A week had passed since the incident.
Benimaru had woken up from a five-day coma just yesterday, according to the doctors aboard Ryota's ship who were treating him. They'd given him a full day of rest to recover before they already started questioning him this morning, with Ryota and one other marine investigator having filed into his recovery room.
The interrogation was exhausting to say the least.
They'd asked him everything, what he'd seen, what he'd heard, any identifying marks or features on the pirates, their weapons, their ship, anything that could help track them down. But the information Benimaru could provide was frustratingly minimal, barely enough to even begin an investigation or a lead.
A lot of the incident had become blurry in his memory, like his mind had tried to protect him by blocking out certain details. The only things that remained vivid were the horrifying scenes of everyone being slaughtered in front of him, those images were still crystal clear to him and most likely something he would never forget.
But everything else was fragments at best.
The pirates had attacked out of nowhere, giving him no time to observe them properly. Then he'd encountered what he presumed was the captain and everything was downhill from there. He hadn't even gotten a good look at the ship or heard their crew name mentioned.
There just weren't any solid clues to give.
It was frustrating for everyone involved, the investigator, who had nothing to work with; Ryota, who desperately wanted to hunt down the people responsible; and Benimaru, who couldn't even remember enough details about the monsters who'd destroyed his life.
The worst part was that it meant they had no idea which pirate crew was behind the raid. With no leads, no names, no bounty posters, or motives...the case had already reached a dead end.
The bastards had gotten away clean, and the trail was already going cold.
After that frustrating interview, Benimaru found himself walking around the island with a cane instead of the IV stand he'd been using. It wasn't that walking itself was difficult, it was just that when he moved a certain way, the pain in his stomach flared up sharply, and the cane helped him support himself better without aggravating the wound.
It was strange seeing the village he'd once use to walk so freely in, was now reduced to ruins. The streets were eerily empty except for the occasional marine patrol walking by, their faces somber as they too surveyed the destruction. Houses that had once been filled with life and laughter were now burnt down to blackened husks. The farms and crops that had fed the community were scorched to ash, the soil still stained with soot.
He stopped walking suddenly, freezing mid-step as his eyes landed on a dark stain in the dirt below. The bloodstain had dried and turned a rusty brown, but he recognized the spot immediately.
Tomoe's body had lain right there, lifeless and with the blood pooling out of her.
His chest tightened, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Then something white in the dirt caught his eye, something small poking out from beneath a mound of blood-stained dirt.
Benimaru reached down with a wince, and carefully he pulled the object free. He brushed off the dried blood and dirt with his thumb, revealing what it was.
It was the origami swan that Tomoe had given him on the day of the incident.
"Hope and love, huh..." Benimaru muttered under his breath, staring at the small paper bird. It was crumpled and stained now, but still he was going to keep it.
He held the swan close to his chest for a long moment, feeling the weight of everything it represented. Then, gently, he placed it in his pocket, keeping it safe.
Everything hurt. Not just his stomach wound, that was almost bearable compared to the pain crushing his chest from the inside. Every step walking through these streets felt like walking through a graveyard of memories. Every corner held a ghost. Every bloodstain on the ground was a person he'd known, someone he'd laughed with, shared meals with, and lived alongside with.
And now they were all gone.
Benimaru looked up at the sky, noticing how especially cloudy it was today. Dark gray clouds hung heavy overhead, with clear signs that it was going to rain today. He'd never been a fan of the rain since it always made everything feel cold and depressing. But today, it felt eerily fitting for how he felt inside.
He sighed heavily and kept walking, his cane clicking against the dirt path with each step. His eyes caught another bloodstain as he passed, the spot where Daichi had died. Benimaru's steps stumbled for just a moment, but he caught himself and didn't stop. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, he'd break down completely, and he couldn't afford that right now.
So he kept walking, his feet carrying him forward unconsciously, not really paying attention to where he was going. It wasn't until he looked up that he realized where he'd ended up.
His home.
Or what was left of it...
The house that had been full of warmth and life was now nothing but charred wood and collapsed beams. He then walked around to the back, where his mother's garden used to be. The plants she'd tended so carefully every day, the vegetables, the flowers, all of it, were now completely burnt and dead.
Benimaru stood there, staring at the ruins of his home, his hand unconsciously touching the origami swan in his pocket.
'I need to get stronger.' the thought wasn't a wish or a hope. It was a fact. A necessity. As fundamental as breathing.
Benimaru reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt from what used to be his mother's garden, squeezing it so tightly in his fist that his knuckles turned white. The soil compressed, became dense, then slowly crumbled and slipped through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold it. Just like everything else in his life.
He stared at his empty palm with the dirt still clinging to the lines of his skin.
That pirate, the one with the bone Devil Fruit, had crushed him like he was nothing. One hit was all it took to run him through and leave him bleeding out in the dirt like a piece of garbage. The man had looked at him with those empty eyes, and Benimaru had understood in that moment exactly how little his life meant to someone with real power.
He'd been helpless.
Completely, utterly helpless.
And helplessness was a disease. A terminal condition that spread to everyone around you. His mother, his father, his little sister, Tomoe, and the villagers all paid the price for his weakness. Their blood was on his hands just as much as it was on those pirates', because he hadn't been strong enough to protect them.
Because he'd been weak.
And the worst part? He'd known better.
He'd fucking known better.
This wasn't just some peachy adventure story with pirates seeking treasure and freedom. This was a world built on the backs of the oppressed, maintained through systematic cruelty, and powered by inequality so grotesque it made his previous world's problems look like paradise.
The World Government, the supposed peacekeepers, were the biggest criminals of all. They sanctioned slavery in the name of order. The Celestial Dragons, those "world nobles," could kidnap, rape, murder, and enslave anyone they wanted with complete impunity because they were born into the right bloodline. They rode on the backs of slaves while the Marines also the supposed heroes, stood by and enforced their rule.
Racism was woven into the very fabric of this world. Fishmen were hunted and discriminated against for being different. Minks were treated like exotic animals. Entire races were considered lesser, sold at auction houses like cattle while the world turned a blind eye because it was legal. Because the people in power said it was okay.
The inequality was suffocating. Islands like this one, peaceful, and small, were left completely defenseless. With no Marine protection and no government support. Just expected to fend for themselves against pirates who had nothing to lose and everything to take. Meanwhile, the nobles lived in their gilded palaces, eating food that could feed entire villages while children starved in the streets of poverty-stricken islands.
Corruption ran so deep it was the foundation everything else stood on. Marines who were supposed to protect people took bribes from pirates and looked the other way. Pirates with enough money could become Warlords..government-sanctioned pirates who got to pillage and murder with an official seal of approval. Justice was bought and sold like any other commodity, and the price was always paid by people who could least afford it.
Wars broke out constantly and millions died in these conflicts while the powerful played their games of conquest and control. Bounty hunters killed for money and the government executed anyone who questioned their authority.
Life was cheap.
But human life was even cheaper.
And the pirates, oh, the fucking pirates. None of them were like Luffy, most were exactly like the ones who'd destroyed his village. Rapists, murderers, slavers who flew the Jolly Roger because it gave them license to do whatever they wanted. They'd burn your home, kill your family, take everything you had, and sail away laughing because that's what pirates did in this world.
This was hell.
A hell dressed up with adventure and dreams and the promise of freedom, but hell nonetheless.
And he'd known all of this. He'd known exactly what kind of world this was from the moment he'd realized where he'd been reincarnated. He knew about the corruption, the inequality, the casual cruelty that defined every aspect of this society.
And yet he'd convinced himself, like a complete fucking idiot, that he could carve out his own little piece of happiness anyway. That if he just kept his head down, didn't gather any attention, and lived quietly on this island, somehow the horrors of this world would pass him by.
What kind of delusional moron had he been?
He'd thought he could have a family and a peaceful life while ignoring the fact that this world was designed to crush people like him. That weakness wasn't just a disadvantage, it was a death sentence. That hoping for peace in a world built on violence was like standing in the rain and expecting not to get wet.
Well, the rain came...
And it washed away everything...
That helplessness he'd felt? That crushing, suffocating helplessness when that pirate's bone scythe tore through his stomach and all he could do was watch his family die? That wasn't just about being physically weak.
It was the realization that he'd wasted his second chance at life playing house in hell. That he'd buried his head in the sand and pretended the monsters weren't real because facing reality was too fucking hard.
Not anymore.
If survival meant becoming a monster, then he'd become one. If getting strong enough meant crushing anyone who stood in his way, then that's exactly what he'd do. If this world only respected power, then he'd accumulate so much of it that even Imu would kneel.
The pirates who destroyed his village were just the beginning. He would hunt them down, every last one of them, and he would make them suffer in ways that would make death seem like mercy.
He needed to become strong enough that anyone would grovel at his feet. Strong enough that Garp wouldn't stand a chance against him. Strong enough that Kaido, the so-called "Strongest Creature in the World," would beg for mercy. Strong enough that Whitebeard, the man who could destroy the world, would fall on his back.
The Marines? They wouldn't be able to stop him. The entire fucking organization with all their Admirals and battleships and their forces...useless. The World Government? The Emperors? he needed to be stronger than all of them.
Nobody would be able to stop him.
Not the Marines...
Not the pirates...
Not even the world government itself.
And he could do it. He had something no one else in this world had, and that was knowledge of the future. He knew where the OP Devil Fruits were going to be. He knew where the Poneglyphs were hidden. He knew...
He basically knew everything...
He had a roadmap to power that no one else could even dream of.
Benimaru looked down at the dirt in his palms and let it fall from his hands, watching as it scattered back into the burnt soil. He got back up with a wince as a sharp pain shot through his stomach. Using his cane to steady himself, he left his house and slowly made his way over to the back of the island where a large open field stretched out before him.
The field was now filled with rows and rows of dirt graves and makeshift crosses made out of sticks and rope.
The heavy wind blew his hair back as rain fell from the sky, dampening his clothes and plastering his shaggy black hair to his face. He sighed, taking in a deep breath of the cold, wet air.
'First before I start training, I need to recover,' he thought, staring at the rows of graves. 'The way I am right now, I can't even move, much less train.'
He looked down at his bandaged hands. They were still battered and bruised from punching that man his right hand still had a fracture in it. And the wound on his stomach would tear open again if he pushed himself too hard, if he started training in his current condition.
So for now, he'd focus on recovering first.
Then he could start training.
Besides, he knew the perfect person to ask for help training him...
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[5 DAYS LATER]
. . . .
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A small boat rocked gently on the waves, barely big enough to fit three people if they squeezed together. The sky was especially clear today, a brilliant blue stretching endlessly in every direction. The wind was just wild enough to rustle their hair but was still gentle, almost comforting. Schools of fish swam by beneath them, their scales catching the sunlight as the ocean current carried them along through the ocean.
On the floor of the boat sat three ceramic vases containing the ashes of Yuki, Haruka, and Daichi.
Benimaru picked up the first vase carefully, cradling it in his hands for a moment. He unscrewed the lid and stood up slowly, mindful of the boat's gentle rocking. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the vase and tipped it over the side. Yuki's ashes scattered across the wind, dancing through the air before falling on the water's surface.
He repeated the process with Haruka's vase, then Daichi's. One by one, he let them go, a symbol of releasing their spirits to roam the world freely.
'They deserve to be free', he thought, watching the ashes drift away on the current. He wasn't sure if he believed in that afterlife stuff anymore. After all, he'd died and reincarnated into this world. Did that mean if he died again, he'd reincarnate somewhere else? Or would there be an actual afterlife this time? Was he special, or was this just how death worked for everyone?
He pushed those thoughts aside. For the sake of his own sanity, he chose to believe they were living in a better world now. A place without pain, without pirates, and death.
Ryota watched him silently throughout the whole thing. When Benimaru finished, Ryota then reached into his shirt and pulled out a metal flask of alcohol. He tilted it to his lips, taking a huge gulp before holding it out toward Benimaru.
"You're seventeen, right? That means you're old enough to start drinking now..." Ryota said, sloshing the bottle slightly.
Benimaru stared at the flask for a brief second before ultimately taking it. He brought it to his lips and took a huge gulp. Immediately, the liquid burned down his throat like fire.
"How do people drink this?" he asked, making a disgusted face as he wiped the bit of alcohol from the corner of his lips before handing it back to Ryota. Even though he drank before, he still hadn't quite gotten to the taste of it yet.
Ryota laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "Honestly, after a while you just get used to it..." He took another sip from the flask before dumping out the rest into the water as a final offering to the sea.
Benimaru gave a small smirk despite everything and sat back down, staring out at the endless ocean.
"Can I ask you something?" he said quietly.
Ryota looked over at Benimaru with a raised brow. "Yeah, what's up?"
"Why did you become a Marine?"
Ryota hummed for a brief moment as he thought about it. "Hmm... It was a while ago, to be fair, so I don't remember it all too well. But I guess I just didn't want to be a fisherman my whole life and wanted to do better for myself... But ultimately, it wasn't my decision that made me join the Marines, but your father's..." Ryota said, placing the flask back into his shirt.
"Daichi's?... But he's a fisherma—oh, you mean him," Benimaru said, realizing that Ryota was talking about his biological father, the one from before he was born.
"Yeah, did nobody tell you this?" Ryota asked, genuinely worried.
Benimaru remembered Haruka talking about him a lot when he was a baby, but after she married Daichi, she'd stopped mentioning him. Plus, he'd never really cared to ask. "No..."
Ryota's brows furrowed before he ultimately sighed and shook his head. "Well, me and your father were actually best friends ever since we were kids... and of course he had a little crush on my sister. Short story short, that's how you were born." He paused, then continued. "But me and him joined the Marines in our twenties, and we worked alongside each other before... what happened, happened."
Benimaru hummed thoughtfully. "So how did he die?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
Ryota shrugged, though a flash of sadness flickered across his face. "He died protecting a village from a pirate raid..." He said, before he then raised a brow at Benimaru. "Wait... Why are you suddenly so interested in this stuff now, out of all the times you could've asked me?"
Benimaru scratched the back of his head. "Not really sure... but I was just curious." He paused, then looked directly at Ryota. "But on another note, do you think you train me?"
If Ryota had anything in his mouth, he would've spit it out right then and there. Instead, his mouth hung open in surprise. "Woah, woah... You haven't even fully recovered yet and you want to train already?"
"I mean obviously after I recover first, but I don't want to be weak anymore... and if I was to ask anybody, the only sensible person is you," Benimaru said, looking him dead in the eyes.
Ryota sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I can't, kid."
"What do you mean you can't?"
"By the time you recover, I'll have to leave for the Grand Line," Ryota explained, his tone apologetic but firm. "I've got things to deal with. I can't just stick around indefinitely."
Benimaru's jaw tightened. "Then take me with you."
Ryota laughed a short, surprised bark of laughter that died almost immediately. His expression turned serious, almost hard. "No."
"But—"
"No," Ryota repeated, more forcefully this time. He leaned forward, making sure Benimaru understood the weight of his words. "Listen to me, Benimaru. The Grand Line isn't some adventure you can just tag along on. It's a graveyard. Pirates with bounties in the hundreds of millions, sea kings the size of warships, weather that can tear apart vessels in seconds...it's a death trap for even experienced Marines."
He gestured at Benimaru's bandaged hands and stomach. "You're not even a Marine recruit. Hell, you don't even have a single fighting experience. What do you think would happen to you out there? I can't just bring some civilian kid along because he wants to get stronger. That's not how it works."
Benimaru opened his mouth to argue, but Ryota cut him off.
"And even if I wanted to—which I don't—I couldn't. The Marines have rules and regulations. I can't just show up at headquarters with some random seventeen-year-old and say, 'Hey, train this kid for me.' That's not how any of this works."
The boat rocked gently as silence fell between them.
Ryota looked at Benimaru's frustrated expression and sighed heavily. "Listen, I only have two months' time left in the North Blue before I have to leave... The only reason I'm not leaving sooner is because of the raid that happened and Headquarters granted me permission to stay and investigate for a while before I have to go back to the Grand Line." He tried to explain the situation as best as he could, hoping Benimaru would understand.
"It's fine. I understand..." Benimaru said, though he was definitely frustrated. But he'd just have to find another way.
Ryota stared at him for a moment, watching the disappointment settle on his nephew's face. He rubbed the back of his neck. "But... while you recover, I guess I can train you for a little bit. As best as I can, anyway."
Benimaru's face immediately brightened. "Really? Thank you, thank you..." He moved forward to give his uncle a hug, but immediately pulled back with a wince of pain from his stomach wound.
"Yeah, yeah... but two months, not even... call it a month. But it won't be enough to get you strong at all." He paused, thinking. "So I'll figure out something where you can continue training after I leave... but you'll have to become a Marine."
Benimaru didn't want to become a Marine, to be fair. He hated the idea of joining them, knowing all the terrible things they'd done for the World Government and the World Nobles. The corruption, the cover-ups, and even the fact that they protected the very people who caused so much suffering. But ultimately, as long as it helped him get stronger, he didn't care.
At least for now.
"Fine. I'm willing to do anything to get stronger," Benimaru said, feeling a surge of determination as he clenched his fist.
Ryota nodded with a slight smile. "Good..."
. . . . .
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