-Broadcast-
Careful observers watching the Sky Screen had noticed something peculiar about Kozuki Momonosuke's dragon transformations. The colors differed between appearances—one form manifested as tender pink, almost juvenile in its soft hue. The other appeared as mature crimson red, deeper and more menacing.
What happened between those two versions? The question intrigued those who paid attention to details. What caused the evolution—or perhaps devolution—of his Devil Fruit ability?
The answer, as with so many mysteries, would be revealed in time.
-Broadcast-
Kozuki Momonosuke left Orochimaru's underground laboratory with more questions than answers. The scientist's explanations about the Hyūga Clan had been unsatisfying at best, deliberately incomplete at worst. And frankly, the boy had lost interest the moment he learned about the matriarchal structure.
A society where women rule and men serve? The concept was fundamentally incomprehensible to someone raised in Wano Country's rigid patriarchy. Unnatural. Wrong. Against the proper order of things.
From birth, Momonosuke had absorbed the doctrine that men led and women supported. That hierarchy wasn't just social convention—it was natural law, as immutable as gravity or the rising sun. His parents had reinforced this belief through every lesson, every interaction, every casual comment about the world's proper structure.
The idea of a woman standing above him—commanding his obedience, making decisions he must follow—was intolerable. Even if that woman was his own sister, blood ties couldn't overcome the fundamental wrongness of inverted hierarchy.
Wano Country has never had a female Shogun, he reminded himself. There's a reason for that. Some traditions exist because they reflect truth.
His obsession with proper ranking had transcended family bonds entirely. Kozuki Hiyori might be his sister, might share his blood, might even possess superior talents—but she could never be his equal, let alone his superior. Biology had determined their respective places at birth.
These thoughts occupied his mind as the elevator ascended from the underground facility, carrying him back to Iron Island's surface. The mechanical lift moved smoothly despite the considerable distance, and when the doors finally opened, Momonosuke stepped into a world that immediately assaulted his senses.
What... what is this place?
Iron Island's architecture could only be described as aggressively cheerful. The buildings displayed colors that shouldn't exist in nature—electric blues, neon greens, violent oranges, all clashing together in combinations that made his eyes hurt. Every structure seemed designed to catch attention and hold it through sheer chromatic assault.
Entertainment equipment dotted the landscape like monuments to frivolity. A massive carousel sat in one plaza, its painted horses frozen mid-gallop. A Ferris wheel loomed in the distance, its gondolas swaying gently in the sea breeze. Smaller attractions—games of chance, skill challenges, performance stages—occupied every available space between buildings.
And the people. Gods, the people.
Pirates and crew members wandered the streets dressed as clowns. Not metaphorically—they wore actual circus costumes. Oversized shoes. Colorful wigs. Painted faces with exaggerated smiles. Some juggled while walking. Others performed impromptu acrobatics. A few rode unicycles, somehow navigating the uneven terrain without falling.
The entire island felt like a carnival that had achieved sentience and decided to become a permanent settlement.
This is wrong, Momonosuke thought, his frown deepening. Everything here is wrong. Too happy. Too colorful. Too deliberately cheerful.
The forced gaiety made his skin crawl. It reminded him of the smiling masks worn at Wano festivals—pretty surfaces hiding whatever lay beneath. What kind of person designed their headquarters like an entertainment complex? What did it say about Buggy the Clown that he'd chosen this aesthetic?
And why did Momonosuke feel like something was watching him from the shadows between buildings? Some presence that observed from behind painted grins and circus facades?
"Stop dawdling, boy." A familiar voice cut through his uneasy observations. "Master Buggy is waiting for you. Come with me."
Douglas Bullet stood a few paces away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The massive warrior looked absurdly out of place among the cheerful surroundings—a walking embodiment of violence surrounded by carnival decorations.
Momonosuke remembered their previous encounter. This was the man who'd nearly killed him before Buggy intervened. The Devil's Heir, who'd fought alongside the Pirate King and survived Impel Down's Level Six. Someone who viewed weakness with undisguised contempt.
Why does Buggy value me? Bullet wondered as he turned to lead the way. This brat can barely defend himself. What does the captain see in him?
The question remained unanswered as they began walking across Iron Island.
The journey attracted attention immediately. Pirates stopped their activities to stare. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Even the juggling clowns faltered in their routines, balls dropping as they turned to watch the small figure following Bullet's imposing form.
A child. On a pirate island. Walking openly through territory controlled by one of the Shichibukai.
Doesn't make sense, their expressions said. What's the captain thinking?
Some pointed. Others whispered to companions. A few made crude jokes that Momonosuke couldn't quite hear but whose tone suggested nothing good. The attention made his skin prickle with unease.
I'm being evaluated, he realized. Judged. Found wanting.
These pirates saw a small, powerless boy who didn't belong among warriors. They weren't wrong. Without Buggy's protection, Momonosuke would be just another victim—easily disposed of, quickly forgotten.
The walk lasted approximately thirty minutes, though it felt longer under constant scrutiny. Iron Island wasn't particularly large—a few square kilometers at most—but the winding paths and deliberate architectural chaos made navigation complicated for newcomers.
Finally, they arrived at their destination.
Buggy the Clown stood waiting, his distinctive appearance somehow more pronounced against the already-garish background. The red nose. The blue hair. The theatrical costume. Everything about him screamed "performer" rather than "warrior."
But Momonosuke knew the truth beneath the clownish exterior. This man could split the sky with his Haoshoku Haki (Conqueror's Haki). Could defeat legends like Douglas Bullet. Could command loyalty from hardened criminals through sheer force of personality.
Appearance means nothing. Power is everything.
"This will be your training ground from now on, kid." Buggy's voice carried that particular combination of amusement and menace that seemed to be his default state. "But let me make something absolutely clear—if you can't handle what's coming, you will die here. Not metaphorically. Not as exaggeration. You will literally die."
He gestured toward the terrain behind him.
"This is the only path to becoming strong enough to face Kaido. No shortcuts. No easy options. Just this, or death. Your choice."
Momonosuke studied the location with growing confusion. The ground had been artificially modified—that much was obvious. Smooth cuts in the stone suggested intentional shaping rather than natural formation. The overall structure resembled a massive waterway carved into the landscape, starting at ground level and ascending at an increasingly steep angle.
It looked like... a giant slide? A water attraction of some kind?
The slope grew steeper as it climbed, eventually reaching nearly vertical near the top. The entire structure stretched at least a thousand meters—maybe more, difficult to judge from this angle. Water flowed down its length in a thin sheet, keeping the surface perpetually wet.
This is supposed to be training? Momonosuke thought skeptically. It's just a really long slide.
"Is the difficulty sliding from top to bottom?" he asked, unable to keep the condescension from his voice. "Because that seems... easy? I ate a Devil Fruit. My body is enhanced. Worst case, I suffer minor injuries. As long as I don't fall into the ocean, what's the danger?"
He'd heard the stories about Devil Fruit users becoming "hammers"—unable to swim, sinking like stones if they fell into deep water. Drowning was the most common cause of death among ability users. But avoiding the ocean seemed manageable. Just don't fall off the sides. Simple.
Buggy's grin widened, showing too many teeth. The expression should have been cheerful but instead carried predatory undertones.
"Oh, you misunderstand the exercise completely," the Clown said, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I'll let you discover that yourself. First things first."
He gestured toward Momonosuke's pocket.
"Use that injection Orochimaru prepared. The serum will force your Devil Fruit to evolve—push it to a higher dimensional state. Your current artificial Zoan is incomplete, flawed. This will correct some of those deficiencies. Inject it now."
Momonosuke pulled out the syringe slowly, studying it in the sunlight. The glass cylinder contained clear liquid that showed no special properties. No unusual color. No strange shimmer. Just... fluid. Could be anything. Medicine, poison, experimental compound with unknown side effects.
His hand trembled slightly as he held the needle.
What if this is poison? What if Buggy and Orochimaru are working together to eliminate me? What if I'm being played, just like Father was played by Kurozumi Orochi?
The adults he'd encountered throughout his life had been uniformly self-interested. Caesar Clown had kept him alive only because he might be useful. Trafalgar Law had saved him only to gather intelligence. Even the Marine wanted him only as research material.
Nobody helps children out of kindness, Momonosuke's experiences had taught him. Everyone wants something. Everyone has ulterior motives.
So what did Buggy want? Why invest time and resources into training someone like Momonosuke? What was the angle? What was the trap?
The boy stared at the needle, paralyzed by suspicion and fear. His thumb hovered over the plunger, unable to commit.
If I inject this and it's poison, I die. If I refuse and anger Buggy, I probably also die. Either way, I'm powerless. Either way, my fate depends on others' decisions.
The familiar helplessness was suffocating.
Buggy waited approximately one minute, his expression shifting from amused to impatient. Then his eyes flickered toward Bullet—a wordless command that the Devil's Heir understood immediately.
"No, wait—" Momonosuke began.
Too late.
Bullet moved with speed that shouldn't be possible for someone his size. One massive hand grabbed Momonosuke's collar, lifting the boy off his feet like he weighed nothing. The other hand snatched the syringe from his grasp with surprising gentleness—careful not to break the delicate glass.
"Let me go! Put me down! I wasn't refusing, I just needed a moment to—"
The needle pierced his neck with clinical precision. Bullet had found the carotid artery by touch alone, inserting the tip directly into the major blood vessel. The plunger depressed smoothly, forcing the clear serum directly into Momonosuke's bloodstream.
"—think!" The final word emerged as a strangled gasp as the injection completed.
Bullet withdrew the needle and casually tossed Momonosuke aside. The boy hit the ground hard, rolling several times before stopping in an undignified heap.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Momonosuke lay there, gasping, one hand pressed against his neck where the needle had punctured skin. His fingers came away with a small smear of blood but no serious injury. The puncture wound had already stopped bleeding—enhanced healing from his Devil Fruit, perhaps.
I'm not dead, he thought with numb surprise. It wasn't poison after all.
Then the heat began.
It started in his limbs—a gentle warmth that might have been pleasant under other circumstances. But the temperature increased rapidly, climbing from comfortable to concerning to actively painful within seconds. His arms and legs felt like they were burning from the inside out.
"Ah... it hurts..." Momonosuke whimpered, curling into a fetal position. "What did you... what was in that..."
The heat spread through his torso, invading his chest and abdomen. It felt like his blood had been replaced with liquid fire, circulating through his body with every heartbeat. Sweat broke out across his skin, evaporating almost instantly as body temperature spiked.
His pores opened, releasing heat in visible waves that distorted the air around him like thermal shimmer.
"You should be able to control your Devil Fruit freely now," Buggy observed clinically, showing no sympathy for the boy's discomfort. "Transform into a dragon. Show me what you've become."
Momonosuke barely heard the command through the haze of pain. Transform? Now? While feeling like his insides were cooking?
But arguing seemed inadvisable. Buggy's tone hadn't been a suggestion—it was an order. And on this island, refusing orders had consequences.
Just do it, Momonosuke told himself. Transform, prove you're fine, maybe they'll let you rest.
He closed his eyes and reached for that strange sensation—the one that activated his Devil Fruit ability. The connection felt different now. Smoother. More responsive. As if barriers that had existed before had been dissolved by Orochimaru's serum.
Here we go, he thought, activating the transformation.
His body began changing immediately. But something felt wrong. The sensations didn't match his previous experience. Last time, he'd felt himself stretching, elongating, growing larger as he took dragon form.
This time, he felt himself... compressing?
"Why do I feel weird?" Momonosuke's voice came out distorted, his vocal cords transforming mid-speech. "Have I become... smaller? Shorter?"
He tried to look around, to assess his new form. But his neck wouldn't move properly. In fact, he couldn't feel his neck at all. No sensation of long serpentine flexibility. No awareness of powerful limbs. No instinctual understanding of how to fly.
What happened? What went wrong?
Bullet stared at the transformed Momonosuke for exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter. Deep, genuine laughter that shook the massive man's entire frame.
"Master Buggy!" he managed between guffaws. "This isn't a dragon at all! It's a fish! A dead fish! And pink, too! Wonder if it'd taste good in a pot?"
The mockery stung worse than the injection had.
A fish? What is he—
The Sky Screen's camera pulled back, providing a wide-angle view of the scene. There, flopping pathetically on the ground, was Kozuki Momonosuke's transformed state.
Not a majestic pink dragon with scales and claws and the ability to fly.
A pink carp. Roughly three feet long. Gasping as its gills struggled to process air instead of water. Fins flapping uselessly against stone.
The mythical beast Zoan Devil Fruit—or at least the artificial version Momonosuke had consumed—had transformed him into a fish. A common fish. The kind sold in markets. The kind children kept as pets.
No, Momonosuke's mind screamed. This is wrong. This isn't what happened before. I was a dragon. I flew. I had power.
He tried to speak, to demand an explanation, but only gurgling sounds emerged from his fish mouth. His body convulsed as it desperately sought water—any water—to breathe properly.
I'm suffocating. I can't breathe. I can't—
Buggy walked closer, crouching beside the pathetic fish-form with undisguised amusement in his painted face.
"Interesting," the Clown mused. "Orochimaru's serum didn't evolve your fruit. It regressed it. Stripped away the draconic aspects and revealed what you truly are underneath all that artificial enhancement."
He reached out one gloved finger and tapped Momonosuke's scaled side.
"Not a dragon at all. Just a little fish. Playing at being something greater. How appropriate.