When villagers finally arrived, drawn by the smoke and cries, they found the girl first.
She stumbled from the ruined house, tears streaking her face, her voice trembling. And when they asked what had happened, when they demanded to know she broke.
"He… he killed them," she whispered. "He killed everyone."
The villagers froze, Their eyes turned toward the house where Gyomei stood, blood coating his hands. The bodies of pirates had already been carried off by their comrades, leaving only the dead children as evidence.
The sight condemned him.
Before Gyomei could speak, before he could explain, they were upon him. Shackles clasped his wrists. Voices cried for his death.
The little girl ,his last sibling , stood behind them. He turned his face toward her, his blind eyes wet with tears. His voice cracked.
"Please tell them. Tell them the truth. Say… say thank you. Just once. That I fought for you."
But she said nothing.
Her silence was worse than any accusation
Thrown into the holding cells, Gyomei sat in silence, the world pressing down on him like the bars themselves. He replayed the night over and over. The screams of children, the laughter of pirates, the girl's terrified eyes.
He had saved her life, yet her silence cut him deeper than any wound.
Why didn't they listen? Why didn't they trust me?
The questions gnawed at him, but the answers never came. Only guilt remained sharp, endless, consuming.
And anger.
Anger at the pirates. Anger at Orochi and Kaido for spreading this plague across Wano. At 1st he had thought they were just bandits but he learned they were not later. Anger at the cowardice of the villagers who never looked deeper. Anger even at the children who had not obeyed him ,children whose stubbornness had cost them their lives. He was just angry .
His love for them twisted, poisoned by grief. Where once he saw innocence, now he remembered betrayal. Where once he cherished their laughter, now he heard only screams.
His heart, once so large, cracked.
All he had wanted was to protect them. All he had wanted was to hear a single word of gratitude. But the world had branded him a murderer, and the only voice that mattered had remained silent.
Now, in the dim cage of the town, he waited for death. His chains clinked softly whenever he moved. His breath was heavy, his body aching from wounds that had not healed.
He told himself it didn't matter. That nothing mattered. That his life was already over.
But in truth, a sliver of hope still remained. The faintest, most fragile thread that maybe, just maybe, someone would listen. Someone would believe him. Someone would tell him he was not a monster. Someone would vouch for him when nobody wanted to.
And then Mamoru had come.
That night, for the first time since Atayama burned, Gyomei's silence had broken. He had spoken his name. He had told his story.
And though he did not yet realize it, that small moment ,the choice to speak again would change everything.
Because Mamoru had asked.
Because Mamoru had listened.
And that alone was enough to stir the ashes of a heart nearly extinguished.