[East Blue, G-62 Marine Base — Year 1511]
Morning light filtered through the slatted blinds, casting long stripes across the austere office. Neatly stacked on the desk were patrol reports from across the East Blue, each stamped with bold insignia:
[PIRATE SUPPRESSION]
[BLACK MARKET ERADICATION]
[NO EMERGING THREATS DETECTED]
The air carried the quiet scent of aged ink and the distant tang of sea salt.
Behind the desk, Lieutenant Ronan—cape tossed over the chair, uniform crisp despite the hour—was reviewing the final batch of regional intelligence. His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest crease between his brows.
A sharp rap at the door broke the silence.
Rett strode in, posture rigid, boots clicking against the wooden floor. Though his uniform was immaculate, his eyes burned with barely restrained excitement.
"Report, sir!" he announced, holding aloft a crimson-sealed envelope. "Headquarters has issued another summons—this time with Admiral Sakazuki's personal signature!"
Ronan's hand stilled. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. In his dark eyes flickered something complex—respect, wariness, perhaps even the ghost of familial warmth.
"…Uncle Sakazuki," he murmured, a cold smile tugging at his lips.
His fingertips tapped once against the desk—sharp, deliberate. Then, with a sigh, he closed the East Blue dossier, stood, and pulled on his jacket. He adjusted his cuffs with quiet precision.
His voice was calm, but beneath it simmered something volcanic:
"…Never mind."
He walked to the window. Outside, the East Blue shimmered under the morning sun—serene, almost gentle. Fishing boats dotted the calm waters; merchant sails bobbed in the distance. This sea, once choked with pirate dens and lawless ports, now breathed in uneasy peace.
"It's no fun if we don't move," Ronan said softly. "The East Blue is nearly clean."
Rett shifted, sensing the weight in his words.
Ronan's eyes drifted to a weathered notebook on the desk's edge. He brushed a finger over its cover, frowning. One name surfaced in his mind—Buggy.
That clown. That pirate.
He'd slipped through every net like smoke—vanished from islands swept clean, dodged patrols that left no trace unturned. Four years of relentless purges… and still no body, no trail. Just laughter echoing from some forgotten cove.
"Conqueror's Haki?" Ronan mused aloud, voice edged with dry irony. "Or just dumb, stubborn luck?"
He shook his head, chuckling without humor. "Run all you want… but the sea has no true hiding places."
Straightening, he turned back to Rett, eyes sharp as cut glass.
"Send word to Headquarters."
"Give me two more months to finish what's left."
"Then—we set sail."
Rett snapped a crisp salute—but paused at the door, glancing back. "Sir… where are we headed in those two months?"
Ronan's eyebrow arched. A flicker of something dangerous danced in his smile.
"Where to?" he echoed, voice low. "Skypiea."
Rett blinked. "Skypiea?! But—"
"There's a 'god' up there," Ronan cut in, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the horizon. "One with power worth claiming."
His tone left no room for debate.
"…It's time to bring that power under the banner of justice."
The wind surged through the open window, sending the Marine ensign on the desk fluttering—a crimson symbol against white, snapping like a promise.
After the final batch of annihilation reports was compiled, Rett left, leaving Ronan alone in the empty office.
The next instant—
[Ding—]
The interface of the Absolute Justice System unfolded silently in his mind, accompanied by its familiar, resonant chime.
[Host Judgment Statistics]
Pirate Annihilation Count: 4,444
Black Market Outpost Destruction Count: 144
Corrupt Force Elimination Count: 44
Key Node Suppression: East Blue – Near-Total Clearance (99.9% Completion)
[Cumulative Judgment Points]: 198,600 (Historical Peak)
[Personal Attribute Panel]
Physical Fitness Base: Super A-Grade (Enhanced Limit)
Armament Haki: High-Level Control (Full-body hardening achievable within seconds)
Observation Haki: High-Level Control (Detects lethal intent up to 6 seconds in advance)
Conqueror's Haki: Initial Awakening (Capable of subduing weak-willed individuals in short bursts)
Air-Air Fruit Mastery: 100% (Development Cap Reached – Awaiting Natural Awakening)
System Notes:
– Devil Fruit Awakening: May trigger spontaneously under extreme duress or prolonged combat.
– Conqueror's Haki: Early manifestation attributed to exceptional willpower; requires consistent refinement.
Ronan lowered his eyes to the glowing panel, fingertips drumming lightly against the desk.
Devil Fruit mastery. Haki control. Physical potential beyond standard Navy parameters.
His growth trajectory had long since shattered the conventional training curve of even elite Marine officers.
Yet he didn't rush to spend his remaining Judgment Points on immediate upgrades.
Instead, a faint smirk touched his lips as his finger swiped to a new tab.
[Judgment Points Exchange]
Item Available:
? Rare – Human Limit Breakthrough Potion (Navy Special Edition – Single Use)
Effect:
– Shatters innate biological ceilings.
– Unlocks unlimited Armament Haki progression through training.
– Fully awakens latent physical potential, preparing the body for high-intensity, prolonged combat.
[Cost]: 180,000 Judgment Points
[Confirm Use?] → [Confirmed]
[East Blue · G-62 Marine Branch · Training Ground · Late Night]
The night was still, broken only by the low moan of sea wind sweeping across the training field.
Ronan stood at the edge of the grounds, his Marine coat rippling in the chill air, a small silver vial glinting in his hand under the pale moonlight.
Not far away, Rett—shirtless, drenched in sweat—pounded a reinforced training pillar with relentless precision.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Each strike resonated like a war drum, his fists wreathed in hardened Armament Haki. Sweat streamed from his brow, mingling with the grime of exhaustion.
Ronan watched in silence for a long moment before stepping forward and tossing the vial with casual ease.
"Catch."
Snap!
Rett's hand snapped out instinctively, catching the vial mid-air. He turned it over once, then looked up, brow arched, lips curling into a tired but familiar grin.
"What's this?"
Ronan didn't answer. He merely folded his arms behind his back, his gaze as calm and deep as the ocean beyond the cliffs.
"Drink it."
Without hesitation—no questions, no doubt—Rett twisted the cap off and downed the potion in one swift motion.
The liquid was sweet, then searing—like swallowing lightning.
BOOM—!
It detonated through his system.
Rett staggered, dropped to one knee, teeth gritted as his muscles convulsed. Every fiber in his body screamed in rebellion—then surged with raw, untamed power. Steam rose from his skin as sweat turned to vapor, veins pulsing like living wires beneath taut flesh.
And Ronan watched.
Quiet. Steady. Unmoving.
His palms were clenched—just slightly—but his eyes never wavered.
He knew the agony would be brutal.
But he also knew Rett would endure it.
Because they'd carved their path through blood and fire side by side.
Because Rett had never needed permission to push beyond limits.
"Hold on," Ronan murmured, voice low but unwavering.
"Just a little longer."
Rett gritted his teeth, slamming his fists into the ground—knuckles splitting, blood mingling with dirt—as a dark, domineering energy erupted from his body!
Flesh and will, in this moment, underwent true sublimation.
A few minutes later…
Rett rose slowly, his eyes bloodshot yet burning with unprecedented fervor. He clenched his fist, feeling the searing torrent of power surging through every fiber of his being.
"This power is…!"
he murmured, voice trembling with shock.
Ronan approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. His tone was quiet, almost indifferent—but beneath it lay the calm certainty of a man who had seen the birth of legends.
"Remember,"
he said.
"This is your qualification… for the path ahead."
Rett took a deep breath—then grinned, sharp and feral, eyes gleaming like a wolf's beneath the moon.
"Understood, Captain!"
The wind swept across the silent training ground.
Two figures stood beneath the starlight, their bond forged not in words, but in silence—solid as steel.
Thus ended the chapter of the East Blue.
But the storm of the New World…
…was already brewing.
[Meanwhile, in the South Blue – an unnamed stretch of open sea]
Waves churned like ravenous beasts. Torrential rain slashed through the air, and thunder split the sky.
A battered pirate ship—mast snapped, sails in tatters, hull patched with desperation—fought to stay afloat amid the tempest.
Clutching the broken mainmast for dear life, Buggy the Clown howled into the gale, his flamboyant costume soaked and sagging like wet rags.
"Damn it! What kind of cursed sea is this?!" he shrieked, face pale beneath layers of smeared makeup—less "clown," more "drowned carnival ghost."
Nearby, his exhausted crew clung to the splintered railing, green-faced and trembling.
"C-Captain…" one wheezed between dry heaves, "we were doing fine back in the East Blue! Wasn't it supposed to be the safest sea? Why'd we come to the South Blue?!"
Buggy's red nose twitched. His eyes darted eastward—toward the distant horizon where the East Blue lay. A shiver, not from cold but from deep, primal dread, wracked his body.
"I… I don't know why," he stammered, voice cracking. "But I felt it—like my bones were screaming…"
He swallowed hard, eyelids fluttering.
"If I so much as peek back into the East Blue… I'll be erased by something monstrous before I can say 'Bara Bara no—'!"
The crew stared, slack-jawed.
"…Huh?!"
"What kind of nonsense is that?!"
"Since when did Captain Buggy run from anything?!"
Buggy kicked the gunwale with a sob of fury.
"You have no idea! I'm not just any clown—I'm a chosen one! A top-tier intuitive genius with Conqueror's Haki instincts!"
(He absolutely does not have Conqueror's Haki.)
"My gut never lies!"
As if to mock him, lightning struck the sea mere meters away—a deafening crack, a wall of water slamming the deck. The ship lurched violently.
"Aaaaaah! CAPTAIN, STOP JINXING US!!!"
Buggy shrieked, arms wrapped tighter around the mast as rain lashed his face.
The broken vessel drifted like a leaf in a maelstrom—fleeing not just the storm, but something far worse: the shadow that had risen in the East Blue.
Unbeknownst to Buggy, it was the emergence of a new apex predator—a force so overwhelming it had cleared the sea of its old order. Pirates vanished. Marines grew cautious. Even the wind seemed to carry whispers of dread.
The East Blue was no longer a nursery for rookies.
It had become a crucible.
A hunting ground.
A place where even a self-proclaimed "future Warlord" like Buggy—armed with nothing but bravado and luck—would be crushed like glass beneath a boot.
That sea… was no longer his stage.
It belonged to monsters now.
And so, soaked and shivering, Buggy clung to survival, screaming into the storm:
"I'M GONNA MAKE IT TO THE NEW WORLD—AND BECOME KING OF THE PIRATES!!!"