Part I: The Secret Chamber
Deep beneath the Shogun's palace, in chambers carved from living rock centuries before the current dynasty took power, Kozuki Sukiyaki stood before secrets that few in Wano knew existed.
The path to this place was known only to the Shogun and their heir—a tradition maintained since the Kozuki clan first took stewardship of Wano. Stone steps worn smooth by generations of careful feet descended into darkness, lit by torches that burned with oils mixed to last months without replacement.
At the bottom, behind a door sealed with mechanisms that required both specific knowledge and Armament Haki to unlock, lay Wano's greatest treasure and its heaviest burden.
The chamber itself was circular, perhaps fifty feet across, its walls covered in intricate carvings that told stories most of the world had forgotten. And at its center, massive and immovable, stood a Poneglyph—one of the indestructible stone tablets created in the Void Century to preserve truths that powerful forces had tried to erase.
Sukiyaki had been coming to this chamber with increasing frequency over the past weeks, ever since Baahubali had washed ashore. The reports from his daimyos had been... troubling wasn't the right word. Remarkable. Unprecedented. Each one describing transformations that suggested their visitor was far more than a skilled warrior with amnesia.
Now, standing before the ancient stone, Sukiyaki sought answers in the past that might explain the present.
He approached the Poneglyph with reverence, his fingers tracing the ancient script only members of the Kozuki clan could read. This particular stone didn't contain directions to Laugh Tale or revelations about Ancient Weapons. It contained something arguably more dangerous: history.
The true history of the Void Century.
"Eight hundred years," Sukiyaki murmured, reading the familiar text that never failed to send chills down his spine. "Twenty kings united against the greatest empire the world had ever known. They called themselves liberators, bringing 'order' to a 'chaotic' age."
His fingers moved to another section, where the Kozuki ancestors who'd created this Poneglyph had carved their account:
We, the Stonemasons of Wano, record what we witnessed:
The Ancient Kingdom was not chaotic—it was free. Its people lived without the strict hierarchies that the Twenty Kings demanded. Its ruler, the one called Joy Boy, governed not through control but through inspiration. His power was not dominance but liberation.
The Sun God Nika walked among men, and where he walked, chains broke. Slavery ended. Tyranny fell. The strong protected the weak not through obligation but through choice.
This the Twenty Kings could not tolerate.
Sukiyaki had read these words hundreds of times, yet they still carried weight. He moved to the wall carvings surrounding the Poneglyph, where Wano's role in ancient events was detailed in relief sculptures.
The images showed Wano's warriors fighting alongside Joy Boy's forces. The ancestors of the current daimyo families—Shimotsuki, Amatsuki, Uzuki, Fugetsu, Kurozumi before their betrayal—all represented in stone, their weapons raised in defense of something greater than themselves.
But the carvings also showed the moment when Joy Boy had commanded them to retreat.
One image in particular always drew Sukiyaki's attention: Joy Boy, depicted larger than life, his arms spread wide as if physically shielding the Wano forces behind him. And around him, enemies beyond counting, closing in for the kill.
"Go," the carved text beneath the image read. "Save your people. Let the world have one sanctuary where freedom can survive, even if only behind closed borders. When the time comes—when the drums of liberation beat again—your descendants will know. And they will answer the call."
"When the drums of liberation beat again," Sukiyaki repeated. His eyes moved to the most recent information he'd received—reports from all six regions, detailing Baahubali's influence.
From Kuri: "The stranger provided agricultural innovations that will transform our region's productivity by forty percent. He speaks with the authority of someone who's governed millions."
From Hakumai: "He suggested restructuring our entire economic system with casual brilliance. Daimyo Yasuie believes he's encountered administrative sophistication beyond anything in Wano's history."
From Ringo: "He created a masterwork blade in three hours that surpasses anything our best smiths have achieved in decades. Daimyo Takeru calls it 'divine craftsmanship.'"
From Kibi: "His culinary knowledge is extraordinary, and more—his food carries his Haki, literally uplifting those who consume it. We've never seen anything like it."
From Udon: "He challenged our justice system with insights that reveal deep understanding of governance and rehabilitation. Daimyo Tempura is actually reconsidering centuries of tradition."
And most telling, from multiple sources: "The people love him. Not because he demands it, but because he embodies something they've never encountered—authority without arrogance, strength without cruelty, wisdom without condescension."
Sukiyaki turned to another section of the wall, where the aftermath of the Void Century was recorded.
When the Ancient Kingdom fell, the Twenty Kings became Celestial Dragons, claiming divine right to rule. They built their world on foundations of blood and lies.
They hunted those who'd supported Joy Boy:
The Minks of Zou—forced into hiding on a living island that walks.
The Fish-Men of the deep—driven beneath the waves, enslaved when caught.
The Giants of Elbaf—too strong to destroy, but isolated through economic pressure and propaganda.
The Lunarians—the survivors of the Red Line's original inhabitants—hunted to near extinction.
And countless others—scattered, broken, their histories erased, their names forgotten.
Wano alone remained free, protected by nature's walls and the legendary strength of its warriors.
The carvings showed the attempted invasions—World Government fleets crushed by Wano's natural defenses, the swirling currents and hidden rocks that made approach nearly impossible. And on the rare occasions when forces did make it through...
Sukiyaki's eyes found the depiction of Ryuma, the Sword God, standing atop a mountain of defeated enemies.
Five hundred years ago, a full invasion force had somehow navigated Wano's natural barriers. Ten warships, five thousand soldiers, led by a Celestial Dragon who'd demanded Wano submit to the new world order.
Ryuma had met them alone.
The battle had lasted three hours. When it ended, the Sword God stood victorious, having bisected not just the soldiers but the very ships they'd arrived on. He'd spared a single marine—a man whose hands Ryuma had severed as punishment and warning.
"Tell your masters," the inscription beneath this image read, "that Wano will never bow to those who claim divinity through conquest. Tell them that if they come again, we will not wait for them to reach our shores. We will come to them. And we will end the bloodline of false gods."
The marine had delivered the message. And for five hundred years, the World Government had maintained a careful distance from Wano.
But they had not forgotten. And neither had Wano.
Sukiyaki moved to the most sacred part of the chamber—a section of wall where a single, massive letter had been carved with such force that cracks radiated from it like a shockwave frozen in stone.
D.
Just the letter. Nothing more. But it carried meaning that transcended language.
"D," Sukiyaki whispered. "The natural enemies of the gods. The Will that cannot be broken, the Dream that will not die, the Dawn that must eventually come."
His ancestors' notes explained what they'd learned from Joy Boy himself:
The D. is not a family name, though many families carry it. It is a mark. A promise. A prophecy.
Those who bear the D. carry the will of freedom in their very souls. They appear in each generation, scattered across the world, often unaware of their connection to ancient promises. But when the time comes—when the drums of liberation beat again—the D. will gather. They will challenge the false gods. They will bring the Dawn.
Joy Boy was a D. And he promised he would return.
"Amarendra D. Baahubali," Sukiyaki said the name slowly, considering each syllable. "You carry the D. in your name. Whether you remember it or not."
He thought about the reports. About the impossible skills, the instinctive wisdom, the way people were drawn to Baahubali as if responding to some unconscious call.
"Are you a descendant of the Ancient Kingdom?" Sukiyaki asked the empty chamber. "Or something more? Are you connected to Joy Boy himself? Is that why you wash up on our shores at precisely this moment in history?"
He turned to the final section of the wall—the prophecy that the Kozuki clan had sworn to preserve.
When Joy Boy returns, when the drums of liberation beat once more, Wano must answer. We who retreated must advance. We who closed our borders must open them. We who preserved freedom in isolation must fight to restore it to the world.
This is our oath, carved in stone that cannot be destroyed, written in script that cannot be forged. When the day comes, the Shogun of that age must decide: honor the ancient promise, or betray it for the safety of isolation.
The words had been carved eight hundred years ago. And they glowed.
Sukiyaki's breath caught in his throat. In all his years coming to this chamber, he'd never seen this. The ancient script was luminous, pulsing with a soft golden light that shouldn't be possible.
"When did this start?" he demanded of the empty air.
But he knew. Deep in his soul, he knew.
It had started when Baahubali arrived.
The Poneglyph itself seemed to be reacting to the stranger's presence. The prophecy was awakening. The oath was calling.
"What am I supposed to do?" Sukiyaki asked, his voice breaking. "I'm Shogun. My duty is to protect Wano. To keep our people safe. Opening the borders, joining some ancient war, risking everything for a promise made eight hundred years ago—how can I ask my people to accept that?"
The glowing text offered no answers, only the weight of destiny.
Sukiyaki's thoughts turned to Oden. His son, who'd been touched by Baahubali's influence in ways both obvious and subtle. The reports all mentioned it:
Lord Oden is changing. His wildness remains, but it's tempered now. He thinks before acting. Considers consequences. Shows wisdom that seems impossible for someone who, mere weeks ago, was kidnapping women and burning down gambling houses.
And he looks at Baahubali the way a younger brother looks at an older sibling—with admiration, respect, and a desire to emulate.
"You're preparing him," Sukiyaki realized. "Teaching him. Making him into the leader he'll need to be when..."
When what? When the borders opened? When war came? When the ancient oath demanded fulfillment?
Sukiyaki closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his position pressing down like physical force. He was Shogun. Guardian of Wano. Keeper of secrets. And now, possibly, the hinge upon which the world's fate turned.
"I need more time," he told the glowing prophecy. "I need to understand who Baahubali truly is. What his presence means. Whether this prophecy is meant for now or for some future generation."
But even as he said it, he knew. The glowing text. The timing. The way Baahubali transformed everywhere he went. The D. in his name.
This wasn't coincidence. This was destiny.
And destiny, once set in motion, couldn't be delayed simply because it was inconvenient.
Part II: The Return to the Capital
The Flower Capital buzzed with anticipation. Word had spread that Oden was returning from his tour with the mysterious stranger, and seemingly half the city had found reasons to be on the streets when they arrived.
From his palace window, Sukiyaki watched the crowd gather. Beside him stood Shimotsuki Yasuie, who'd been summoned for consultation.
"Look at them," Yasuie observed. "They're not here out of obligation. They're excited. When was the last time you saw the capital this energized about anything?"
"Not in my lifetime," Sukiyaki admitted. "Even when I took the position of Shogun, there was ceremony but not... this. This enthusiasm."
"It's because they've heard the stories. The stranger who transformed Kuri's agriculture. The mystery man who challenged Udon's justice system and made Tempura reconsider centuries of tradition. The warrior whose presence makes master smiths weep with inadequacy."
Sukiyaki glanced at his old friend. "Yasuie, I must ask you something. In your estimation, based on your interactions with Baahubali—who is he?"
"A king," Yasuie replied without hesitation. "Not a warrior who became nobility, or a noble who learned to fight. A king. Someone raised from birth to govern, to lead, to bear responsibility for countless lives."
"And his amnesia?"
"Is genuine. No one could fake the frustration he shows when knowledge surfaces without context. He knows things—deeply, instinctively—but has no memory of learning them." Yasuie was quiet for a moment. "Sukiyaki, old friend, I've been governing Hakumai for forty years. I know leadership when I see it. And that man's leadership abilities aren't just exceptional—they're revolutionary. He doesn't think in terms of maintaining power. He thinks in terms of optimizing human flourishing."
"Explain."
"When he suggested restructuring our economic system, his first question wasn't 'How does this benefit the ruling class?' It was 'How does this ensure farmers can feed their families while having surplus to trade?' Every recommendation he makes starts from the assumption that governance exists to serve people, not the other way around."
Sukiyaki absorbed this. "That's... unusual."
"It's radical. It's the philosophy of someone who ruled not through fear or tradition, but through genuine care for subject wellbeing." Yasuie turned from the window to face Sukiyaki directly. "And I'll tell you something else—he carries the D."
"You noticed."
"Hard not to, once you know to look for it. Amarendra D. Baahubali. The Will of D., passed down through generations. The natural enemies of the Celestial Dragons."
"You know about that?"
"My family has served the Kozuki clan for eight hundred years, Sukiyaki. We know about the oath. About the prophecy. About what the D. represents." Yasuie's expression was grave. "Is he connected to them? To the Ancient Kingdom? To Joy Boy himself?"
"I don't know. But the prophecy is glowing."
Yasuie inhaled sharply. "The one in the chamber? The text is actually—"
"Glowing. Since Baahubali arrived in Wano. The ancient oath is activating."
They stood in silence, both men feeling the weight of implications neither wanted to voice.
Finally, Yasuie spoke: "What will you do?"
"I don't know. My duty is to protect Wano. But the oath suggests I might need to risk Wano to fulfill ancient promises."
"The oath was made by your ancestors."
"Does that make it less binding? They swore on behalf of all future generations. And carved it in indestructible stone to ensure we couldn't forget or ignore it."
"Even so, asking people to honor an eight-hundred-year-old promise—"
"Look at them," Sukiyaki interrupted, gesturing toward the crowd below. "Look at how they respond to him. It's not just curiosity. It's recognition. As if some part of them knows what he represents, even if they can't articulate it."
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion in the streets. The crowd's excited murmur rose to actual cheers.
Baahubali had arrived.
Part III: The Changed Son and the Unveiled Future
From the palace window, Sukiyaki watched a scene that would have been unimaginable mere weeks ago.
Oden walked through the Flower Capital's streets with measured steps, his usual boundless energy somehow contained without being diminished. His retainers flanked him in proper formation rather than their usual casual scatter. And leading them all, walking with unconscious grace that made every movement seem deliberate and purposeful, was Baahubali.
But it wasn't the formation that shocked Sukiyaki. It was Oden's Haki.
Before the tour, his son's Conqueror's Haki had been like an active volcano—powerful but uncontrolled, constantly leaking out in surges that made it impossible for him to move through crowds without people feeling overwhelmed.
Now, it was restrained. Perfectly controlled. The power was still there—Sukiyaki could sense it, vast and potent—but it was focused. Sharpened. Like the difference between a wildfire and a forge fire—both dangerous, but one directed toward purpose.
"He's learned control," Yasuie breathed. "In just weeks, Baahubali taught him Haki mastery that should take years."
But there was more. As they watched, Oden paused to speak with an elderly merchant whose stall had been knocked over in the crowd's enthusiasm. The young lord didn't just help the man pick up his goods—he actually asked if the merchant had suffered any losses, offered compensation from his own purse, and took the time to ensure the old man was steady before moving on.
"Who is that and what has he done with Oden?" Sukiyaki muttered.
"That's your son," Yasuie replied with barely suppressed amusement. "Acting like the heir to the Shogunate should act. Taking responsibility. Showing consideration. Being... mature."
As the group approached the palace, Sukiyaki noticed something else: the way people looked at Baahubali. There was awe, yes, but also something deeper. Trust. Instinctive confidence that this stranger represented something fundamentally good and right.
It was the look people should have given their Shogun. And Sukiyaki, secure enough in his own position not to feel threatened, recognized it for what it was: the response of free people recognizing someone who would never abuse authority.
In the shadows of a nearby building, Kurozumi Orochi watched the procession with narrowed eyes and a smile that never reached them.
"Look at them," he hissed to Higurashi, who stood beside him in her disguised form. "Parading through the streets like heroes. The people love them. And that damned stranger has done in weeks what I've spent years trying to prevent—he's made Oden into an actual worthy heir."
"Your plan?" Higurashi prompted.
"Must accelerate. Tonight, we move." Orochi's hand clenched into a fist. "I've spent too long positioning myself to let some amnesiac warrior-king ruin everything."
"And if Baahubali interferes?"
"He won't. Because he won't know until it's too late." Orochi's smile widened into something serpentine. "His honor is his weakness. His compassion is his blind spot. And I'm going to exploit both."
At the palace gates, Sukiyaki descended to meet them personally—a mark of respect that caused murmurs among the assembled courtiers.
"Father!" Oden's greeting was enthusiastic but restrained—another change. "We've returned! And you won't believe the things we've seen and done!"
"I've read the reports," Sukiyaki replied. "You've been... productive."
"That's one word for it! Baahubali completely transformed how I think about governing! Did you know that tax collection efficiency can be improved by forty percent just by implementing transparent assessment criteria? Or that rehabilitative justice reduces recidivism rates by—"
"Oden," Baahubali interrupted gently. "Perhaps your father would prefer to hear about these things in a more formal setting than the palace entrance."
Oden paused, then actually looked around at the watching crowd and courtiers. A month ago, he would have continued his enthusiastic explanation without consideration for context. Now, he nodded.
"Right. Good point. Father, should we continue this inside?"
Sukiyaki felt his heart swell with pride and something like hope. "Yes. That would be appropriate. Baahubali-san, would you join us? I have questions about your journey."
"Of course, Shogun. I am at your service."
The formal response, delivered with perfect respect, made Sukiyaki think of Yasuie's words: A king, someone raised from birth to govern.
As they moved through the palace toward Sukiyaki's private chambers, Oden suddenly paused.
"Father, before we meet, there's something I need to do. Something I should have done years ago."
"What's that?"
Oden took a deep breath. "I need to formally apologize. To the families of the women I... took to my mountain house. I need to explain my actions, accept responsibility, and work with them to find proper solutions."
Sukiyaki stopped walking. Several courtiers actually gasped—Oden, apologizing? Accepting responsibility? Had the world turned upside down?
"Baahubali-sama made me understand that good intentions don't excuse bad execution," Oden continued. "I thought I was protecting those women, but I never asked what they wanted. Never involved their families. Just imposed my solution and expected everyone to accept it."
"And now?"
"Now I want to do it properly. With respect for everyone involved. With consideration for consequences." Oden's expression was earnest. "I'm still learning. But Baahubali showed me that being strong means knowing when not to use your strength. That real power is helping others find their own solutions, not imposing yours."
Sukiyaki looked at Baahubali, who stood quietly, letting Oden speak for himself. There was no pride in the stranger's expression at hearing these words—just calm acceptance that growth was expected, not exceptional.
"Very well," Sukiyaki said slowly. "I will arrange meetings with the families. We'll address this properly."
"Thank you, Father." Oden bowed—actually bowed—before heading toward his own chambers to prepare.
When they were alone—just Sukiyaki, Yasuie, and Baahubali in the Shogun's private study—Sukiyaki poured sake for all three and gestured for them to sit.
"That was remarkable," he said without preamble. "I've been trying to instill that level of responsibility in Oden since he was five. You accomplished it in weeks."
"I simply pointed out what should have been obvious," Baahubali replied. "Oden-sama is intelligent and well-meaning. He just needed someone to frame familiar concepts in ways that resonated with him."
"You did more than that. You fundamentally changed how he sees the world."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply showed him possibilities he always knew existed but didn't know how to access."
Sukiyaki studied the stranger carefully. "The reports I've received from every daimyo describe transformations wherever you go. It's as if you carry change in your very being."
"Change is inevitable. I merely accelerate what would happen naturally, given time and perspective."
"Spoken like someone accustomed to governing large populations over extended periods." Sukiyaki sipped his sake. "Baahubali-san, I must ask you something directly. Have your memories shown any signs of returning?"
Baahubali was quiet for a moment. "Fragments. More feelings than memories. When I work at a forge, I remember heat and metal but not where or when. When I help farmers, I remember fields stretching to the horizon but not what kingdom they belonged to. When I discuss governance, I remember making decisions that affected millions but not what those decisions were."
"You governed millions?"
"I believe so. The knowledge is there—how to organize supply chains for populations in the hundreds of thousands, how to balance regional interests across vast territories, how to maintain order without oppression. These aren't theoretical. They're practical, tested, refined through experience."
"And yet you can't remember the specifics."
"No. It's frustrating beyond words." Baahubali's expression showed genuine pain. "I see the effects of my past—the skills I possess, the instincts that guide me—but the causes are hidden. Who taught me these things? What empire did I serve? What happened to the people I governed?"
"Do you think they still exist? Your empire, your people?"
"I... don't know. Sometimes I think yes—there's a feeling of incompleteness, as if something important remains unfinished. Other times I think no—there's a weight of grief, as if I've lost everything and am starting anew."
Yasuie leaned forward. "Baahubali-san, I hope you'll forgive the directness of my next question. But I must ask: Do you know what the D. in your name represents?"
Baahubali blinked. "The D.? I assumed it was simply part of my name. Is there significance to it?"
The two rulers exchanged glances.
"There is," Sukiyaki said carefully. "But it's knowledge that could be dangerous. Are you certain you want to know?"
"If it helps me understand who I am, yes. Absolutely."
Sukiyaki stood and moved to a locked cabinet. From within, he withdrew an ancient scroll—a copy of texts from the chamber below, safe to show without revealing the full extent of Wano's secrets.
"What I'm about to tell you is known to very few people. The World Government has spent eight hundred years suppressing this information, executing those who speak of it openly."
He unrolled the scroll, revealing the symbol: D.
"The D. is a mark carried by certain bloodlines. The World Government calls them 'enemies of the gods.' We know them as something else: the inheritors of an ancient will. The Will of D."
"An ancient will," Baahubali repeated. "From when? From where?"
"From the Void Century. From a kingdom that existed before the current world order. A kingdom that the Twenty Kings—who became the Celestial Dragons—destroyed eight hundred years ago."
Baahubali went very still. "And people who carry this D.... we're connected to that lost kingdom?"
"Either through blood or through inheritance of purpose. The D. appears in each generation, scattered across the world. And they tend to share certain characteristics: exceptional will, natural leadership, an instinctive opposition to tyranny, and—most telling—the ability to inspire others to follow causes larger than themselves."
"That could describe many people."
"True. But when you add the supernatural element—the way people are drawn to D. carriers, the way their Conqueror's Haki tends to be supreme level, the way they accomplish seemingly impossible things—patterns emerge."
Baahubali stared at the scroll. "You think I'm one of these... D. inheritors. Connected to a kingdom destroyed eight centuries ago."
"Your name literally contains the mark. Amarendra D. Baahubali. And your abilities—the breadth of your knowledge, the depth of your skills, the way you govern instinctively—suggest you're not just any D. carrier."
"What do you mean?"
Sukiyaki took a deep breath, about to reveal more than he'd ever told anyone outside the Kozuki bloodline.
"There's a prophecy. Carved in stone that cannot be destroyed, written by my ancestors who witnessed the fall of the Ancient Kingdom. It speaks of Joy Boy—the ruler of that lost empire—and promises his return. When he does, when the 'drums of liberation' beat again, those who fled are oath-bound to answer. To fight alongside him. To restore what was lost."
"And you think I'm... what? Joy Boy himself? Reincarnated or returned somehow?"
"I don't know. But I know this: that prophecy has been dormant for eight hundred years. And since you arrived in Wano, it's begun to glow. The ancient text is literally luminous, as if responding to your presence."
Baahubali stood and walked to the window, his back to them. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.
"If what you're saying is true—if I'm connected to this ancient kingdom, this vanished empire—then my amnesia isn't random. It's protecting me from something. Some knowledge too dangerous or too painful to carry."
"Perhaps," Yasuie agreed. "Or perhaps it's protecting the world from you. If you fully remembered who you were, what you're capable of, what you've lost... would you still be the measured, thoughtful person we see now? Or would grief and rage consume you?"
"I don't know. I hope I'd remain measured. But I can't guarantee it."
Sukiyaki approached, standing beside him at the window. "Baahubali-san, I've told you this because you deserve to know. But I must ask: what will you do with this information?"
"What can I do? I still don't remember my past. All I have is the present—Wano, Oden, the people I've met and tried to help." He turned to face Sukiyaki. "Does this prophecy demand anything of me right now?"
"No. It promises that Joy Boy will return. It doesn't specify when or how or through whom."
"Then I'll continue as I have been. Learning about Wano, helping where I can, searching for understanding of who I was while accepting who I am now."
"And if your memories return? If you discover you are this Joy Boy, or his heir, or somehow connected to the promised return?"
Baahubali's expression was resolute. "Then I'll face that truth when it comes. For now, I'm simply Baahubali—a man without a past trying to build a future worth living."
Sukiyaki nodded, respecting the answer even as worry gnawed at him. Because in the chamber below, the prophecy still glowed. And prophecies, in his experience, didn't activate without reason.
The age was changing. The drums of liberation might not be beating yet, but they were tuning up.
And when they finally sounded, Wano would have to decide: honor the ancient oath, or break it for the safety of isolation.
For a Shogun dedicated to protecting his people, it was a choice that might tear him apart.
Part IV: The Serpent Strikes
Night fell over the Flower Capital, and in the darkness, Kurozumi Orochi's plans finally came to fruition.
In a private meeting chamber far from the Shogun's aware eyes, Orochi sat with carefully chosen allies: corrupt merchants who resented Baahubali's influence on fair trade practices, former Kuri bandits who'd been displaced by Oden's reforms, and a few disgruntled nobles who saw the stranger as a threat to traditional power structures.
"The time has come," Orochi announced, his voice carrying the conviction of a man who'd spent years building toward this moment. "Baahubali has made himself beloved by the common people. Has influenced the daimyos. Has even corrupted Lord Oden into thinking compassion and wisdom are virtues rather than weaknesses."
"He must be eliminated," one merchant said bluntly.
"No." Orochi's smile was serpentine. "Direct elimination is impossible. The man can't be poisoned—his Haki is too refined. Can't be assassinated—he has Future Sight that lets him see attacks coming. Can't be defeated in combat—he's mastered abilities that make Vice Admirals look weak."
"Then how do we remove him?"
"We don't remove him. We discredit him. We make him the villain of his own story."
Orochi stood and began pacing, his mind sharp with malicious creativity.
"Baahubali's greatest strength is his moral certainty. His absolute conviction that he acts righteously. But moral certainty has a weakness—it becomes predictable. We can manipulate someone who always chooses the 'right' action because their choices are constrained by principles."
"Explain," demanded a former bandit.
"Here's what we know: Baahubali will always protect the innocent. Will always oppose injustice. Will always choose compassion over cruelty. These aren't flexible guidelines for him—they're absolute laws."
"So?"
"So we create a scenario where following those laws produces disaster. Where his 'righteousness' causes harm. Where the people he's won over see him as the source of their suffering."
Orochi's smile widened as he revealed his plan:
"Tomorrow, during the festival celebrating Oden's return, several 'accidents' will occur. A fire in the merchant quarter. A collapsed bridge in the entertainment district. A stampede in the crowd. Each one carefully orchestrated to look natural but cause maximum chaos."
"And Baahubali will rush to help," one of the nobles caught on. "Because he can't not help."
"Exactly. And while he's distracted, playing hero, saving people from disasters we created... a group of 'desperate criminals' will attack the palace. They'll take hostages. Important hostages—nobles' children, perhaps some of Oden's retainers' families."
"And they'll make demands?"
"They'll demand that Baahubali surrender himself. Claim he's a dangerous outsider who's destabilizing Wano. Say they'll release the hostages only if he leaves the country immediately."
The room was silent as everyone absorbed the implications.
"He'll surrender," Yasuie's merchant contact said slowly. "Because his principles won't let him allow innocents to die on his behalf."
"Precisely. And when he does—when he chooses to sacrifice himself rather than fight back, rather than expose the hostage-takers as frauds—the people will see him as weak. As a coward who runs when faced with real opposition."
"But what if he sees through the deception?" someone asked. "He's intelligent. Perceptive. He might realize it's a setup."
"Then we have contingencies." Orochi gestured to Higurashi. "Show them."
The old woman pulled out several items: a Celestial Dragon seal, correspondence with what appeared to be World Government officials, and a warrant for Baahubali's arrest claiming he's a escaped criminal from outside Wano.
"Forgeries," Orochi explained. "But convincing ones. If Baahubali tries to expose our plot, we reveal these 'documents' suggesting he's actually a dangerous criminal the World Government has been searching for. We make him the villain he's been fighting against."
"Will anyone believe it?"
"They'll want to believe it. Because the alternative—that someone they've come to trust and admire might actually be exactly who he appears to be—is more frightening than accepting he was a fraud all along. People prefer comfortable lies to uncomfortable truths."
One of the former bandits frowned. "This seems... elaborate. Why not just wait for him to leave on his own? He has no memories of Wano. Eventually he'll want to search for his past elsewhere."
"Because 'eventually' isn't soon enough!" Orochi's composure cracked slightly. "Every day he remains, he makes Oden stronger. Makes the daimyos more competent. Makes the people more confident in leadership that doesn't include me. In a year, maybe two, Wano will be so well-governed that my decades of careful positioning will be worthless."
He took a breath, forcing calm back into his voice.
"I've waited too long, schemed too carefully, to let some amnesiac warrior-king ruin my family's redemption. The Kurozumi were destroyed for using poison instead of facing enemies directly. Well, I'm using poison again—just a different kind. Social poison. Political poison. The kind that destroys reputations instead of bodies."
"And if it works?"
"If it works, Baahubali leaves Wano in disgrace. Oden loses his mentor and reverts to the impulsive man-child he was. The daimyos return to their regional squabbles instead of working together. And I continue my slow, patient ascent to power."
"And if it doesn't work?"
Orochi's expression went cold. "Then I reveal my Devil Fruit, declare martial law, and seize power through force. But that's the backup plan. I prefer subtlety."
As the conspirators dispersed to prepare for tomorrow's "festival disasters," Orochi remained behind with Higurashi.
"You think this will work?" the old woman asked.
"It has to. Because I can't defeat Baahubali in combat, can't out-think him in administrative matters, can't compete with his popularity. But I can make him choose between his principles and Wano's wellbeing. And whatever he chooses, he loses."
"He might find a third option. A way to save both."
"There is no third option. I've made certain of that." Orochi moved to the window, looking out at the sleeping capital. "Tomorrow, the Flower Capital will burn. People will panic. And in that chaos, a legend will fall. Not through strength or cunning, but through the very compassion that makes him beloved."
"You're playing a dangerous game."
"I've been playing dangerous games since childhood. This is just the final move."
In the palace, oblivious to the plots being woven in shadows, Baahubali stood on his balcony, looking at the same stars Orochi watched.
He felt... something. A tension in the air. A sense of approaching storm that his instincts recognized even if his conscious mind couldn't place.
"Tomorrow," he murmured to himself. "Something happens tomorrow. I can feel it."
But what? And how could he prepare for a threat he couldn't identify?
In his room, Oden slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that his father was proud, his people were safe, and his mentor was nearby.
In the chamber beneath the palace, the prophecy's glow intensified, as if the ancient text was trying to warn those who could read it that destiny was accelerating.
And in the shadows, a serpent smiled, confident that tomorrow would bring the beginning of the end for Wano's uninvited guest.
The stage was set. The pieces were in motion. And the Flower Capital, beautiful and unsuspecting, prepared to host a festival that would change everything.
To Be Continued...
The prophecy awakens. The son transforms. And in darkness, schemes ripen toward poisoned fruit. Baahubali has won hearts through strength and wisdom—but can compassion survive betrayal? Can honor withstand calculated malice? Tomorrow, the Festival of Return will test whether the Shield of Dharma can protect against enemies who strike from within.