Dawn broke over the horizon, the rising sun stretching across the endless blue like a pair of golden hands brushing away the coolness of night. On the vast sea, a small, flagless ship drifted lazily with the morning breeze.
Lucien stood at the bow, stretching his stiff body. By now, he was far from the Goa Kingdom—far from the filth and chaos he had escaped. Though he had avoided one danger, he knew new ones would soon follow. Out here on the open sea, he could be attacked or enslaved by pirates at any time.
Still, compared to the suffocating corruption of Goa, this danger felt lighter. At least here, he was free. It was fortunate, too, that he was still in the East Blue, the most peaceful of the four seas. If he'd ended up in the Grand Line or the New World, his corpse might already be feeding sea kings.
Leaning against the railing, Lucien gazed at the endless waves, his mind already forming new plans.
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A Gambler's Hope
His first goal was to find a way to cure his cancer—and the best chance lay in a Devil Fruit. But not just any fruit would do.
He ran through the possibilities in his mind: the Healing Fruit, said to belong to the Tontatta Princess of Dressrosa, might still be unclaimed at this point in time. The Op-Op Fruit, capable of performing miracles, but likely far beyond his reach. And the Phoenix Fruit, owned by Marco, Whitebeard's right-hand man—completely impossible to obtain. These three were his best hopes for a cure.
Beyond those, there were other Devil Fruits that might help. He thought of the Slice-Slice Fruit, which could turn its user's body into living blades, or the Spring-Spring Fruit, turning flesh into coiled steel. If his body became metal or spring, then cancer—something that thrived on flesh—would be meaningless. Even Logia fruits came to mind: the Glint-Glint, Rumble-Rumble, or Magma-Magma Fruits—each could transform the user into pure elements, untouchable by disease.
Still, the Healing Fruit was his best bet. But getting it? Nearly impossible. Crossing half the Grand Line alone would be suicide. He'd die before he even got close to Dressrosa. He could try joining a pirate crew, a merchant ship, or even the Marines—but none of those were safe options. In this world, only strength could guarantee survival.
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And there was another, subtler danger—other transmigrators. Lucien wasn't the only one. The world's events might already be changing because of them. If he had already killed Ace, then would the Marineford War still happen? Would the same characters still follow the same destinies? The butterfly effect was real, and it terrified him.
That's why he had to rely on the strange, unreliable Golden Finger—his so-called "system." It wasn't trustworthy, but the "rewards" it gave him could be life-changing. The thrill he'd felt when killing Ace and receiving a reward still lingered in his veins. Maybe, next time, it would grant him a cure. Or a powerful new ability. One lucky roll could change everything.
And he already had his next targets in mind. "Roronoa Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Vinsmoke Sanji…" Four names. Four key figures in the Straw Hat Pirates. Right now, they were just kids—easy prey. Even if they weren't full protagonists, they were still vital to the story of this world. Killing them could yield huge rewards. Maybe even more than Ace.
If luck favored him, he might gain another bonus to his "Luck" stat as well. Lucien clenched his fists. "It's not easy to survive in this world." He actually liked the Straw Hats. He had once admired them. But survival came first. Between sentiment and life, only a fool would choose sentiment. If he wanted to live, he would have to be ruthless.
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A Month's Worth of Hope
The East Blue was vast. Finding the islands where Nami, Zoro, or Usopp lived wouldn't be easy. He didn't even know the proper sea routes. He decided he'd start by gathering information on the next island they reached.
With that plan set, he woke Raphael, the timid helmsman he'd kept alive as a companion—and potential scapegoat. Together, they ate breakfast, the ship's stolen supplies still enough to last a month. Lucien didn't believe they'd go that long without seeing land or another vessel.
After the meal, he began training again—studying the military combat techniques he'd obtained through the system. The methods were brutal and efficient: strikes to the eyes, throat, and groin—each meant to incapacitate or kill. He practiced push-ups, sit-ups, and frog jumps on deck, muscles burning under the sun.
Other people's systems gave them mastery instantly. His only handed him a manual. He had to learn everything from scratch. No experience bars, no skill level displays. Just pain and repetition. Still, the knowledge was there in his mind, and if he followed it faithfully, his strength would grow.
The strangest thing was his body. Even with his cancer, he didn't feel weak or sick. His skin was pale, yes—but his stamina was normal, his senses sharp. Only sometimes, at night, would pain pierce through him like knives, stealing his breath. He'd already died once. He refused to die again. He would rewrite his fate, even if it meant becoming a monster.
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Meanwhile, in Windmill Village…
As the sun began to set, the sea around Lucien's ship glowed gold, and far away, in the Goa Kingdom, the air grew heavy. A Marine warship had docked near Windmill Village. Vice Admiral Garp stepped off the ship, his white Justice coat stained with battle dust. His grim expression made even the villagers tremble. Half a day ago, he had been in the New World, but one emergency call had made him abandon his mission and rush home, ignoring Sengoku's furious shouts.
Now, he was back—and the news he carried was grave. Inside a small cabin nearby, Dragon stood silently beside a bed. On it lay Monkey D. Luffy, unconscious but alive.
"Dragon," said Ivankov, his massive purple afro trembling as he spoke, "the boy's out of danger. Where did you find him?"
Dragon's cold gaze didn't waver. "His name is Monkey D. Luffy," he said quietly. "My son."
Everyone in the cabin froze. "What?! Dragon-sama's son?" Ivankov blinked, tilting his head. "Now that you mention it… he does look a little like you."
Their eyes drifted to the second bed—where another boy lay motionless. Dead. Dragon said nothing. His expression was unreadable, but his fists clenched until blood dripped from his knuckles.
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