The moment Zoro and Sanji charged straight toward the enormous paw-shaped shock bubble, the celebration on the plaza froze as if someone had poured ice water over the entire G–3 base. The marines, who had just been cheering moments ago, finally realized a truth that clawed straight into their hearts.
Every injury they suffered from Bartholomew Kuma's strange attack had been displaced somewhere else.
And the one who would bear the accumulated pain of thousands…
was their commanding officer.
Renn Hawk.
A tremor rippled through the entire formation.
"Major General…!"
Their perfectly disciplined ranks dissolved into chaos. Hardened marines, veterans forged in fire and steel, stared up at the towering sphere of compressed agony. Fear clouded their eyes. Some stepped forward on instinct, desperate to stop their brother-in-arms, their mentor, the man they trusted with their lives.
Renn Hawk's gaze hardened.
A faint pressure swept across the plaza like thunder without sound.
In an instant, thousands of soldiers froze where they stood, unable to move a muscle.
Hawk lifted a single hand and placed it on the gigantic paw-print sphere without hesitation.
And agony poured into him.
Tearing, burning, stabbing, exhaustion; a flood of suffering roared into his nerves like a dam breaking. Any ordinary Vice Admiral would have collapsed instantly, consciousness shattered.
But the torrent struck something immovable.
Hawk's physique, tempered beyond most Admirals, devoured the pain like a blazing furnace melting scrap iron. His monstrous vitality crushed each surge of agony before it could even blossom.
Within seconds, the enormous bubble began to shrink.
The sky grew brighter as the last fragment of compressed torment dissolved into nothing.
Renn Hawk lowered his hand and turned calmly.
Below him, thousands of soldiers were already crying.
"What's with those faces?" Hawk said softly. "This was your trial. I didn't step in, so the price falls on me."
His voice carried across the plaza like a blade tapping the heart.
"Next time, I will lead the charge."
Those simple words hit harder than any battle cry.
When you can still fight, he carries your burden.
When the enemy cannot be matched, he charges in front.
Victories, rewards, rest days, he gives to them.
Pain, fatigue, wounds, he takes onto himself.
How could they possibly repay a leader like this?
Sanji bit down so hard on his cigarette that the ember seared his lip without him noticing. Hawk had endured the pain of thousands just to shield them. How could anyone not follow such a man?
Even Zoro's usual stoic gaze flickered.
So this is what it means to be strong.
Not a blade that cuts alone, but a fortress that shields thousands.
Then something extraordinary happened.
Zoro, Sanji, and every soldier of the G–3 Branch straightened their backs.
Their right fists rose to their chests.
"Thump. Thump."
The sound from thousands of fists echoed across the courtyard, a wordless oath of unwavering loyalty.
"Enough. Form up," Hawk ordered at last. "Return to base and rest."
"Yes, sir!"
Voices erupted like crashing waves, clearing the last shadow from the sky.
Not far away, Bartholomew Kuma stood silent as a statue. His modified body felt no pain or emotion, yet something inside him trembled.
He had created that sphere. He understood exactly how terrifying its contents were. But Renn Hawk had taken it all without a tremor, as if brushing dust from his sleeve.
What kind of body did this man possess?
Kuma stared at Hawk's back, suddenly understanding the Marines' cohesion, the G–3 Branch's fearsome reputation, and why Sengoku had sent him here.
This man becoming the Navy's next pillar was not a possibility. It was an inevitability.
Kuma lowered his mechanical gaze to his own altered body. No pain, no exhaustion, indestructible. A weapon built to serve the World Government.
Yet today, standing behind Renn Hawk, he glimpsed another path.
Could this man… help him save Bonney?
He didn't know. But for the first time in years, the idea of hope existed.
He raised the small book in his hand, the familiar BIBLE he always carried. His thoughts drifted to a little girl with suspenders and pizza sauce on her cheeks.
His daughter.
His reason for giving up his humanity.
Maybe… maybe that sacrifice didn't have to be eternal.
…
Far across the sea, on an unnamed island in the New World, a massive bonfire illuminated the sky. The Whitebeard Pirates were deep in celebration, roasting Sea King meat, drinking rare liquor, and singing loudly enough to shake the palm trees.
As the Fourth Division Captain and head chef, Thatch moved between the flames and the feast, humming cheerfully while carving meat with his gleaming knife. His towering golden pompadour swayed as he handed out plates.
"Plenty for everyone," he laughed. "Don't push, don't push!"
Eventually, he wandered toward a pile of treasure taken from a defeated pirate crew. He sifted through jewels and gold until something unusual caught his eye: an ordinary wooden chest wrapped in ominous chains.
Thatch sliced the chains effortlessly and opened it.
Inside was a fruit.
Pitch black.
Covered in swirling patterns that seemed to pull the soul inward.
A Devil Fruit.
"Hey! Everybody, look what I found!"
Cheers erupted.
Whitebeard's rule was simple: whoever finds a fruit gets to keep it.
"You gonna eat it, Captain Thatch?"
"Of course. How could I pass on something this interesting?"
He lifted the fruit proudly.
But in the corner of the crowd, a shadow trembled.
Marshall D. Teach.
Recently departed from the Whitebeard crew, now quietly returned under the guise of celebration.
His breath grew ragged. His eyes widened with hunger, envy, madness.
That fruit.
He knew that fruit.
He had studied every Devil Fruit in existence for over twenty years. He had etched that swirling black shape into his soul.
The Yami Yami no Mi.
The Dark-Dark Fruit.
His destiny.
His obsession.
His sin.
Teach forced his expression back into a clumsy grin and raised a barrel toward Thatch.
"Congrats, Captain Thatch! Zehahaha!"
No one noticed the shadow of murder passing through his eyes.
The celebration eventually died down. Drunken pirates collapsed around the fire. Thatch returned to his cabin, humming, eager to examine his new ability.
He placed the Dark-Dark Fruit on the table.
The door creaked open.
"It's me, Captain Thatch," Teach said warmly.
"Oh, Teach. What brings you here this late?"
Teach stepped forward.
His laugh echoed softly.
"That fruit… is calling to me."
Thatch stiffened.
He saw something in Teach's eyes that made his instincts flare.
He opened his mouth to speak.
But Teach moved first.
The massive man burst forward with terrifying speed, seizing Thatch by the throat. The crushing grip stole his breath instantly.
Thatch struggled, reaching for his blade.
Too late.
Teach drew a pistol and pressed it to Thatch's chest.
"Farewell, Captain Thatch."
The gunshot echoed like a funeral bell.
Thatch stared at the spreading blood on his shirt, confusion twisting his final expression.
We were family.
How could you…?
Darkness swallowed him.
Teach shoved the body aside and seized the fruit, devouring it despite the revolting taste.
Power surged through him.
The power he had betrayed his family to obtain.
"Zehahahahaha!"
"My era has finally begun!"
He disappeared into the night.
Morning came.
Marco opened Thatch's door and froze.
The room was silent.
Cold.
Shattered.
Thatch lay in a pool of blood, still wearing the same shocked expression.
A single bullet hole pierced his heart.
Marco's pupils shook.
Then came the roar, tearing through the deck of the Moby Dick and shaking the entire crew awake.
"Teach!"
And the sea trembled.
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