Sea Circle Calendar Year 1500, waters off the Sabaody Archipelago.
The weather today was far from pleasant. A storm swept across the entire sea.
A Marine warship sailed across the waves.
"Reporting, Commander Michael! A suspicious vessel has been spotted two thousand meters northeast. It carries no merchant flags or pirate emblems. Its size far exceeds that of a civilian vessel, and there are concealed cannons along the hull. Preliminary assessment: a smuggling ship."
Michael lay bored on the couch. Hearing the report from his subordinate, he ordered:
"Approach at full speed and request to board for inspection. All personnel, load your weapons. If they resist, board immediately and open fire in a sweeping pattern. Absolutely no cannon fire."
"Understood, Lieutenant Commander Michael!"
The Marine sergeant saluted, turned, and left to deliver the order.
Michael gazed out through the window at the vast sea, letting out a sigh.
Both helpless and bored.
"Why did I have to transmigrate into the world of One Piece?"
That's right—Michael was a transmigrator. Worse yet, he was one of those unlucky ones with no system to aid him.
But perhaps due to the effects of transmigration, his strength, speed, and even Haki training speed were far beyond average. His stamina, especially, could only be described as inexhaustible.
Even so, after losing both parents, Michael had a difficult childhood and eventually sought safety by joining the Marines.
The seas were turbulent, and the Grand Line shrouded in mystery and danger.
As a reader, as an outsider, he had adored this epic tale.
But as a transmigrator, now a pawn within the story, he found this world utterly rotten.
The political system was laughably corrupt. Nobles and slavery were rampant.
Pirates roamed the seas looting and murdering, and criminal gangs extorted the common folk.
Even the Marines served as the World Government's enforcers, disgracing the word stitched on their capes.
The author had beautifully painted themes of passion, friendship, and adventure on paper.
But had hidden the darkness and cruelty between the cracks of the spine.
Like now—during a routine patrol off the Sabaody Archipelago, he encountered a smuggling ship.
The reason he ordered no cannon fire?
Because he didn't know what kind of "cargo" the ship was carrying...
Whether it was "living beings."
Every seasoned transmigrator knows: the most profitable trade in the Sabaody Archipelago is human trafficking.
Low cost, low risk, high reward—a near-guaranteed profit.
With that thought, Michael sat up from the couch and stepped onto the deck.
The performance difference between a smuggling ship and a warship was immense—wooden sailboats versus iron giants, a clear technological gap.
If it weren't for the existence of supernatural powers in this world, the Marines would've long since cruised the world back and forth several times over.
Within moments, the warship had caught up to the smuggler and pulled alongside it. Marine soldiers used loudspeakers to relay Michael's order.
"Vessel ahead, slow down and stop. This is a routine Marine inspection. Please cooperate."
After several repeated warnings, the ship neither fled nor resisted. Instead, it obediently came to a stop.
Michael remained vigilant, leaving most of his soldiers to guard the warship. He brought a few dozen Marines aboard the smuggler.
"Hee hee hee, dear Marine sir, this vessel is conducting honest business. Please take a look for yourself."
The short man in charge approached Michael with an ingratiating grin and a face that looked like a car crash in progress, doing his utmost to flatter.
Michael narrowed his eyes. He could tell that beneath that fawning attitude was a hint of brazen confidence.
"What's your name?"
"Marine sir, my name's Jerome. I'm delivering goods for a pet shop."
Pet shop delivery?
Michael glanced at the fierce-looking men standing behind him but said nothing.
"Whether your business is honest isn't up to you to decide." Michael said calmly, pointing to the locked hatches. "Open all the doors."
"Yes, yes, right this way."
Jerome kept up his groveling smile and bowed low as he opened the hatch.
A bolt of lightning tore through the stormy skies, illuminating the ship's interior in a single instant.
The cabin, converted into a prison, held over a hundred people, separated by race.
Even the seasoned Marine soldiers were stunned—and Michael himself couldn't help but widen his eyes.
It wasn't his first time cracking down on slave ships. But one with this many captives, and so blatantly unafraid of Marine inspection? That was a first.
"Jerome, is this what you call honest business? Which pet shop accepts this kind of cargo?"
"Hee hee hee, Marine sir, what's the difference between a slave and a pet?"
Michael didn't answer. Instead, he raised his hand.
All the Marines who had boarded with him immediately aimed their rifles at the nearby crew.
But Jerome wasn't the least bit flustered despite having guns pointed at him. He spoke calmly:
"Marine sir, don't be rash. Otherwise, you'll regret it."
"Regret?" Michael lowered his head. "I will never regret arresting a scumbag who traffics slaves."
"Hee hee hee, no need to talk so tough." Jerome still wore his sycophantic smile, but there was now a mocking gleam in his eyes. "You see, this shipment was reserved by the Celestial Dragons."
Celestial Dragons.
The moment those three words left Jerome's mouth, hesitation appeared on the faces of all the Marines on board.
"Especially that blonde beauty we captured—guaranteed to spark a bidding war among the Celestial Dragons. She'll fetch a sky-high price." Jerome tugged at the word "Justice" stitched onto Michael's Marine cape, warping it.
"How about this? You let us go, and I'll give you ten percent of the profits from the auction."
Michael looked toward the cabin. The darkness couldn't hide anything from his sight—he saw clearly how the eyes of those slaves changed from surprise to fury, and finally to despair.
"Twenty percent. Final offer." Michael's expression shifted, then he sighed deeply. "Deal?"
"Hee hee hee, you're a greedy one. But I do enjoy working with greedy people."
"Alright. You all return to the warship." Michael waved the Marines away. After they had all returned, he smiled at Jerome and said,
"Got any booze? Let's drink to our prosperous partnership."
"Yes, yes! We've got the finest liquor!"
"Then pour me a glass."
Michael brushed back his platinum hair, slicked against his scalp by the rain. Even in that state, his striking looks remained.
He calmly watched as the lackeys brought out two bottles of obviously expensive wine. Jerome eagerly grabbed one, popped the cork, and drank heartily.
Michael, on the other hand, took just one sip and sighed...
Ah, his damn temper.
Then he smashed the bottle over Jerome's head, a cruel smile forming at his lips.
Celestial Dragons?
The rest of the Marines might want to play lapdog—but he didn't!
He! Would! Never! Kneel!
After eighteen years in this world, Michael had originally wanted to coast through life like a salted fish, hoping to survive until the endgame.
But today, he realized how laughable that idea truly was.
He couldn't just live for himself.
His humanity wouldn't allow it.
His damn temper definitely wouldn't allow it!
And so, he had no choice but to break out some old, inherited techniques.
In the face of the Celestial Dragons—those walking sacks of filth and arrogance—against the corrupt World Government and all its puppet kingdoms...
If now's not the time for rebellion, then when?
As he watched the eyes of the surrounding slavers turn from sycophancy to savagery, Michael smiled with newfound clarity.
"The booze tastes awful. Everyone gets the death penalty."
A pair of pure white wings unfolded behind his back.
A holy light tore through the clouds.
And pure white flames, like maggots on rotting flesh, swept across the entire deck.