The wind carried the scent of salt and cedar as dawn broke over Fukuyama.
It was the kind of morning that whispered of departures — of roads untraveled and stories yet to be written. The sky stretched wide and gold, the first sunlight glimmering off the waves like shards of molten glass.
Hamamura Hanzo stood at the pier, quietly watching fishermen untangle their nets. The bustle of morning trade surrounded him — the chatter of vendors, the clatter of wooden crates, the rhythmic groan of ship ropes tightening.
To anyone else, he was just another traveller preparing to leave town.
To the few who had worked alongside him these past weeks, he was the Iron Monk — the polite, absurdly strong young man who could carry a full barrel with one hand and still crack jokes about his own sweat.
Hanzo tugged his haori tighter against the sea breeze, the dark-blue fabric fluttering around his shoulders. The money purse on his belt brushed softly with the sound of earned hard and honest labour.
He smiled faintly. "Well, Fukuyama, you've been fun."
Behind him, one of the dock workers, Jugo, approached with a sack slung over one shoulder. "You're really heading east?"
"Yeah," Hanzo replied, adjusting the strap of his pack. "Tokyo's calling."
"Tokyo, eh?" Jugo snorted. "You're either ambitious or crazy for not using the train."
Hanzo chuckled. "Why not both? Besides, a train ticket is not cheap, and it's boring to just skip the journey."
The older man grinned, tossing him a wrapped parcel. "Take this, then. Dried mackerel and rice. Road food. Don't starve yourself."
Hanzo caught it, bowing slightly. "You have my gratitude."
Jugo scratched his beard. "Can't say I'll miss the sight of you lifting two crates at once. Made the rest of us look like old women."
Hanzo raised a brow. "I can stay another week if you want?"
"Hell no, get out of here!" Jugo barked, laughing.
The laughter lingered between them, carried by the wind — warm moments between fellow man.
Hanzo turned once more toward the open road stretching past the docks, his expression softening. For a brief moment, he thought of his mother — of her tired smile when she waved him goodbye back in Hiroshima. Of her voice, faint but strong, urging him to find his own meaning in this world.
He exhaled slowly. "Tokyo's a long way off, Mother. But I'll get there and send you a letter."
The road eastward from Fukuyama was lined with spring bamboo and persimmon trees. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in trembling patches, dappling the dirt path.
Hanzo walked at an unhurried pace, staff in hand, whistling a tune that probably didn't exist yet in this era. He passed farmers tending to rice paddies, children chasing dragonflies, and stray dogs lounging lazily by roadside shrines.
By noon, he stopped at a clearing overlooking the Seto Inland Sea. There, he dropped his pack, took out his lunch, and sat cross-legged under a tree.
As he ate, his gaze grew distant — thoughtful. The sea shimmered below, calm and endless.
Then, quietly, he spoke.
"System, open status."
The air around him pulsed faintly — a ripple that existed not in sight, but in perception. A transparent interface appeared before his eyes, visible only to him. Elegant bluish golden script glowed faintly against the wind.
[Anime Template System]
User: Hamamura Hanzo
World Origin: Jujutsu Kaisen (Alt-Canon)
Heavenly Restriction: Absence of Cursed Energy (Enhanced Physical Constitution)
Current Template: Sabo (One Piece)
Fusion Rate: 50% → 60%
Recent Gains:
+10% (Defeated 2x Grade 2 Cursed Spirits)Fukuyama Forest Cursed Spirit: +5%Fukuyama Harbor Eel Cursed Spirit: +5%
Abilities Synced:
One Piece World Physiology (Enhanced Physical Limit) – Your physical capacity continues to exceed baseline human standards. You are approaching the low end of "superhuman."Stick Fighting Innate Talent (Intermediate) – Mastery with bo-staff continues to evolve. Attacks are more fluid and precise.Observation Haki (Intermediate) – Range extended from 2km to 2,5km. Emotion and intent detection enhanced. Armament Haki (Intermediate) – Hardening durability improved. Attacks coated with a greater density of spiritual pressure, capable of striking through higher-grade curses.Dragon Claw Fist Style (Intermediate) – Increased impact power and flow. Internal destruction ratio optimized.Dragon's Talon: penetration power increased.Dragon's Breath: blast radius extended by 20%.
Hanzo leaned back against the tree trunk, whistling softly. "So, 5% each. Not a bad progression. Wonder what will be of my next template?"
He scrolled the interface with a thought. The text shimmered, displaying subnotes and passive stats descriptions.
Sometimes, he wondered if he should feel guilty. After all, this "System" was a gift — a cheat, really. Something that shouldn't exist in a world where people bled and died for every inch of power.
But guilt didn't suit him.
"Better me than some edgy villain monologuing about destiny," he muttered.
The System chimed faintly — a mechanical "ding" sound that always reminded him of old RPGs.
[Note: User's humour subroutine detected. Recalibrating sarcasm tolerance to 98%.]
Hanzo snorted, almost choking on his rice ball. "Don't sass me, you cosmic toaster."
He closed the interface with a thought, letting it dissolve into the air like mist. The quiet returned — only the wind and cicada's sound.
Still, his mind lingered on what the gains meant. Observation Haki, now reaching two and a half kilometres, was no small feat. He could sense every heartbeat within that radius — every flicker of cursed energy, every whisper of malice or fear, and emotion, even the intent of any person.
It was both a gift and a burden. Awareness came with responsibility.
He sighed, biting into the mackerel Jugo gave him. "So, this is what power feels like, huh? Half the time, I feel like a god. The other half, like an overworked deliveryman."
A crow cawed from a nearby branch.
Hanzo raised an eyebrow. "Don't caw at me like that. You ever punched a curse underwater?"
The crow cawed unimpressed, then flew off.
Hanzo chuckled, finishing his meal. "Thought so."
As the afternoon waned, he resumed walking east. The road wound through valleys and small hamlets. Everywhere he went, whispers of unseen things brushed the edge of his senses — faint traces of cursed energy lingering like rot beneath beauty.
Most were weak — emotional residue, the kind that clung to old graves or empty homes. Nothing was worth or could be exorcised. But Hanzo could feel how the energy of the land was shifting. As Japan grew, so too did its malice, evilness, greed, and alienation — all feeding the unseen things beneath.
"The era's progress, huh," he murmured. "Well, there are always pros and cons."
That night, he found lodging in a roadside inn run by an elderly couple. The room was simple — tatami floor, paper windows, a view of fireflies drifting over the fields.
Hanzo bathed, changed into a fresh yukata, and sat by the window, gazing out at the moonlit countryside.
His mind wandered again, to the System and the fusion percentage.
60%.
He had crossed the halfway point toward full synchronization with Sabo's template. Yet, it wasn't just strength that changed — it was also his identity.
Sometimes, when he fought, he could feel something inside him — a flicker of a different will, like an echo. Not intrusive, but familiar. A calm, confident, unyielding, and sometimes fiery.
"Sabo, huh," he whispered to the night. "Guess the flames of the revolution did affect me."
He could almost hear the faint laugh of a brotherly figure somewhere in the back of his mind — the same kind of laugh that once carried warmth even amidst tragedy.
Hanzo smiled faintly. "Don't worry. I won't waste your fire."
He reached for his bo-staff and held it across his knees, eyes closing in quiet focus. The faint hum of Haki resonated from his skin — a heartbeat of his will.
In that stillness, he meditated, letting his awareness expand outward again. The inn, the road, the distant trees — all bathed in his invisible perception. He could sense the husband snoring softly in the next room, the flicker of the oil lamp, the quiet hum of a moth's wings.
And beyond that, faintly, something else.
A flicker of cursed energy. Far away. Weak, but distinct presence.
Hanzo opened his eyes.
"Another one already?" he muttered. Then, with a half-smile, "Guess rest days aren't in my contract."
But it was faint — likely a grade three or four. Not worth the trouble tonight. He let it be, for now.
Instead, he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
He thought of Hiroshima — of his mother, of the dojo where he learned discipline and pain. On the day he first saw a cursed spirit rip apart a farmer's ox. Of the vow he made then, to walk this dangerous path even without cursed energy.
It wasn't duty that kept him going. It wasn't vengeance either.
It was… purpose.
To live fully. To make meaning where others saw despair.
To keep laughing even when the world grew dark.
He closed his eyes and murmured.
"To live with conviction, but not be consumed by it."
Morning came with pale light and the sound of distant bells. Hanzo rose early, repacked his gear, and left payment on the tatami. The old innkeeper bowed low as he departed, thanking him for his courtesy.
"Heading east, young man?" she asked.
Hanzo nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Tokyo."
"Dangerous roads ahead," she said, worry creasing her brow.
He smiled kindly. "I know. But it's alright. The road and I—we understand each other."
With that, he stepped into the morning mist. The sun had yet to climb the hills, and the path stretched ahead like a ribbon of light.
Each step carried him farther from the familiar — and deeper into the unknown.
As he walked, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying faint echoes of the sea he'd left behind.
Hanzo looked up, his eyes reflecting the sky.
"60%," he murmured with a grin.
As he went through the landscape, he came upon the low-grade cursed spirit he had sensed the night before. Without any further ado, done and dusted, out of this world.