"What incredible combat ability." Teach's eyes gleamed as he watched the silver-haired youth carve through the chaos of the battlefield. Every motion was clean, decisive—no hesitation, no wasted movement. It was hard to believe he was only around ten years old.
Van Augur adjusted his rifle strap and spoke quietly, "It's him. Two years before I left the Kuroye Kingdom, he appeared in the cannon fodder camp. Back then, he survived every single battle. At first, he hesitated like any normal child would, but after just a few wars, he completely changed, became a killing machine. I heard he started fighting when he was five."
The group turned toward Van Augur, surprised by his grave tone.
"Young children like him usually die the quickest," he continued. "They're the first targets for adults. But that one survived, battle after battle. He was cautious at first, then started facing grown men head-on. I've seen him cornered many times, yet he always turned things around. His instincts… they're monstrous."
When Van Augur used the word monster, everyone understood the weight of it. In three years on the Grand Line, he had only ever used that word for Teach and Douglas Bullet.
"I never thought he'd still be alive after all this time," he murmured.
Wallace frowned. "Wait, Van Augur, you're saying it's been five years? That means he was only five when he first went to war? How's that even possible?"
Van Augur's gaze darkened. "The orphans are raised by the military. They're trained to kill from the moment they can walk. Once they turn five, they're thrown into the field. Raising them costs money, and the kingdom doesn't waste funds on orphans. They're weapons, not children."
He paused, voice lowering. "And there's never a shortage of orphans in Kuroye. Every year brings new ones. The real soldiers—the trained ones—are reserved for the main front. The rest… are death row convicts and slaves."
Teach watched the boy in silence as he cut down another man, twin blades flashing in the rain. "What's his name?"
Van Augur shook his head. "None of them have names. Once they enter the army's orphanages, they lose them, only code numbers remain. His code name is Eight."
Teach grinned, his teeth flashing white. "Eight, symbolizing darkness, huh? Sounds like fate brought him to us."
Everyone understood his meaning. Teach had already chosen him.
Van Augur smirked faintly, adjusting his monocle. "Seems fortune's on your side again, Captain."
Baccarat pushed back her soaked red hair and smiled. "I can already feel the luck shifting."
"A new crewmate!" Wallace's grin widened.
Nelson crossed his arms, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Then we'll have to train harder. That kid's potential might already surpass half of us."
They weren't wrong. Even underfed and malnourished, the boy fought like a natural-born killer. With proper food and training, his power would explode.
On the battlefield, Number Eight's twin blades glinted through the downpour. His movements were unnervingly calm, almost detached. Each strike was a perfect balance of speed and precision. He wasted nothing—not breath, not motion, not life.
At some point, his weapon had shifted from an iron rod to a sharpened knife, small but deadly. The ease with which he adapted made even Teach's crew fall silent.
That was how he earned his title—the White-Haired Devil. Soldiers whispered it with dread. His kill count had become so high that both camps wanted him gone. Kuroye's officers even offered freedom and gold to anyone who could kill him.
Now, eight adults elite survivors from other camps had surrounded him. Each wore leather armor and carried real steel. They had been promised their freedom for one kill.
Rain poured down, turning the dirt to mud, but the boy didn't flinch. He stood in the center of eight blades, eyes cold and distant.
"Die, White-Haired Devil! Give us your head!" one man shouted, charging with his sword raised.
Three more lunged in at once, aiming to overwhelm him. But the boy moved like a shadow. He ducked low, then flipped backward, twisting in the air. A clean flash of steel, one man's throat split open before he even landed his blow.
By the time the body hit the ground, Number Eight was already moving. He seized the fallen blade and countered. Two more went down in seconds, their blood washing away in the rain.
"Fast," Wallace whispered.
"Too fast," Van Augur said quietly. "Every motion is lethal. No wasted effort—like he's done this a thousand times."
Number Eight pressed his attack, cutting through the circle before they could close in again. His dual blades danced—one for defense, one for death. Each swing carved another life away.
Thunder cracked overhead. The rain fell harder, mixing with the river of blood at his feet.
By the time the last of the eight fell, the battlefield was silent again. Bodies lay scattered across the mud.
"Again," the boy muttered, his chest heaving. "Again, I'm the only one left." His voice trembled between anger and emptiness. "Is that all life is? Killing… surviving?"
The rain softened around him, shrouding his small frame in mist. Amid the corpses, a single white flower bloomed—a fragile patch of life in the carnage.
The boy froze. "That flower…" He walked toward it slowly. "Last time, you were only a bud."
He knelt beside it, staring. "Why do you bloom here? Don't you know it's dangerous?"
Of course, the flower didn't answer.
"Why won't you speak to me?" His voice cracked slightly. "Are you ignoring me too?"
He raised one of his blades, tip trembling toward the flower. "Then I'll—"
"Don't do that."
The voice was low, calm, and carried through the rain. The boy's reflexes snapped, he spun and blades ready.
Teach stood behind him, water streaming down his coat, a faint grin on his face.
The boy glared, his body tense as a wire, both hands gripping the hilts like they were the only thing keeping him alive.
"There's no rule that life has to mean something," Teach said, stepping closer. "But if you survive long enough, maybe you'll find something that makes it worth it."
The boy didn't answer, only stared.
Teach's grin softened. "Just like you found that flower… and I found you."
He reached out and placed a hand against the boy's cold, rain-soaked cheek.
For the first time, the boy didn't resist. His blades slipped from his hands, clattering softly against the wet earth.
So warm, he thought. The warmth of that touch seeped into him, melting something that had long frozen inside.
"You don't have a name, do you?" Teach asked quietly.
The boy shook his head.
"Then I'll give you one," Teach said with a smile. "Kaguya. From now on, your name is Kaguya."
"Kaguya…" the boy whispered, his eyes wide. The name echoed in his mind, filling a hollow space that had never been touched before.
"Come with me," Teach said, turning away. "There's nothing left for you here."
Kaguya stood there, unmoving for a moment. Then, without realizing it, his body began to move on its own, following Teach through the rain.
The white flower swayed behind them, untouched, its petals gleaming in the light of the storm.