-Real World-
While most of the world fixated on the Eternal Pose and Buggy the Clown's conspiracy to conquer the world, the discussion about the Hyūga Clan and their Byakugan became a footnote. A curious historical detail overshadowed by grander schemes and more immediate threats.
Wano Country was, after all, a closed nation. Isolated for centuries behind natural barriers and deliberate policy. The outside world knew precious little about its internal politics, its ancient clans, or its lost bloodline abilities. Compared to the magnificent vastness of the Grand Line—with its Devil Fruits, legendary pirates, and world-shaking conflicts—one isolated nation seemed almost insignificant.
Those who showed interest in Wano's revealed secrets were primarily driven by idle curiosity rather than genuine concern. Ancient eye techniques? Interesting, I suppose. But practically speaking...
The reality was pragmatic: bloodline limits could only be inherited through direct descent. No amount of training or study would grant someone Byakugan abilities if they lacked Hyūga genetics. And according to the Sky Screen, both major dōjutsu clans—Hyūga and Uchiha—had been reduced to historical footnotes. Perhaps a handful of survivors remained scattered across the world, but finding them would be nearly impossible.
For those seeking power, Devil Fruits represented far more accessible options. Or simply mastering Busoshoku Haki (Armament Haki) and Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki)—techniques anyone could theoretically learn with sufficient dedication. Why chase mythical bloodlines when practical paths to strength existed?
Still, within Wano Country itself, the revelation sparked heated discussions. The Hyūga Clan and Uchiha Clan—two names that had vanished from living memory—suddenly dominated private conversations. Even General Kurozumi Orochi's oppressive regime couldn't suppress the population's enthusiasm for gossip about their own forgotten history.
Unfortunately, public knowledge about lost clans always attracted opportunistic parasites.
-Real World - Wano Country, Flower Capital-
The scammers emerged within days of the Sky Screen's broadcast.
They arrived in the Flower Capital's poorest districts wearing elaborate costumes—kimonos decorated with stylized eye symbols, headbands bearing clan crests they'd invented based on fragmentary descriptions. Some claimed to be surviving Hyūga descendants. Others posed as Uchiha representatives. All of them targeted the desperate and gullible.
"Your daughter showed disrespect to our sacred bloodline!" one scammer would declare, confronting a terrified family in their cramped home. "The Hyūga Clan demands compensation for this insult. Ten thousand ryō, or we'll curse your entire household with eternal blindness!"
The threats were absurd—transparent fabrications to anyone with critical thinking skills. But poverty erodes rationality. Desperate people, already crushed by Kurozumi Orochi's brutal taxation and forced labor policies, panicked when confronted by confident strangers claiming ancient authority.
Some families paid immediately, liquidating whatever meager savings they'd hidden from the shogun's collectors. Others borrowed from loan sharks at ruinous interest rates. A few, completely destitute, resorted to the unthinkable—selling children into servitude, wives into prostitution, anything to appease these supposed clan representatives.
The scammers operated with ruthless efficiency for nearly a week, extracting fortunes from Wano's poorest citizens. They'd identified a perfect crime: victims too ignorant to recognize deception, too powerless to seek justice, and too terrified of supernatural retribution to fight back.
What the scammers failed to recognize was that they'd invaded someone else's territory.
The Flower Capital's underworld operated on clearly defined principles. Each district belonged to specific yakuza families who extracted "protection fees" from local residents. These gangsters were parasites, certainly, but they were established parasites. They'd cultivated their victim base over years, carefully calibrating exploitation to maximize long-term revenue without completely destroying their income sources.
These outsider scammers were digging up the roots. Bankrupting families meant those families could no longer pay protection fees. Forcing residents to sell children eliminated future generations of revenue. The scammers were essentially strip-mining resources the yakuza had been farming sustainably.
That could not stand.
The yakuza response was swift and public.
Within the Flower Capital's western district—territory controlled by the Onimaru Family—a dozen scammers were rounded up in a single night. The yakuza warriors who apprehended them showed no mercy and zero interest in legal proceedings.
The next morning, the district's residents were summoned to the central square. Attendance was mandatory. Even families still recovering from being defrauded had to appear, children and elderly included.
What followed was yakuza justice in its purest form: brutal, performative, and designed to reinforce power hierarchies.
The captured scammers were forced to kneel in the square's center, hands bound behind their backs. One of the Onimaru Family's senior members—a scarred man missing his left ear—addressed the assembled crowd with theatrical authority.
"These outsiders came to our district!" His voice carried across the square with practiced projection. "They pretended to be ancient clan members! They stole from you—our residents! This is an insult to the Onimaru Family's honor!"
The speech was carefully constructed. Notice how the crime was framed: not as victimizing innocent civilians, but as disrespecting the yakuza family's territorial control. The residents weren't people deserving protection—they were property that had been damaged.
"The Onimaru Family protects its people!" the scarred man continued, his tone shifting to righteous anger. "We will not tolerate outsiders stealing what belongs under our watch!"
What followed was methodical violence. The scammers' hands were severed at the wrist—clean cuts delivered by a skilled swordsman, cauterized immediately with heated metal to prevent fatal bleeding. The amputated hands were tossed into a pile at the square's edge, a growing monument to yakuza authority.
Some scammers screamed. Others fainted from shock. One vomited repeatedly until there was nothing left in his stomach.
The crowd watched in horrified silence. Children buried their faces in their parents' clothing. Adults stared with expressions mixing revulsion, fear, and something that might have been grim satisfaction. At least someone is being punished, their faces seemed to say. Even if it's not the people who actually deserve it most.
Three scammers whose crimes were deemed "particularly severe"—they'd driven multiple families to bankruptcy—received death sentences. Public beheadings, conducted efficiently by the same swordsman who'd removed the others' hands.
Their severed heads were mounted on pikes at the district's entrance. A warning to anyone else considering similar schemes.
When the executions concluded, the scarred yakuza addressed the crowd again: "We have recovered the stolen money from these criminals! The Onimaru Family has delivered justice!"
The crowd erupted in applause. Not enthusiastic celebration, but the nervous clapping of people who understood what was expected of them. Show gratitude. Express relief. Demonstrate that you recognize the yakuza as protectors rather than oppressors.
What the scarred man didn't mention—what everyone understood but no one dared voice—was that the recovered funds would not be returned to victims.
The yakuza divided the money among themselves. Most went directly into the Onimaru Family's coffers. A portion was distributed to the warriors who'd conducted the investigation and arrests—performance bonuses, essentially. And of course, a generous cut was sent upward to the Family's superiors in the hierarchy.
The scam victims got nothing. Their life savings remained lost. Their children remained sold. Their debts remained unpaid.
But they applauded anyway, because doing otherwise would be suicidal.
This was Wano Country under Kurozumi Orochi's regime: a society where the powerful preyed on the weak, and the only "justice" available came from slightly different predators protecting their feeding grounds.
The stolen money's ultimate distribution followed predictable channels. Local yakuza families reported to regional bosses. Regional bosses answered to the Flower Capital's undisputed underworld emperor: Kyoshiro.
Kyoshiro—known publicly as "The Sleeping Dragon of the Underworld"—had built an empire over eighteen years. What had started as a small gang of displaced samurai had grown into Wano Country's most powerful criminal organization. His subordinates numbered in the thousands. His influence extended into every district, every industry, every corner of society that Kurozumi Orochi's official government didn't directly control.
And in some ways, Kyoshiro's power exceeded even the shogun's.
Samurai culture prized loyalty above all else. When properly led, samurai became living weapons—devoted, disciplined, and willing to die for their lord without hesitation. Kyoshiro had cultivated that loyalty meticulously over nearly two decades. He treated his subordinates well, paid them fairly, and never asked them to sacrifice without purpose.
His men would have followed him into hell itself.
Some of his more ambitious subordinates had quietly suggested that Kyoshiro should aim higher. After all, Kurozumi Orochi was essentially a puppet—weak, paranoid, controlled by Kaido. If someone needed to hold the title of Shogun, why not replace the current puppet with a better one? A shogun who actually cared about his followers?
Kyoshiro had always deflected such suggestions with practiced humility. But privately, those subordinates wondered if his years of groveling before Kurozumi Orochi were genuine subservience or elaborate performance.
The Sky Screen's revelations had clarified matters. When everyone learned about Kurozumi Orochi's true backing—the Uchiha Clan's power, the Sharingan's abilities, Uchiha Madara's involvement—even the most ambitious subordinates shut their mouths.
Ah. So that's why Lord Kyoshiro crawls. He's not weak. He's cautious. Smart enough to recognize when enemies are beyond defeating.
Only intelligent people survived in Wano's current environment. Those who overestimated their abilities ended up dead.
-Real World - Kyoshiro's Estate, Flower Capital-
Kyoshiro sat in his private courtyard, surrounded by carefully maintained gardens that seemed to exist in defiance of the Flower Capital's general decay. Cherry blossoms bloomed despite the season being wrong for them—an expensive indulgence maintained through greenhouse cultivation and meticulous care.
Before him, kneeling on a silk cushion, was Wano Country's most celebrated courtesan: Komurasaki. The woman whose beauty was legendary across the nation. Whose performances drew audiences from across all districts, whose presence at events elevated mere gatherings into cultural moments.
She played the shamisen with practiced grace, her fingers dancing across the strings. The instrument's distinctive sound filled the courtyard—melancholic and beautiful, carrying emotions too complex for words.
But Kyoshiro barely listened to the music. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the courtesan's face, studying her expression with the intensity of someone searching for specific tells.
Because "Komurasaki" was not her real name.
Beneath the makeup, the elaborate hairstyle, the carefully constructed persona of a pleasure district performer, was Kozuki Hiyori. Daughter of Kozuki Oden. Princess of Wano Country. The rightful heir to everything Kurozumi Orochi had stolen.
And Kyoshiro's real name wasn't Kyoshiro at all. It was Denjiro—one of the Nine Red Scabbards who'd sworn to serve the Kozuki family unto death.
The shamisen's melody grew increasingly discordant as Kozuki Hiyori played. Her fingers moved mechanically, mind clearly elsewhere. The music that should have been soothing carried notes of confusion, loneliness, and something approaching despair.
She's thinking about the Sky Screen revelations, Denjiro observed. About her mother's hidden heritage. The Hyūga bloodline. The Byakugan.
He'd been watching her eyes carefully since the broadcast. Checking for any sign of activation—the veins that should bulge near the temples, the shift from normal brown to pale lavender-white. Any indication that Kozuki Hiyori had inherited more than genetics from Lady Toki.
So far: nothing. Just normal human eyes, filled with very human confusion.
The shamisen's highest string snapped.
The sudden break in tension sent the string whipping back against Kozuki Hiyori's hand. It caught her index finger with enough force to slice through skin—not deeply, but enough that blood immediately welled up, bright red against pale flesh.
The princess stopped playing. She stared at her injured hand for a long moment, seemingly fascinated by the blood. As if she'd forgotten what pain felt like. Or perhaps she was simply so emotionally exhausted that physical injury barely registered.
"Your Highness, you're injured." Denjiro's voice shifted instantly from the lazy drawl of "Kyoshiro" to the respectful tone of a loyal retainer. He produced a clean handkerchief from his sleeve—pristine white silk embroidered with plum blossoms—and offered it to her.
Kozuki Hiyori accepted the handkerchief mechanically. She wrapped it around her bleeding finger with automatic precision, the motions learned from years of maintaining her courtesan persona. Always composed. Never showing weakness.
But her voice, when she finally spoke, carried undisguised frustration.
"Denjiro-san." The use of his real name made this conversation private, removing the performance layer they maintained even in relative privacy. "You've been staring at my eyes since you arrived. You haven't paid attention to my playing at all."
She met his gaze directly, her expression challenging.
"Do you also believe I'm a descendant of the Hyūga Clan? That I might somehow develop these legendary powers my mother apparently kept secret?"
Denjiro—no longer hiding behind the Kyoshiro persona—considered his response carefully. Kozuki Hiyori was not a child anymore. She'd spent years surviving in the Flower Capital's most dangerous environment, playing roles within roles, maintaining covers that would crack under the slightest mistake. She deserved honesty.
But honesty could also be dangerous.
"Your Highness," he began carefully, "I think it's extremely unsafe for you to continue staying close to Kurozumi Orochi. We're not equipped to handle the threat that the Sky Screen revealed."
He paused, letting the implication sink in before making it explicit.
"Uchiha Madara. The legendary shinobi hiding in the shadows behind Kurozumi Orochi. If even half of what the broadcast suggested is true, we cannot protect you from him."
It wasn't a direct answer to her question, but Kozuki Hiyori understood subtext well enough to read between the lines.
Yes. I believe you have Hyūga blood. And yes, that makes you a target.
"You think he's after the Byakugan," Hiyori said flatly, not a question. "That's why he was present in my mother's delivery room. That's why he positioned himself behind Kurozumi Orochi. He's been waiting eighteen years for me to—what, mature? Develop these powers?"
Denjiro nodded slowly. "According to the Sky Screen, only female Hyūga can potentially activate the Byakugan. There's a fifty percent chance. Lady Toki either never manifested the ability, or manifested it and chose to hide it completely—I honestly don't know which. But you..."
He gestured toward her eyes.
"If you possess the capability, it will likely manifest during emotional extremity or physical crisis. Moments of intense stress. And Uchiha Madara, if he's been monitoring you all these years, will recognize the signs immediately."
The assessment was delivered clinically, without emotion. But the implications were horrifying.
I'm bait. Or a prize waiting to be claimed. Either way, I'm not a person—I'm a genetic resource.
Kozuki Hiyori's expression remained composed, but her hands trembled slightly as she continued wrapping the handkerchief around her injured finger. The blood had already soaked through the silk, creating a spreading crimson stain.
"And if I don't have the ability?" she asked quietly. "If I'm just... normal? Like most Hyūga women, according to the broadcast?"
Denjiro's silence was answer enough. If Kozuki Hiyori couldn't activate the Byakugan, she became exponentially less valuable to someone like Uchiha Madara. Which could be either salvation—he might lose interest—or damnation—he might eliminate her as a dead end.
The princess laughed bitterly, without humor. "How ironic. My entire life, I've resented being valued only for my bloodline. For being 'Kozuki Oden's daughter' rather than myself. And now I discover there's additional bloodline heritage that might make me even more valuable as a commodity."
She set the shamisen aside carefully, despite its broken string. The instrument had been a gift from one of the Flower Capital's master craftsmen—priceless, irreplaceable. Even in emotional turmoil, old habits of care persisted.
"I've never felt anything special about these supposed Byakugan powers," Hiyori admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "No strange sensations. No enhanced vision. Nothing that suggests I'm anything other than an ordinary woman who happens to have unfortunate ancestry."
She met Denjiro's eyes again, and this time he saw genuine vulnerability behind the courtesan's mask.
"I think I'm like my mother. I carry the bloodline but can't activate the ability. Which means..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought.
Which means I'm useless. Unable to help restore Wano. Just another person who needs protecting rather than someone who can fight.
But there was another concern troubling her. One she'd noticed in the Sky Screen broadcasts but hadn't voiced to anyone.
"My brother," Hiyori said slowly. "Momonosuke. In the future segments showing him aboard the Buggy Pirates' ship, there was something... off about his behavior when the Byakugan was discussed."
Denjiro's expression tightened imperceptibly. He'd noticed the same thing.
"The way he reacted to learning about the Hyūga heritage," Hiyori continued, her voice growing more troubled. "It wasn't relief or excitement about potential family advantages. It was..." She struggled to find the right word. "...resentment? Fear? As if the revelation threatened him somehow."
She looked at Denjiro directly, voicing the suspicion that had been building for days.
"If I somehow did awaken the Byakugan in the future—if I became powerful in ways Momonosuke couldn't match—do you think he would see me as an ally? Or as a threat to his position as heir?"
The question hung in the air like poison.
Denjiro wanted to immediately deny the possibility. To insist that siblings raised in the Kozuki household would never turn against each other. That Kozuki Oden's son would embody his father's principles of honor and loyalty.
But he'd seen too much of human nature's darker aspects over eighteen years in the underworld. He'd witnessed what ambition and insecurity could drive people to do. And he'd noticed the same troubling details in those Sky Screen broadcasts that Hiyori had.
"Your Highness," he said carefully, "I believe that if such a situation arose—if you manifested abilities that overshadowed your brother's potential—there would inevitably be... tension. How that tension resolves would depend on the circumstances and Lord Momonosuke's character development over the intervening years."
It was the most diplomatic way he could phrase: Yes. Your brother might become a problem. The seeds of that conflict are already visible.
Kozuki Hiyori nodded slowly, accepting the non-answer for what it was. She looked down at her bleeding finger, still wrapped in the now-crimson handkerchief.
"Then I suppose I should hope I never awaken these powers," she said quietly. "For everyone's sake. Because adding internal family conflict to Wano's existing problems would be..." She laughed again, that same bitter sound. "...well, perfectly consistent with our family's luck, I suppose."
She stood, the motion fluid despite her emotional turmoil—years of training as a courtesan made grace automatic.
"Thank you for the warning about Uchiha Madara, Denjiro-san. I'll be more cautious around the general's estate." A pause. "Though I'm not sure 'cautious' means much when the threat can apparently control minds and predict futures."
With that, she bowed respectfully—princess acknowledging loyal retainer—and glided from the courtyard. Her posture remained perfect, her movement elegant, the courtesan mask firmly back in place.
Only the bloodstained handkerchief wrapped around her finger revealed that anything was wrong at all.
Denjiro remained seated for a long time after she departed, staring at the shamisen with its broken string. The instrument sat silent now, its voice stolen by damage.
Kozuki Hiyori might be right, he thought grimly. Perhaps it would be better if she never awakened the Byakugan. Simpler. Safer.
But fate rarely offers simple or safe options. And if Uchiha Madara is truly waiting for those powers to manifest...
...then her preferences won't matter at all.
The cherry blossoms continued blooming around him, beautiful and ephemeral. A reminder that lovely things always carried hidden thorns.