The fog was thick as fresh milk and cold as a dead man's breath. It clung to the face, crept under clothing, and smothered all sound. Muichiro walked a couple of paces behind the old man, hiding his face behind the wide brim of a bamboo hat. He wore the very clothes the old man had sewn, and the katana, wrapped in dirty rags, looked more like a bundle of kindling on his back.
"Stay close, Yuichiro," wheezed the old man, pulling the edge of his worn-out kimono over his nose. "The gates are just ahead. The main thing is, don't flinch. I'll do all the talking. I'll tell them you've been mute since birth, a simpleton from the woods, I'm taking you to a healer…"
Muichiro remained silent. His thoughts were far away. He was thinking that this place—Wano—was truly cursed. Wherever he went, it reeked of injustice and rot. This 'cover' weighed on him, these false names weighed on him. Yaboku, Yuichiro, Muichiro… How many more masks would he have to wear before he found some damn peace?
From the white haze loomed the massive outlines of the city gates. Leaning against the wall near them, two guards were asleep. They wore the armor of Orochi's henchmen, and their spears lay carelessly beside them. One of them was snoring loudly for all to hear, drooling on his collar.
Old Man Takumi had already opened his mouth to habitually shout a fawning greeting, but he didn't get the chance.
Gravel crunched under a foot. The snoring abruptly ceased.
"Huh?! Who's there?!" the tall guard jumped up, frantically grabbing for his spear. His partner scrambled up after him, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Halt, you bastards! Visiting hours are over! Names, quick! And what's in the bags?!"
The old man trembled, beginning his rehearsed role:
"Oh, sirs, pardon an old man… It's me, Takumi, and this is my grandson… his name's Yaboku, he's…"
One of the guards, the shorter one, stepped forward and roughly shoved the old man aside.
"Shut it, geezer! I'm asking this lanky one." He leveled the tip of his spear directly at Muichiro's chest. "Hey, you! Take off the hat. Show your face, or what if you're one of those surviving rebel scum?"
Muichiro froze. Old Man Takumi tried to interject, but the words caught in his throat. He felt the air around the young man suddenly grow heavy. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in a second.
Muichiro slowly, very slowly, reached a hand toward the hat's brim.
"I don't like it when weapons are pointed at me," he said quietly. His voice wasn't angry. It was… dead.
His fingers caught the edge of the bamboo hat and lifted it slightly.
In that moment, Muichiro didn't just look at them. He unleashed that very "spooky stuff" he remembered from his past lives. It wasn't just the Conqueror's Haki of this world; it was a concentrated essence of Muichiro's icy fury and the bloodthirst he felt in his veins.
His pupils narrowed into two steel points. From under the hat, Something that did not belong to the human race gazed upon the guards.
"Scram," Muichiro tossed out curtly.
The effect was instantaneous. The guard holding the spear suddenly paled. His eyes rolled back, and fine foam bubbled from his mouth. He didn't make a sound—his brain simply decided it was better to shut down than to stand next to this being. The spear fell from his hands, and the brute collapsed to the ground like a sack of bones.
The second guard froze in an absurd pose. His heart skipped a beat, then began pounding so hard he nearly went deaf. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but his jaw clenched in a spasm. Darkness swam before his eyes, and he sank to the ground next to his partner, plunging into a deep, oblivious faint.
Silence. Only the fog continued to flow lazily through the open passage.
Muichiro calmly lowered the hat back down.
"Let's go, old man. The path is clear."
Takumi stood, clutching his walking stick, his jaw literally swinging from side to side. He looked at the fallen guards, then at Muichiro, who was already trudging matter-of-factly toward the city streets.
"Gods…" the old man thought, wiping away cold sweat. "That boy… he didn't even touch his sword. He just… ran them over with his spirit."
"Yui… Yaboku! Wait for me!" the old man scurried after him, trying not to look at the guards' bodies.
They entered the capital. The fog here began to thin, revealing a view of dark roofs and empty alleys leading to the very heart of Orochi's domain. Muichiro walked forward, and now there wasn't a trace of doubt in his stride that something would happen.
Takumi caught up with Muichiro in the first alley, breathing heavily and constantly glancing back at the gates.
"Listen... Yui..." the old man grabbed the youth's sleeve, lowering his voice to a whisper. "What was that just now? You... you didn't even touch them! They just dropped, like Kaido himself shouted in their ears! Who are you even, kid?"
Muichiro didn't even turn around. He looked at the empty street where dim lanterns burned.
"They just forgot how to breathe, old man. Don't worry about it. You said we need sweets. Lead the way."
Takumi sniffled, realizing he wouldn't get answers. But in his eyes now was not just interest, but superstitious fear mixed with hope.
"Alright... Let's go. Old Lady O-Tsuru's shop is not far from here. She makes the best dango in this part of the capital. But remember: there are eyes and ears everywhere here. Even the walls have teeth if they belong to Orochi."
They moved deeper into the city. The Flower Capital at night looked like a painted corpse: beautiful, but reeking of decay. Laughter came from closed gambling houses, a shamisen played somewhere in the distance, and patrols of samurai with lanterns walked the main streets.
Muichiro walked, pulling his hat even lower. His "demonic" will was now coiled tightly inside him, but his senses were heightened to the limit. He could hear a rat rustling in the garbage three blocks away. He felt the vibration of patrol footsteps around the corner.
"Here it is," the old man pointed to a small, inconspicuous shop with a faded sign. "Wait here. Going in together will just draw attention. You look too... non-local, even in these clothes. Your back is straight as a rail, samurai can sense that from a mile away."
Muichiro leaned against the wall in the shadow of a huge water barrel.
"Hurry. The longer we linger, the greater the chance the fog at the gates will clear and those two will be found."
The old man ducked into the shop. Muichiro was left alone. Fragments of memories began to surface in his mind again. *The forge. The heat. Haganezuka's face, distorted with rage over a broken sword.* If this blacksmith was truly *that one*, then everything that had happened to Muichiro until now—death, rebirth, Usopp, the ocean—acquired some sinister meaning. Someone or something was deliberately dragging them all into this hell called Wano.
Suddenly Muichiro tensed. From the direction of the main street came the sound of horse hooves and loud shouts.
"CLEAR THE WAY! EARTH BEFORE CLAY! SHOGUN OROCHI DEMANDS PASSAGE!"
A patrol. And not an ordinary one. Judging by the sounds, there were at least twenty men. Muichiro pressed deeper into the shadow, his hand habitually resting on the rag-wrapped hilt. His heart beat steadily. If he had to—he'd cut them all down. But the old man... the old man would be the first to suffer.
Takumi darted out of the shop with a hefty bundle that smelled of sugar and rice.
"Quickly! Let's go through the backyards!" he hissed, seeing the reflections of torches on a nearby wall. "If they catch us with this much dango, they'll think we're stealing food for the rebels!"
They ducked into a narrow gap between houses just as a troop of horsemen galloped past. Muichiro caught a glimpse of their faces—smug, cruel, sated with power. Real demons, only without horns. Though, who knows what was under their helmets.
"Now where?" asked Muichiro when the hoofbeats faded.
The old man caught his breath, pressing the bundle to his chest like treasure.
"Now—to the northern cliffs. That's another three hours' walk, if we take the goat paths. That blacksmith... he doesn't live in the city. He lives where the earth breathes heat, and people are afraid to even breathe too loud. Haganezuka Hotaru. If he doesn't beat us to death on his doorstep with his hammer, we can count ourselves lucky."
Muichiro nodded.
"Three hours. So we need to make it before dawn. Let's go, old man. And stop shaking; you're making more noise than that patrol."
They began their journey through the slums toward the outskirts, leaving the Flower Capital behind.