Naruto with One Piece System

C11

The following day, the Hidden Leaf Village came to a grinding halt.

Shops shuttered. School bells fell silent. Missions, no matter how trivial or critical, were suspended indefinitely. It was as if the very heartbeat of Konoha had paused in stunned silence.

The village's entire shinobi force—every available genin, chūnin, jōnin, and ANBU—was mobilized for one purpose: to hunt down the unseen force responsible for the most paralyzing attack in recent memory. 

An entire portion of the village had been incapacitated without a trace. No witnesses. No chakra signatures. No sign of infiltration. Only unconscious bodies and a growing, unrelenting dread.

For three days and nights, the search dragged on. Patrols swept every alley and shadowed forest path. Intel teams scrambled through ancient archives, jutsu logs, and long-forgotten scrolls in hopes of finding a clue. But nothing emerged. Not a single lead.

And in that silence, fear festered.

No one could explain how such a large-scale assault had been executed so flawlessly. No one could pinpoint the jutsu used. No one even knew if it had been a single person—or something worse. 

The anonymity of the attack only worsened its effect, rendering even the strongest shinobi uneasy in their own homes. Trust in the village's defenses began to waver. Whispers started in hushed corners: If Konoha isn't safe, then where is?

In the face of it all, the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, addressed the public with the poise expected of a seasoned leader. He promised swift justice. Reassured the frightened. Spoke of the Will of Fire and the strength of unity. His smile was steady, his words carefully chosen.

But behind closed doors, Hiruzen's smile vanished, replaced by the quiet grimace of failure.

He had joined the search himself, leading several elite squads in person—only to return empty-handed. No enemy trail. No hidden clue. Just a creeping sense that the village had been exposed and left naked under a stormcloud no one could see.

The people calmed momentarily under his leadership, but the tension remained. It hung in the air like mist, impossible to see but impossible to ignore. Without answers, fear would become the village's new master.

Inside the Hokage's office, the atmosphere turned heavy as Hiruzen met with his senior advisors.

"Hiruzen," Homura Mitokado said, his voice low and deliberate, "why not capture a rogue shinobi—someone already outside the law—and use them as a scapegoat?"

Hiruzen looked up sharply, his brow furrowed. But he didn't dismiss the idea outright.

Homura continued, his words sharpened with political precision. "The people are desperate for resolution. After three days of nothing, they need someone—anyone—to blame. We give them that, and their fear becomes controllable."

Koharu Utatane, seated across from Homura, nodded in agreement. "He's right. The people are frightened, angry, and turning their suspicions inward. If we don't give them a target, that anger will eventually turn toward you… toward us. We need a symbol—someone they can project their rage onto. An icon for their hate."

Hiruzen closed his eyes, considering the words with a heaviness that made the silence in the room stretch thin.

He had thought of it too. Desperation clawed at even the most principled minds in times like these. Hearing it now, from his most trusted advisors, made the thought seem not only possible—but necessary.

Before he could respond, a sudden knock broke the tension.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

All eyes turned toward the door. It creaked open slowly.

Danzo Shimura stepped inside, wrapped in his usual cloak, one arm bound in cast and bandage. His presence carried a weight, a quiet dominance that forced the two advisors to instinctively step aside. He moved with calm precision, ignoring the unease that followed him like a shadow.

Danzo stopped before Hiruzen and regarded him with that ever-calculating gaze.

"Hiruzen," he said, voice cold and steady, "I have the perfect candidate for you."

______________________________________________________________

"In hindsight, I should have seen this coming."

The game had made a show of it—when I got the Haki seed, there was this dramatic animation, sparks of power erupting around my avatar. I thought it was just flavor. Aesthetic.

Turns out, it was a warning.

It's been a week. An entire week of no school, no missions, no shinobi drills. The village is still reeling, and the reason for its paralysis… was me.

Honestly, I'm just relieved no one died.

Haki isn't a toy. Same goes for chakra. It all comes down to the wielder.

But his Haki—Captain Rocks D. Xebec—was different. His will was like a natural disaster, impossible to contain. A man who could reign 3 Yonko's like nothing, battle elite monsters, and come out laughing.

And I inherited all of it.

[Kiyu Gunto - Elite Chuunin]

[Equipped: Elite Navy Training with Rokushiki]

[Body: 120]

[Haki: 1K]

"I've not even been here a year, and I'm already an Elite Chūnin."

I grinned to myself, not proudly—but in disbelief. "Haki is broken."

With the right setup, I could drop even Kage-level opponents. Internal Destruction bypassed durability, crushed from the inside. Unless you had absurd regeneration or were built like Hashirama's wood statues, you were done in one hit.

"A shame I haven't been promoted to jōnin already," I muttered. "Guess even superpowers need training wheels."

I was six. My body, while enhanced by training, was still just barely above genin tier. And I didn't have any kekkei genkai or monstrous lineage to lean on.

Covering my arm in full Haki? Doable. My entire body like Vergo? Not unless I wanted to pass out from the mental strain.

"For now… fists will do."

I clenched my hand, letting the black sheen of Armament ripple over my knuckles. Controlled. Clean. Efficient.

What I really needed now—was chakra extraction training.

Until now, I'd been coasting on system-granted physical boosts, Rokushiki techniques, and Haki. But I needed the native energy of this world. To belong here, not just overpower it.

Chakra meant versatility. Shadow clones. Summoning. Seals. Maybe even Sage Mode, someday.

They say Hiruzen was a prodigy in all five elements. What if I could combine that with Haki?

An edge like that… even Madara would take me seriously.

______________________________________________________________

Three Days Later…

The village had found its scapegoat.

A rogue shinobi from Amegakure—discovered "near the village," clutching vials filled with strange, unfamiliar toxins—was swiftly declared the cause of the recent calamity. No one dared question the verdict. The need for closure was too urgent, the fear too raw.

Within forty-eight hours, the trial was over. The sentence, execution by public beheading, was carried out without hesitation.

Thousands gathered in the village square. Civilians pressed shoulder to shoulder, their faces pale but eager for justice. Shinobi stood in rigid ranks, their eyes cold and unyielding. 

Even the clans brought their children, insisting it would "build resolve" in the next generation. Among them stood Nawaki, his youthful face pale but composed.

The condemned man was dragged forward, his broken arms bound tightly behind him. His head hung low, eyes swollen and vacant, stripped of dignity. The crowd was silent, waiting.

An Elite Jōnin stepped forward, his expression unreadable. With a single, swift stroke, the blade fell—and the man's head was severed from his body.

A roar erupted from the crowd, a thunderous wave of cheers and applause. The fear that had haunted them now had a face—and it was destroyed.

But Nawaki did not cheer.

He stood motionless, staring at the bloody stump lying on the wooden platform. His face was blank, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white—not in satisfaction, but in something darker, more conflicted.

Without a word, he turned away from the crowd.

He walked through the streets, the echoes of celebration fading behind him, swallowed by the rustling wind and the whispering leaves. His footsteps led him to the quiet training ground at the edge of the village—the place where he and Kiyu often sparred, where laughter and friendly rivalry once filled the air.

He sank beneath the shade of a broad tree, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees, his breath shallow and uneven.

"…They killed him," he whispered, voice cracking. "And they don't even know if it was really him."

Only silence answered.

Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the world around him. He didn't understand why the sight of the cheering crowd made his stomach twist in knots, why the image of the fallen man haunted him so deeply. But something inside him whispered a painful truth:

This wasn't victory. It was fear… wearing a mask.

"Nawaki?"

He looked up to see Kiyu standing nearby, his familiar black hair falling over his shoulders, eyes dark with concern—though a faint red glow flickered at their center.

"Why are you here? I thought you went home after… well, that."

Nawaki said nothing. He remained seated beneath the tree, lost in thought. Kiyu didn't press further. Instead, he sat down quietly beside him, the two of them sharing the cool shade in companionable silence.

The stillness was a balm to Nawaki's restless mind. The earlier shouts and screams that had echoed inside his head began to fade, replaced by a fragile clarity.

"…Was he really guilty?" Nawaki finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

"Was the ninja truly responsible for what happened a week ago?"

Kiyu sighed, his gaze distant. "I don't know, Nawaki. Maybe… but I'm not sure myself. I believe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Then they should have given him a trial! A chance to say he wasn't guilty!" 

Nawaki's voice rose, filled with frustration and disbelief. "Why would they… why would they kill him like that? Why can't they just talk? Why can't they seek the truth instead of feeding on fear?"

Kiyu looked at him, his eyes softening. "Because fear is easier. It's simpler to have a face to blame than to face the uncertainty. But that doesn't mean it's right."

Nawaki clenched his fists tighter, the weight of injustice pressing down on his chest.

"Nawaki, what happened today is happening everywhere else. I can't speak for everyone that violence solves everything. But it should be a question."

"Soon, enemies like him will run rampant across the whole world, and you have to choose between saving everyone or your loved ones."

"... What is your choice?" Nawaki stared deeply into Kiyu. "Who would you choose between everyone and your loved ones?"

Kiyu stared at the tree above him. He contemplated his answer that would be both satisfying and defining for Nawkai to accept.

"I suppose I'll choose what your grandfather did." Nawaki's expression was confused, and allowed Kiyu to continue. 

"Create another option."