The young Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, sat in his office, the quiet of the room broken only by the faint scratching of his pen.
Then, in a flicker of movement, an ANBU appeared before his desk, dropping to one knee.
"Hokage-sama," the masked shinobi said, voice low and steady, "Jōnin Akagame Aoto and his wife, Jōnin Sarutobi Rin, have fallen in battle against the Second Tsuchikage."
The words hit Hiruzen like a blade to the chest.
Both of them — gone?
Aoto was a top-tier jōnin, one of the few in the village who could rival the best in close combat, a master of kenjutsu feared even by enemy generals.
And Rin… Rin was his cousin. Someone he'd grown up with, trained with, shared laughter with back when life was simpler.
For a second, he couldn't even process it. Then another thought crept in.
Their son.
His nephew.
Akagame Sanks.
And that's when the weight of it truly sank in. The sorrow hit him deeper than any report of battlefield losses ever had.
Elsewhere, in the Sarutobi compound, a small baby lay in a crib by the window, staring up at the clear blue sky. He let out a tiny sigh, eyes following a bird that flew past the window. A second later, as if struck by something invisible, the bird fell out of the sky.
The baby sighed again.
This is the only thing I can do for fun, he thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. Still… this is weird. How the hell did I end up as a baby in this world?
Yes, that baby was none other than Akagami no Shanks — one of the Four Emperors of the Sea.
If you're wondering how something like that could happen… no one knows.
The night Shanks celebrated becoming a Yonko, he'd gotten so drunk he could barely see straight. When he woke up, it was like this — reborn as an infant, in a world that wasn't his own.
But fear? Regret? No.
He didn't feel either.
If anything, he was curious. Maybe even a little excited.
He'd seen almost everything his old world had to offer. Sure, he never got to reach Laugh Tale, but that never really bothered him. He was never obsessed with treasure or power anyway.
Well — except for booze. He really missed that.
At least now he had both hands again. And parents — good ones, kind ones. Not like that crusty old man Garling back in Mariejois. When he'd last visited there, they almost forced him to stay — until he taught his "younger brother" a lesson he wouldn't forget.
Well, twin brother technically. But after that beating, Shanks felt embarrassed to even call Shamrock his twin.
Not that it mattered now. In this world, he had good parents who cared for him. Shinobi. Fighters. People who lived and died by their word. He respected that.
They'd gone to war recently. He didn't like it — he never liked war — but he understood it. He preferred direct fights, simple, honest battles, like the one he'd had with Kaido. Armies were always full of cowards anyway, weaklings who hid behind stronger names.
He sighed again. I wish I could grow faster.
He hated feeling weak. His Haki was still there, humming deep inside him like a steady flame, but this body was too small, too fragile. Even if he coated himself in Haki or pushed his Observation to the limit, a regular adult could still toss him around like a toy.
Too much to worry about, he thought. I'll just wait for my parents to come back. I've got time. Plenty of time.
Then, from outside the door, a voice called,
"Ah, Hokage-sama, what are you doing here?"
It was the nanny's voice, followed by the sound of footsteps entering the room. The door slid open, and Hiruzen stepped inside.
Shanks blinked up at him. Well, isn't that the Hokage… my uncle? What's he doing here?
The man looked exhausted. Sad. Shanks could see it clearly even through his baby eyes.
Hiruzen walked up to the crib and gently ran his hand through the boy's bright red hair. He said something softly to the nanny. Whatever it was, it made her freeze. Then cry.
And of course, with his Haki — even weakened — Shanks heard every word.
Then, before anyone could react, something inside him snapped.
A pressure exploded outward from his tiny body, invisible but overwhelming.
It was as if the air itself had turned solid, pressing down on everything. The ground trembled. The sky seemed to darken.
That invisible force spread through the house, across the compound — even reaching the village beyond.
The nanny collapsed. Hiruzen staggered back, his lungs struggling for air.
All of Konoha felt it — an invisible will pressing down, ancient and terrifying.
And at the center of it all was a baby.
A baby whose cry wasn't one of fear or pain, but raw, unrestrained power.