"Captain… Are you sure about this...?"
A bead of sweat trickled down the temple of the trembling pirate as he stood next to the Cook Pirates' main cannon, his hands gripping the fuse as though his very life depended on it. The metallic beast of war was primed and ready, its barrel aimed directly at my face—point-blank range.
Even as the crew had witnessed my strength multiple times before, they still couldn't fully comprehend the difference between their level and the true monsters that ruled the seas of the New World.
They needed a lesson—a real, undeniable demonstration of what separated the strong from the weak. And so here we were.
The pirate's eyes darted toward Zeff, seeking reassurance—or perhaps an excuse—to not go through with this madness. The blond-haired, long-legged chef-pirate stood at the helm, his jaw tight, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. Even he, a newly notorious pirate with a bounty of 64 million berries, had his doubts.
And who could blame him?
Even for a man of his strength, blocking a cannonball at such close range was practically a death sentence. The force alone would tear through a normal man's body, and if he were to try and intercept it with his famous kicks, he was almost certain he'd lose a leg in the process.
But I? I simply stood there, calmly staring down the barrel of the cannon, my face completely unfazed, as if I were waiting for nothing more than a gentle sea breeze.
"Light it," I ordered.
Zeff exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. I could see it—the conflict within him. A part of him wanted to stop this madness, but another part… a much stronger part… was curious.
And so, after a long, silent moment, he gave the nod. The pirate gulped, steeled himself, and finally lit the fuse.
BOOOOOM!!!
The entire ship trembled violently as the cannon roared to life, a deafening explosion shattering the tense silence. A thick, billowing cloud of smoke engulfed the deck, making it impossible for anyone to see what had become of me.
For a few seconds, there was only chaos—the lingering boom ringing in everyone's ears, the sound of men coughing and gasping through the suffocating veil of gunpowder.
And then—
A gust of wind swept through, clearing the smoke. I stood there. Untouched. Unshaken. Smiling. The entire crew froze. Their jaws hit the floor so hard it was a miracle they didn't crash straight through the wooden planks.
One of the younger pirates' eyes bulged so far out that I half-expected them to roll across the deck like marbles. Another had his hat physically levitate off his head, his mouth gaping wide in comical disbelief. A third pirate, so stunned by the sight, simply fainted on the spot with a weak little "Gehh…" before slumping to the ground.
Even Zeff, who had managed to keep his composure so far, was staring at me with an expression of pure shock, his fingers twitching at his side as he reevaluated everything he thought he knew about strength.
For them, it looked as if I had taken a direct hit—a full-force cannonball to the face—and had walked away without a single scratch. In truth, I had coated part of my face with Armament Haki, turning my skin into an unbreakable metallic black sheen that absorbed the impact.
But to them?
It was as if I had simply tanked it. I rolled my shoulders, cracking my neck as I smirked.
"Well," I said, dusting off my coat as if the explosion had been nothing more than a light breeze.
"That was Armament Haki for you." The crew was still in disbelief, their minds struggling to process what had just happened. Zeff, however, took a slow step forward, his fists clenched. He had been skeptical of everything I had claimed about the Grand Line, the New World, and Haki.
But now? Now he knew. This was real. And the Grand Line was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined. I clapped my hands together. "Alright, boys. That was Armament Haki. Now… let's move on to Observation Haki."
I turned to face the crew, who were still half-frozen, struggling to comprehend what I had just said. I gestured toward a group of men who had already lined up on the deck, rifles in hand, their muzzles aimed at me.
"Try your best to hit me," I said, stepping toward the bow of the ship.
The pirates hesitated.
"Wait… what?" one of them blurted out, blinking in confusion.
"You heard me." I grinned, pulling out a strip of black cloth and tying it over my eyes.
"If any of you manage to land a single hit on me…" I let the words hang in the air for effect before adding, "I'll personally give you a Devil Fruit."
That got their attention. A heavy silence fell over the deck as the pirates exchanged uncertain glances. Then, after a long pause, one of them turned to Zeff.
"…Should we?" Zeff exhaled and gave a simple order.
"Fire."
BANG!
A bullet tore through the air—fast, precise, deadly. And yet— With a casual tilt of my head, I let it sail harmlessly past me.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A flurry of bullets followed, but I weaved through them effortlessly, my movements as fluid as the ocean itself. To them, it looked impossible—as if I could somehow see the bullets coming, despite being completely blindfolded. I smirked.
"This…" I began, dodging another round with a lazy sidestep, "is Observation Haki."
Another bullet came straight for my head—I merely leaned slightly, letting it brush past my cheek without so much as a graze.
"It allows me to sense intent, movements, and even emotions," I explained, ducking as another bullet barely missed my ear. "With enough mastery, I can even predict an opponent's next move before they make it."
The crew was flabbergasted. They kept firing, faster and faster, desperately trying to hit me, but no matter how many bullets they loosed— I was never where they aimed. With each dodge, their frustration grew.
"How the hell…?!" one of them sputtered.
Zeff, arms crossed, was now staring at me intensely, his mind working. Finally, as the last bullet missed, I came to a stop. I turned toward them, pulling the blindfold off with a smirk.
"And the third Haki…?" Zeff asked, still watching me carefully. I let my smile widen.
"That one... is the rarest of them all." The crew was hanging onto my every word. "Conqueror's Haki."
With a faint smirk, I let out the barest pulse—a whisper of an unseen force, something far beyond mortal comprehension. And just like that, the weaker crew members dropped like flies.
Some crumpled to the deck, their bodies going limp before they could even register what had happened. Others stumbled back, clutching their heads as if an unseen weight had pressed down upon them, threatening to crush their very existence. The more resilient ones—men who had spent their lives braving the horrors of the Grand Line—stood frozen, beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads.
But I was not done. The weight of my Haki demonstration still clung to the ship like an oppressive fog when suddenly— The ocean itself trembled. A deep, guttural rumble echoed from below, so vast and primal that it felt as if the sea itself had awakened.
Then—the water split apart. A colossal shadow surged from the depths, rising like a nightmare given form. I was already aware of its presence. I had sensed it long before it surfaced. This was not a mere Seaking. This was something far greater.
Its serpentine body erupted from the sea, covered in jagged, barnacle-ridden scales that gleamed like obsidian blades drenched in moonlight. Its gargantuan maw, lined with rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth, opened wide—wide enough to swallow an entire island in a single bite.
The crew had no time to react. A wave of pure terror washed over them. Men screamed. Some stumbled back, their faces drained of all color, while others simply froze in place, their hands trembling so violently that they couldn't even reach for their weapons.
Even Zeff, a man who had sailed the Grand Line and lived to tell the tale, had gone rigid. His breath hitched—his eyes widened in genuine horror. Because this was not just any ordinary Seaking from the Calm Belt. This was a monster of legend.
It dwarfed even the beasts I had hunted recently after coming aboard this ship in the Calm Belt. A leviathan so ancient that entire islands had been lost to its hunger. And now—it had set its gaze upon us. The beast loomed over the ship, its piercing yellow eyes locking onto mine, its massive jaws stretching wider as if savoring the moment before it devoured us all.
Then— I turned toward it. A sliver. Not even a full release. Just a mere flicker—a whisper—of my Conqueror's Haki.
BOOOOM.
The very sea trembled. The air grew thick—as if the world itself had momentarily stopped breathing. And then—so did the Seaking. Its massive, predatory form—so full of hunger and bloodlust just moments before—suddenly locked up in absolute terror. Its piercing eyes shrank, pupils contracting into the size of pinpricks.
Its towering body—which had risen like a demon from the abyss—now shrank back, its enormous head trembling like a child in the face of death. A violent shockwave rippled outward, sending waves crashing away from the ship rather than toward it— as if the ocean itself feared my presence.
The crew watched, their breath caught in their throats. Then, with a pitiful, guttural whimper— It pleaded. It dared not flee—not yet. It waited. As if begging for permission. I chuckled, the sound low and deliberate, as I loosened my will ever so slightly. And the moment I did— The Seaking did not hesitate.
Its massive body convulsed as it thrashed itself away, tearing through the sea with such force that a maelstrom erupted in its wake, rocking the ship violently. It did not simply retreat. It fled. Like a creature running from its worst nightmare. And then—just like that— It was gone.
A silence so absolute that it felt as if the world had forgotten how to breathe descended upon the ship. No one moved. No one spoke. The crew—men who had once laughed in the face of death—stood frozen, their mouths agape, their bodies trembling like leaves in the wind. One man's legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the deck with a dull thud.
Another simply fainted, his eyes rolling back into his skull as if his very soul had surrendered. Even Zeff—the ever-stoic, ever-proud captain of the Cook Pirates—stood in stunned silence. His eyes wide, his jaw slightly slack, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, someone managed to croak out a single, broken whisper—
"…Who the hell are you really…?"
Zeff couldn't help but ask with sheer terror, his body yet refusing to listen to him. I couldn't help but smirk at their pathetic attempts.
"Me…?"
I turned away as if nothing had happened.
"I am Donquixote Rosinante."
The name hung in the air like a storm cloud—heavy and charged with unspoken weight. Zeff's eyes widened. Now, they understood. The difference in strength. The monsters of the New World. The true rulers of the sea.
But it was the navigator—a trembling man whose hands and legs still shook from the encounter—who stammered as if his mind had just connected a missing piece. His eyes flickered with a strange recognition.
He turned—stumbling, crashing into a crate in his frantic attempt to reach the cabin where they stored all the maps and documents. The rest of the crew was still drowning in shock, too paralyzed to notice him as he ripped through the stacks of parchment with trembling hands.
And then—he found it.
A weathered, tattered bounty poster. With hands still quivering, he clutched the paper, his breathing ragged as his eyes scanned the name—
And when he saw it—
His face turned pale as death.
*****
The crew of the Cooking George shuddered as the monster in human form stood before them, casually testing the iron rod in his hands, its weight and sturdiness barely enough to satisfy him.
Only recently had their navigator—his hands trembling, his breath ragged—dug up the bounty poster that revealed the terrifying truth of who they had picked up from the Calm Belt.
The paper had been passed around like a cursed object, the faces of hardened pirates turning pale with every second. Some men, who had once laughed in the face of death, now eyed the ocean, silently contemplating their chances of survival if they simply jumped overboard.
Because the number printed on that parchment was unreal. A bounty so close to five billion that it felt like staring into the abyss itself. There was only one man in history who had carried a bounty of five billion or more—Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King himself.
For someone to bear a bounty of that caliber, their strength had to be on an utterly monstrous level. Their foolish assumptions—that he was just some random pirate from the New World—had crumbled into dust.
And now, as they stood before him, watching him flex his grip on the iron rod, they realized exactly what kind of being had stepped aboard their ship.
I turned to face them with a cruel smirk. "So…" I mused, my voice carrying a dangerous edge.
"Who wants to go first?"
Silence.
The entire crew of the Cook Pirates took a unanimous step back—leaving Zeff standing alone at the front. Zeff blinked. His instincts screamed at him, and when he turned back, his entire crew had already distanced themselves.
To an outside observer, it would appear as though Zeff had stepped forward voluntarily.
I chuckled, tossing the black cloth toward him. The meaning was clear.
He gulped, his fingers trembling as they clutched the fabric. He could feel the weight of the crew's stares, their silent prayers that he would somehow survive what was about to happen.
He could walk away. He could refuse.
But deep within him, the fire of ambition still burned. The All Blue. That was his dream.
And if this was the price of strength, then so be it. Taking a deep breath, Zeff tied the blindfold over his eyes and stepped forward.
"I am ready when you—"
CRACK!
Before he could even finish, I moved. One moment, I stood before him—the next, I vanished. Using Soru, I flickered behind him. Zeff didn't even have time to react. The iron rod slammed into his side with brutal force, sending him hurtling across the deck. He crashed into the railing, his ribs screaming in agony as he gasped for air.
"Captain—!"
The crew lurched forward, instinctively rushing to help him. But then— I turned my gaze toward them. A single look. And their bodies froze. Even though I had said nothing, the message was clear. Do not interfere.
If Zeff wanted to learn Haki, then he had to earn it. The hard way. Because pain was the greatest teacher. And if he survived, he would come out stronger than ever before. To Zeff's credit, he didn't stay down.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, even as his ribs protested, even as his body screamed at him to stop. He knew what was happening. He understood. This was not just brutality.
This was the method. The only true way to awaken Haki— Was to be beaten to the brink of death.
The body would instinctively try to defend itself, coating itself in Haki without conscious effort, as a last desperate attempt at survival. That was true instinct. That was how monsters were forged. I smiled, my golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.
CRACK!
I vanished again, reappearing in front of him this time—the iron rod aimed for his legs.
"Aaargh—!"
Zeff screamed as the impact sent him sprawling. But I did not stop.
For the next few weeks, the Cooking George was filled with the blood-curdling screams of Zeff. His men could do nothing but watch in horror. At first, a dozen had stepped forward, fueled by ambition—men who had dreamed of reaching the New World and standing among the giants of the sea.
But one by one, they dropped out. After just a single round of beatings, most of them lay collapsed on the deck, unable to move. Only three remained. Three men too stubborn to break.
They endured, taking the beatings, their bodies battered and bruised—bones nearly shattered, flesh torn—but with every strike, their instincts sharpened. Their bodies began to change.
The first time Zeff dodged a blow, I knew he was close. The first time he dodged a strike with pure instinct and without crumbling to the pressure, I knew he was on the verge. And the first time I felt the faintest resistance against my own observation haki—
I smirked. Because that was it. The first sign of Haki.
****
It had been nearly a month since I had stepped aboard the Cooking George, and in that time, Zeff had grown. Though his grasp on Observation Haki was still in its infancy, he had begun to perceive the world beyond sight—catching glimpses of movement that he even couldn't see, feeling the presence of those around him like flickering flames in the dark.
As for Armament Haki… He still had a long way to go. But tonight wasn't a night for battle.
Tonight was a night for celebration. The crew of the Cook Pirates roared with laughter and song, mugs clashing, food piled high, voices echoing across the sea.
We had finally passed through the Calm Belt and entered the safe waters of the East Blue—a feat that would have been impossible for most ships. The Calm Belt. A place where monsters lurked beneath the waves, where even the mightiest of vessels were swallowed without a trace.
And yet, they had survived. Such a feat demanded celebration—and what better way than with a banquet worthy of kings? The scent of roasted meats, seared fish, and warm bread filled the air. Barrels of rum were cracked open, their golden contents spilling into mugs raised high.
And then—
The music began. Seated upon the figurehead of the Cooking George, I raised a borrowed violin, the wooden instrument resting against my shoulder as I plucked at its strings, testing its tune.
And with a single stroke of the bow— The first note sang through the air and then the melody followed. A hush fell over the crew, anticipation crackling like lightning. Then, with voices hoarse from years of shouting orders and bellowing curses—the Cook Pirates began to sing.
"Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho!"
"Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho!"
A low, steady hum rumbled beneath the lyrics—boots tapping against the wooden deck, hands slamming against tables in rhythm.
"Bink's sake o todoke ni yuku yo~"
"Umikaze kimakase namimakase~"
The melody danced with the wind, wrapping itself around the ship like the sea itself had joined in the chorus. Some sang boldly, their deep voices roaring across the waves. Others slurred the words, half-drunk but full of heart.
I let the violin carry them, my bow gliding effortlessly across the strings, each note lifting the song higher—as if it could reach beyond the horizon itself. Zeff, seated beside me, carried two massive tankards of rum, the frothing liquid sloshing over the rims.
Yet, despite the revelry, he did not speak. He simply sat, listening. Unlike the ragtag voices of drunken pirates who only pretended to be musicians, Zeff could tell the difference. This was not just mindless playing. This was art.
A melody so rich, so soulful, that even amidst the rugged, off-key shouts of his men, the music remained pure—a beacon that carried the song to greater heights. Even the waves themselves seemed to slow, drawn in by the hauntingly beautiful tune.
"Shio no mukou de yuuhi mo sawagu~"
"Sora ni wa ochite yuku dake sa~"
The song swelled. Mugs were raised. Voices reached for the heavens. The very sea, so often cruel and unforgiving, seemed for this one moment to embrace the revelry. This—this was the spirit of the pirate's life. A journey across the waves. A toast to the unknown. A song to carry them forward. And as I played, the bow dancing across the strings, I knew— This was a night they would never forget.
The night had grown quiet. The last echoes of the songs had faded into the vast, endless ocean, carried away by the whispering breeze. Most of the Cook Pirates had long since succumbed to their revelry, their bodies sprawled across the deck, bellies full of food and rum. For the first time in over a year—since they had crossed the Reverse Mountain and entered the Grand Line—they allowed themselves to truly sleep with smiles on their faces.
But Zeff remained awake. He sat beside me, still as the night itself, his mug of untouched rum resting against his knee. His men were too lost in their drunken bliss to ponder the questions that weighed upon him, but he had never let go of them. At first, he believed I had some ulterior motive.
After all, in this cruel, unforgiving sea, there was no such thing as true charity. Then, as the weeks passed and I continued beating Haki into him, his theory shifted. Perhaps I was simply bored—a man with nowhere to be, spending his time on a whim. But the truth was clear: he had no answers.
Why was I helping them? From the power I had displayed, it was obvious that I did not need them. I could have easily taken their ship, slaughtered them, and moved on. Yet, instead of leaving, instead of vanishing into the night as I had every opportunity to do—I stayed.
I partied with them. I taught them things that not even the most seasoned Grand Line pirates knew. And it gnawed at him. The violin's last hum drifted into silence, melting into the rhythm of the waves.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Why me?"
His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—a rare vulnerability. I knew exactly what he meant. A pirate like me had no reason to do what I had done. A man with a bounty of nearly 5 billion berries did not waste time on a crew of East Blue dreamers.
The norm would have been to take everything they had and disappear without a trace. And yet—here I was. I let out a low chuckle, setting the violin aside before picking up my tankard. I took a slow swig, savoring the burn of the rum before answering.
"Maybe it's fate?" I mused, my voice light, teasing. I could see the way Zeff's expression tightened, unsatisfied with the answer. I smirked and continued.
"Or maybe… I'm just too bored."
Zeff scoffed but said nothing. He simply waited, eyes searching me for the real reason.
I sighed, leaning back against the ship's railing, my gaze drifting toward the star-streaked sky.
"Don't think too much into it… Maybe it was your ambition about finding All Blue that made me look at you favorably."
I could feel his stare sharpen.
"Maybe, someday, when you pass down your dream, you'll also pass down the skills I've taught you."
His fingers clenched around his tankard, but he remained silent.
"I would suggest you practice for the next few years diligently," I continued, "and then try your luck with the Grand Line once more. Who knows—maybe you really will find All Blue."
Zeff's breath hitched ever so slightly. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the mug tighter, as if afraid that if he let go, the words I had just spoken would vanish like mist in the morning sun. Then, he finally spoke—his voice almost hesitant.
"So… you do believe in All Blue?"
There was something in his tone. Not just curiosity. Hope. Because for years, the world had laughed at him. They had mocked him, called him a fool, a dreamer, a madman chasing a fairy tale. The thought that someone—someone like me—might actually believe in his dream…
It meant more than he could say. I smirked.
"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."
Zeff's brow furrowed slightly, but before he could speak, I continued.
"But after everything I've seen in the New World..." I exhaled, watching the stars shimmer above. "I wouldn't put it past me. Maybe All Blue truly exists."
And for the first time that night, Zeff looked at me with something beyond fear, beyond respect. Appreciation. Because I hadn't just entertained his dream. I had given him a reason to chase it again.