and neural hardwiring. Especially with me involved."
Krishna smiled. "A martial form of tapasya. Control not just over action—but over being."
"Exactly," Medha said. "And together—Rokushiki and Life Return form the physical base of your evolution."
Krishna leaned back on his hands. "If Garp's Soru was the spark, Life Return is the forge."
She showed a digital human model slowly shrinking its gut, extending its limbs, rerouting blood flow, even halting bleeding with willpower alone.
"It teaches you to know your body like you know your own name. Every inch. Every cell. Then, you command it."
Sheshika murmured, "What would it take to do this?"
"Meditation. Neural mapping. Controlled stimuli. Observation. Emotional stillness. And practice until your pain threshold cries for mercy."
Krishna's face lit up.
"Perfect."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the constellations drift.
"I can't do all this now," Krishna admitted.
"No," Sheshika agreed. "But you can start."
Krishna exhaled slowly.
"This is how it begins."
"Training programs are locked for now," Medha said. "But neural mappings are live. Every breath you take—every twitch you feel—we're analyzing."
Medha flickered, smiling softly:
"Project Insight begins now. Not because you're ready. But because one day, someone will ask why you were."
Krishna's fists clenched lightly.
"And I'll be able to answer."
The stars blinked like distant eyes, ancient and unmoved by the breath of gods or boys.
Krishna sat cross-legged beneath the tree behind Makino's bar, the grass cool under his bare feet. The moon lit his silhouette like a silver whisper, his breath deep and rhythmic.
It had been nearly three years now.
Three years since he'd opened his eyes as a baby in a world unknown.
Three years of struggling to walk again, to hold chopsticks with tiny fingers, to meditate through tantrum-sized emotions while Medha cackled in his ear and Sheshika hummed lullabies to still his storms.
And now, he could balance a leaf on his head for thirty minutes straight. Which—according to Medha—was a top-tier baby monk achievement.
"Progressing steadily," Medha whispered in his mind. "Mind stability is 67.8% higher than the regional toddler average."
"Thank you for comparing me to local infants," Krishna mumbled dryly.
"Just reminding you of your competition."
Sheshika, coiled nearby, chuckled in her own serpentine way. "You've come far, little dharmin."
Krishna breathed in, letting the air settle into his lungs, tracing it with awareness down to his diaphragm, then back out—slow, warm, calm.
He felt every heartbeat now. Every shift in muscle, every twitch of tension. He hadn't yet mastered anything—not Soru, not meditation, not even his own mood swing mornings.
But he had begun.
A soft breeze brushed his cheek.
He opened his eyes.
"I'm not ready to be a warrior of Dharma," he whispered to no one.
"But I am ready to train like one."
Medha's voice was unusually quiet.
"And that… is all that matters."
Up above, a star streaked across the sky—its path not carved by fate, but by force.
Krishna smiled.
Even the stars had to move.
Author's Note:
Yo, divine degenerates and dharmic dreamers!
This one was close to my heart. Chapter 3 shows the slow, unglamorous side of greatness—the emotional chaos of growing up with a baby brain while having divine ambition, and the hilariously cursed journey of befriending emotionally constipated future legends.
Krishna's awkwardness with Ace and Sabo is intentional. He's no charming anime MC with plot armor charisma—he's a real boy with a past, trying to earn his place. That's what this story is about: earned growth, not gifted power.
To the reviewer who said "this is another OP isekai fantasy"—you're kinda right. But also wrong. Krishna is powerful, yes, but power means nothing without internal foundation. That's what we're building brick by brick—with tantrums, training, and soul-splitting sincerity.
Also, yes. Garp teaching Soru and instantly regretting it was peak Grandpa energy. I couldn't resist.
Thank you all for reading. Your support means more than you know.
If you liked this chapter, drop a review, rating, or just yell "OM SHANTI" in the void.
—Author out.
(Still laughing about Pocket Gift Disaster)