"More-More: Heaven Slicer!"
Byrnndi roared, his massive scythe swelling to a monstrous size—twice, thrice, ten times larger than before. His speed, strength, and raw power were all amplified to inhuman levels.
A single swing could have cleaved an island in two.
But even with all that power—
His body felt like lead.
It was as if he was wading through an abyss, drowning in a crushing weight that suffocated his very soul.
His arms burned, his joints screamed, his breath came in ragged gasps—
Why…?
The answer was clear.
Haki.
A pressure so overwhelming it suffocated his will, pressing down on him like the gravity of the deep sea. The only other time he had felt such soul-crushing dominance…
Was a decade ago.
Garp.
The Marine Hero.
Even back then—when he bore the name "World Destroyer"—he had been nothing but a toy to that man. That devastating defeat was the first crack in his legacy. His crew's faith had shattered, their loyalty crumbled, and eventually—they betrayed him.
The World Government's Cipher Pol had taken the broken shell of a man that remained.
And now?
He was facing it again.
This… monster.
The difference between us was clear.
Byrnndi World—for all his brute strength—lacked one thing.
Will.
The will to rule.
The will to conquer.
Without mastery of Conqueror's Haki, no matter how much he struggled, he could not stand as my equal.
While I danced effortlessly across the battlefield—every step, every movement fluid, precise, calculated—
Byrnndi's every attack, every motion, was a struggle.
A fight against his own limitations.
Yet, he refused to break.
With a defiant roar, his massive, haki-infused scythe came screaming down—a strike meant to split the heavens themselves.
The very air howled, tearing apart as the attack descended upon me like divine judgment.
I lowered my stance.
Shusui whispered in my grip, its blackened steel thirsting for battle, its aura crackling with raw, untamed power.
I exhaled.
"Ittoryu Iai: Black Dragon's Roar."
The world blurred.
Faster than sound, faster than thought itself—
A single, perfect slash.
Black lightning erupted, carving a path through the battlefield as an ethereal dragon surged forward, its ebony maw yawning wide to devour the monstrous scythe.
The moment the two forces collided—
BOOM!
The entire sky detonated.
A shockwave split the air, tearing through the battlefield with merciless force.
Byrnndi's palm ripped open, his Haki-coated flesh splitting apart under the sheer impact.
His weapon was torn from his grip, sent flying into the heavens like a mere twig—
And Byrnndi himself was sent hurtling backward, his body slamming through rock and rubble, carving a crater into the earth.
But he didn't stop.
With sheer, stubborn rage, he roared, planting his feet deep into the shattered ground, halting his momentum with sheer force of will.
Blood poured from his wounds.
His chest heaved, each breath labored, his body trembling from the force of the impact.
Yet his eyes burned with something fierce.
"I won't be toyed with…!" Byrnndi snarled, wiping blood from his split lip. His teeth were bared in a feral grin, veins bulging as his amplified body surged with renewed energy.
"You think this is a game…?! Fine—"
His muscles bulged once more, veins straining under the amplified power of his More-More Fruit.
"Then let's see how long you can keep that smirk—when I wipe it off your damn face!"
With a burst of raw speed, Byrnndi lunged forward—
Faster.
Stronger.
Desperate to break through.
And I—
Smirked.
I sighed, rolling my shoulders as my patience wore thin.
"It seems my pity has given you a false sense of confidence, Byrnndi."
My voice, once indifferent, turned cold as steel.
"You should have walked away when I gave you the chance."
The air froze.
A sudden burst of Conqueror's Haki rippled through the sky, a formless wave of raw, oppressive will that shook the very heavens.
The clouds trembled, the floating islands in the distance quivered, and even those spectating from miles away felt an icy chill crawl up their spines—even though the force wasn't directed at them.
But Byrnndi…
He suffered the worst.
The instant my Haki crashed into him, his entire body convulsed.
Blood and bile erupted from his mouth as his knees nearly buckled beneath him. His vision swam, his ears rang, his mind screamed to shut down—to force him into unconsciousness, to escape the pressure.
But through sheer, mindless stubbornness, he resisted.
Still standing.
Still breathing.
Barely.
"So you really want to die, is that it, World?" My grip on Shusui tightened, its edge gleaming with an unnatural black luster as raw Armament Haki, Conqueror's Haki, and my Devil Fruit's power all surged into its blade.
The air around me cracked and groaned, unable to withstand the immense pressure.
"Don't blame me for your foolishness."
Byrnndi, despite his battered state, let out a ragged, mocking chuckle. "Barorororo... you little bastard." He spat blood onto the cloud beneath him. "You think just because you have some fancy tricks, you can beat me?"
His pride refused to break.
He refused to believe that someone not even half his age, a man barely stepping into his prime, could stand over him like this.
And yet—
The heavens rumbled.
A deep, ominous roar rolled across the sky, making every single soul present involuntarily look up.
Their eyes widened in sheer, primal awe.
Above us, the sky twisted and churned, a swirling black vortex spiraling open like the very eye of the abyss.
Black lightning slashed violently through the storm, its streaks illuminating the swirling chaos like veins of the underworld itself.
Then—
Something emerged.
A blade.
A monstrous, titanic sword of pure, condensed black lightning pierced through the abyss, its sheer size capable of eclipsing entire islands.
It was not just a weapon.
It was judgment.
A blade that could cleave apart the heavens themselves.
Byojack, Byrnndi's last remaining comrade, saw the cosmic horror above and instantly collapsed onto his rear. His mouth quivered, his legs useless beneath him. "I-Impossible…!
Byrnndi himself froze.
For the first time since the battle began—
Fear crept into his eyes.
His instincts screamed at him.
Run. Move. Escape. Anything.
But he couldn't.
His body disobeyed.
It was not just the exhaustion from battle.
It was the overwhelming, suffocating will pressing down upon him—a force that made even moving a distant dream.
I lifted Shusui, my gaze sharp as a blade.
The massive, abyssal sword above me mirrored my motion, its black lightning crackling with monstrous power.
The entire world seemed to hold its breath.
"𝘙𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘬: 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧."
I swung.
And the heavens obeyed.
The titanic blade came crashing down from the sky, descending like the very hand of God.
Byrnndi's pupils shrunk to pinpricks.
BOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The moment of impact—
There was no sound.
Only an all-consuming black light.
Blinding.
Endless.
And then—
The explosion.
A shockwave unlike anything before tore through the entire battlefield, ripping through the floating islands of the Sky Sea and beyond.
The skies themselves split apart, the very atmosphere howling in agony as the sheer force of the attack sent a tsunami of clouds surging outward in every direction.
The world itself seemed to shake.
And as the light faded—
Only ruin remained.
*****
Foosha Village, East Blue
"𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥!"
The shrill, whining voice of a plump woman rang through Foosha Village's tavern, her thick arms swinging exaggeratedly as she stood at the entrance. Her cheeks were flushed red with anger and humiliation, but more than anything, she was furious at the absurdity of the situation.
Beside her stood a young boy, no older than seven or eight—his face a battered mess.
One of his eyes was swollen shut, its flesh dark and bruised purple, his lip busted and bleeding, his nose still red from impact. His torn shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, stained with dirt, while his knees were scraped raw from being knocked down over and over again.
It was clear as day—he had taken a one-sided beatdown.
The woman's accusing gaze darted toward Little Ace, her lips curling in anger as she kept pointing at him like a criminal on trial. "How can a boy barely three years old do this to my son?! If he was anyone else, I don't know what I would've done!"
Despite her outrage, a hint of hesitation lurked in her eyes.
Because everyone in Foosha Village knew who Ace's family was.
His mother, Agatha, was Garp's niece.
His grandfather?
Monkey D. Garp—the Hero of the Marines.
Pushing things too far would be like shooting herself in the foot.
Yet her pride wouldn't let her back down so easily.
Ace, the supposed culprit, stood silently.
His small fists clenched at his sides, trembling with barely contained anger.
His messy, dark hair shadowed his face, but his shoulders rose and fell unevenly with each shallow breath. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his large, expressive eyes were moist with unshed tears—not of sadness, but of frustration.
Even though he had won the fight, beating those boys down effortlessly, it still wasn't enough.
The flames in his heart still burned, wild and untamed.
He wanted to lash out, to yell back at the plump woman, to demand justice for himself.
But his mother's grip on his tiny hand tightened.
A silent warning.
"𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝."
And so, Ace remained silent.
The woman, emboldened by Agatha's passive apologies, grew bolder, louder, more insufferable.
That was when—
"BAM!!"
A deafening slam echoed through the room.
A mop—smashed against the wooden table.
The entire tavern fell silent.
The plump woman flinched, her breath hitching as she stumbled back.
She turned her wide, startled eyes to the source of the sudden noise.
Standing behind the counter, gripping the mop with white-knuckled fury—
Was Makino.
She was usually the kindest person in Foosha Village. A calm, gentle teenager who always had a smile on her face, who treated everyone with warmth.
But not today.
Not when her family was being insulted.
Her soft green eyes were ablaze with fury, her lips curled in a rare snarl, her body tense as her patience finally snapped.
"𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡."
Her voice was sharp.
Her gaze? Even sharper.
"𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚-𝐬𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭."
The woman swallowed. "M-Makino, this isn't your—"
"𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬."
Makino took a deliberate step forward, slamming the mop onto the floor dangerously close to the woman's foot.
"From what I heard," Makino continued, her voice rising, "𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭.**"
She swung the mop in a wild arc, nearly smacking the woman in the face.
The plump woman jerked backward, eyes wide with fear.
"𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞-𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞?!"
"Makino—!" Agatha grabbed her arm, desperately trying to de-escalate the situation.
But Makino was done backing down.
Her glare bore into the woman's soul. "Do you think everyone here is as easy to push around as Agatha-chan?"
The woman didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Because Makino wasn't just speaking for Agatha.
She was speaking for the whole village.
And the silent gazes of the tavern-goers—every single one of them—made it crystal clear.
They stood with Agatha.
With Makino.
With Little Ace.
And the plump woman?
She was alone.
Her pride, her anger, her humiliation—none of it mattered anymore.
She bit her lip, fists trembling, her eyes flickering between Makino, Ace, and Agatha.
Finally, with a huff, she grabbed her son's hand and turned on her heel.
"𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧."
And just like that—she was gone.
The moment she left, the tavern exhaled.
Makino finally relaxed, setting the mop aside, her shoulders slumping.
She turned to Ace, crouching down.
"𝐀𝐜𝐞."
The little boy sniffed, looking up at her with wide, uncertain eyes.
She smiled, ruffling his messy hair.
"𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝."
Ace blinked, his small hands gripping his shirt tightly.
Makino's voice was gentle.
"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠."
And for the first time since the fight—
Ace smiled.
Ace's small fingers twitched as he wiped at his damp eyes, forcing himself to stay strong. He had already won the fight. He had already proven his strength.
So why...
Why did his mother look so sad?
He turned to face her, his wide eyes searching, pleading for an answer. But Rouge's face—though calm—held a sadness so profound that it made his tiny chest tighten painfully.
Ace swallowed, his throat dry.
Was she disappointed in him?
His mother had never yelled at him, never scolded him like the other villagers did. But right now, the way she was looking at him...
It felt worse than being scolded.
It felt like he had let her down.
But what Ace could never understand, not at this age, was that his mother's sadness wasn't because of him.
It was because of his father.
"He resembles Roger too much..." Rouge thought as she stared at her son—the same unruly black hair, the same burning fire in his eyes, that same defiant spirit that refused to bow down, even when the world stood against him.
"If only Roger were here."
She clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her mind heavy with emotions she had no words for.
Despite Ace's reckless nature, despite the fights, the bruises, the anger, Rouge never blamed him. How could she?
He was just a child.
A child burdened with a name that could one day destroy him.
And yet, despite everything...
Despite knowing the truth about his lineage...
Despite knowing that his father was a man hated by the world...
Ace still found hope for the future.
She knew that wasn't just by chance. Bogard had a hand in this.
Garp's ever-loyal right-hand man had been watching over Ace like a silent guardian, pulling him out of that suffocating darkness, guiding him forward.
For that, she was grateful.
But even with Bogard's quiet influence, even with the warmth of Foosha Village, she couldn't shake the fear rooted deep in her heart.
One day, the world would learn the truth.
No matter how much she tried to hide it, no matter how much she tried to protect him, the day would come when people would discover that Ace was Gol D. Roger's son.
And when that day came...
Would they still see him as Ace?
Or would they see him as a monster—the spawn of the Pirate King?
Even the people of Foosha, the ones who had known Ace since birth... Would they curse his name? Would they turn on him?
Rouge's fingers trembled slightly.
"No. I won't let that happen."
She wouldn't make the mistake of revealing his lineage. She couldn't.
Not if she wanted Ace to live.
****
𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙣'𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙣...
The scent of freshly baked apple pie filled the warm, cozy space as Rouge set a plate in front of Ace.
Despite the earlier tension, Ace didn't hesitate.
He devoured the pie, his little hands sticky with syrup, his cheeks full like a chipmunk's. But even as he ate, that heaviness in his chest wouldn't go away.
He stole a glance at his mother.
She was seated across from him, her chin resting lightly in her hand as she watched him with a soft smile—but that sadness was still there.
It gnawed at his heart.
Ace set his fork down, staring at his plate as his small fingers curled into a fist.
"...Mother." His voice was quiet.
Rouge blinked, surprised. "Yes, sweetheart?"
Ace hesitated, his tiny shoulders tensing.
Then—without looking at her—he asked the question that had been eating at him since they left the tavern.
"...Are you mad at me?"
Rouge's breath caught.
For a moment, silence filled the kitchen.
Then—
She reached over, gently placing her hand over his small, trembling fist.
"Ace," she said softly, her voice steady, warm, filled with love—"I could never be mad at you."
Ace finally looked up, his big, round eyes searching hers.
"But you were sad."
Rouge's heart ached.
She smiled, brushing his messy hair back. "I was just... thinking about something, that's all. It had nothing to do with you."
Ace frowned, not fully convinced, but nodded anyway.
Rouge knew this wouldn't be the last time Ace questioned his worth.
The doubts, the insecurities, the loneliness—they would follow him like a shadow.
And one day...
One day, she feared they would consume him completely.
So for now, she cherished these moments—these quiet evenings, these innocent questions, these fleeting seconds where Ace was still just a little boy eating apple pie in his mother's kitchen.
Because she knew, deep down...
They wouldn't last forever.
****
The salty sea breeze whispered through the trees as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the quiet outskirts of Foosha Village. Near the edge of the dense forest, a lone figure stood, his dark cloak blending seamlessly with the deepening twilight.
His piercing gaze was locked onto a small, tattered house—its walls weathered, its roof sagging slightly, but still standing strong against the test of time.
"It's been so long..."
Monkey D. Dragon felt a strange tightness in his chest as he stared at the home where he had once lived as a boy, where he had spent his childhood under the overbearing yet strangely warm presence of his father.
But nostalgia was a dangerous thing.
Especially for the most wanted man in the world.
If the people of this island knew who was standing here at this moment, the entire East Blue would be in chaos.
A bounty exceeding four billion berries.
The leader of the Revolutionary Army.
The most dangerous criminal alive.
And yet, despite the weight of his title, despite the reputation that struck fear into the hearts of the World Government, at this moment—standing before his childhood home—he was simply a son.
A son who had abandoned his father.
A son who had abandoned this place.
And perhaps... a son who had come back too late.
But before he could sink any deeper into those thoughts—
"You shouldn't have come here."
A voice, calm and measured, echoed from the darkness.
Dragon's lips curled slightly. He had sensed the man's presence long before he had spoken.
The figure stepped into the dimming light—a tall man with sharp features, a long coat, and a sword hanging casually at his hip. He leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, his sharp eyes unwavering.
Bogard.
Garp's ever-loyal right-hand man.
A man so skilled and disciplined that even Dragon had once respected him as a mentor.
Bogard's expression remained unreadable as he regarded the cloaked figure before him.
"Tell me, Dragon—why are you here?"
His voice was neutral, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.
Dragon exhaled through his nose, turning to face the man fully. He wasn't surprised by the hostility.
Despite their past connection, Bogard was Garp's man through and through.
"I could ask you the same question, Senpai," Dragon said smoothly, tilting his head. "What is the marine hero's most trusted aide doing on this quiet little island? Babysitting?"
Bogard didn't rise to the bait. His posture remained relaxed, but his gaze sharpened slightly.
"You still haven't answered my question."
Dragon smirked. As relentless as ever.
He spread his arms out in a mock gesture of surrender.
"Can't a man visit his childhood home?"
Bogard's expression didn't change.
"That was your home, Dragon. Past tense. You abandoned it. Just as you abandoned your father."
Dragon's smirk faltered for the briefest moment.
"Tell me the real reason you're here," Bogard pressed, his tone colder now. "You of all people should understand the risk you bring by stepping foot in this village. All it takes is one whisper.
One spy. One wrong move. And the World Government will come bearing down on Foosha. Do you truly want to put these people in danger?"
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Then—
Dragon exhaled, shaking his head. "Believe it or not, I came here to see the old man," he admitted, his voice softer than before. "But it looks like I just missed him."
He glanced toward the sea, as if he could see beyond the horizon.
"I assume something happened in the New World?"
Bogard studied him carefully. So he had sources in the Navy after all.
"Something like that," he said simply. "Garp san was supposed to take a month off, but duty called. As always."
Dragon huffed a quiet laugh. "Some things never change."
Bogard nodded. "No, they don't."
Silence settled between them once more.
For a moment, it almost felt... normal. Like two old comrades simply catching up.
But then Dragon's expression shifted—his eyes narrowing slightly.
"...There's something else, though."
Bogard tensed.
Dragon leaned back against the tree, arms crossed.
"Last time I checked," he said slowly, deliberately, "I don't remember having a distant cousin named Agatha."
The air shifted.
A slight but undeniable change in tension.
Dragon's gaze was sharp now, studying Bogard's reaction with practiced precision.
"The woman you're watching over," he continued, "the child she's raising... They have nothing to do with the Monkey family, do they?"
Silence.
Bogard's face betrayed nothing.
Not a single flicker of emotion.
Even for Dragon, whose entire life revolved around reading people, Bogard was impossible to read.
And that alone confirmed his suspicions. The child.
The boy with the burning eyes. Why did he seem... familiar?
Something gnawed at Dragon's mind—a memory just out of reach.
"Who does that child remind me of?"
Then—
Bogard exhaled, standing straight.
"If you're done here, you should leave."
His tone was final. Absolute.
Dragon let out a breath, chuckling as he raised his hands in surrender.
"You really haven't changed, Senpai."
Bogard didn't reply.
The Revolutionary leader glanced once more at the house—at the ghosts of his past.
Then, with a small nod, he turned away, his cloak billowing behind him as he began walking back toward the forest.
Just before he disappeared into the shadows, he called out—
"Tell the old man I stopped by."
Bogard didn't answer.
And then—
Dragon was gone.
The swordsman remained standing there for a long moment, his fingers tightening slightly around the hilt of his blade. He had done what needed to be done. He had kept Ace's secret. But a quiet unease settled in his gut.
Because Monkey D. Dragon never asked a question without already knowing part of the answer.
And this time...he had been looking just a little too closely.