Sorbet Kingdom.
"Guess that's on me."
Jin scratched his head, hearing yet again that poor Hanafza was being dragged out as the eternal yardstick for his victories. He almost felt embarrassed.
Maybe he really should find a better opponent, so Brother Hanafza could finally catch a break.
Otherwise…
Every time he faced a big shot, it'd just be:
"Oh! You're the one who beat Hanafza!"
Come on!
That guy was one of the Seven Warlords, Kaido's drinking buddy, a heavyweight! Can we stop using him as the neighborhood sandbag?
At this rate, Jin worried Hanafza might just spiral into depression.
Surely, by now, he'd found another Ancient Zoan to restore his pride?
Meanwhile, Jin was restless. The carrier's third evolution needed just two more Devil Fruits, but no matter how he searched the South Blue these past days, nothing.
The feeling was like—needing the bathroom badly, but being unable to go.
You know that frustration? That suffocating choke at the very finish line.
Like waiting at a red light—
the closer you get, the slower the damn countdown ticks.
"You're the leader of the Revolutionary Army? Dragon!" Jin asked.
"Mn." Dragon wasn't surprised. He assumed Kuma had told him.
What surprised him was—why was Kuma calling this young man his life mentor?
The hell?
Did Kuma… fall for some scam artist?
Jin, meeting one of the world's true giants for the first time, clenched his fists.
"How about a few rounds?"
"…Oh?" Dragon arched a brow.
Whoosh!
Jin vanished, reappearing before Dragon in a heartbeat, fist aimed at his face.
…
The punch landed—but Dragon's body scattered into wind, reforming a few steps away.
Where the blow struck, there was only a hollow in the air, whirling with rotating currents.
Dragon's Observation Haki was leagues beyond Crocodile's. His elemental shift occurred a split-second before impact. He foresaw the strike—and adapted.
That was how he dealt with Haki users.
At Marineford, Aokiji and Akainu had shown the same principle. Unless Haki was fast and precise enough, elemental Logia users would always evade.
Threads of wind curled around Dragon, forming the calm, deadly heart of a storm.
Jin flickered out again, launching a crushing roundhouse kick.
Danger!
Dragon's gaze sharpened. Observation Haki screamed at him—he shifted to dissolve into wind again.
But Jin feinted. His foot snapped into a hook at the last instant—
and from the tip burst a sharp shockwave slash.
The unleashed force split the ground where Dragon had stood, carving a scar that stretched far into the distance.
During his travels in the Flower Country, Jin had hunted down masters, honing his Haki.
From the Eight Treasures Marines, he'd learned the styles of Nailing Force and Towering Force.
Beyond that—thirteen techniques: Inner, Whole, Stomach, Store, Release, Twist, Drill, Hard, Soft, Spiral, Shake, Inch, Collapse.
Each "force" was a philosophy, a technique for shaping Haki.
Learning them was only step one.
The key was fusing them into combat.
They didn't increase Haki itself, but refined its use, maximizing efficiency.
Like Wano's Ryuo—reshaping Haki into new forms of impact.
Think of Haki as clay.
By molding it differently, you shape a hammer, a nail, a wrench—each with unique uses.
The Flower Country's "Forces" were the thousand ways to mold that clay.
Outsiders rarely grasped it.
But Jin was no outsider. He absorbed their culture, their concept of qi, their practice—fast, deep, complete.
The strike he'd just used was Explosive Force—
a sudden detonation of stored power, faster than elementalization could react.
Even Logia had limits.
If Haki burst faster than transformation, there was no escape.
Moreover, the sheer pressure of focused Haki could compress and suppress the very space element users relied on.
As Kaido had said:
Haki transcends all.
The ultimate force that can crush every ability.
Jin's fists and feet surged with that force, tearing the air itself.
Dragon, startled at first, now locked eyes with him—serious, intent.
Above them, black clouds spread.
Winds howled, shredding the earth, stones sliced as though by invisible blades.
Jin dove into the storm, a spear of flesh and will.
BOOM!
He pierced the whirlwinds, driving straight at Dragon.
Dragon's body bent like a drawn bow, and then—his fist hammered forward.
The former Marine prodigy.
A master of combat, forged by years of war.
His punch carried Haki, clothed in storm. A strike like thunder.
Fist and kick never even touched—
their Conqueror's Haki clashed midair, erupting sparks like molten fire.
The shockwave blasted outward, flinging shattered rock and broken walls skyward. Even Kuma and the others had to shield their eyes.
Had survivors been near, they'd have collapsed unconscious under the clash of wills.
Rumble!
Ground cracked wide, fissures racing outward from the point of impact.
The hill where the castle once stood could not endure. It crumbled under their power.
Winds shrieked. Rain lashed. The capital hid indoors, streets deserted.
Bekori had never trusted his people. He had moved his palace to a family fortress, thinking it unassailable.
But then—that shadow had come.
And now—another explosion shook the land.
"Kuma… he's back again!"
"Wasn't he wanted by the Marines?"
"Will he drive the king out once more?"
The newspapers had twisted last year's "One-Man Revolution."
But the people of Sorbet knew the truth.
Some prayed he would once again oust the tyrant, even for a brief respite.
Others scoffed:
"What's the use? Even if he drives the king away, nothing changes!"
"Exactly! It'll only make Bekori harsher when he returns!"
"Damn him! If he hadn't rebelled, the king would've burned only the South. Now he drags us all into this!"
The North cursed Kuma.
Why resist?
Why drag them into it?
Rain pattered down.
Three figures stood atop the shattered palace, gazing over the capital.
Below, soldiers muttered, voices thick with resentment.
To the North, the lives of Southerners meant nothing. Kuma's rebellion only invited trouble. To them—he was the villain.
Jin listened, and a line came unbidden to his mind.
From Lu Xun:
"When a warrior falls, the flies are the first to swarm his wounds.
Buzzing, jeering, thinking themselves superior to the fallen.
But the warrior does not rise to swat them.
And so—they grow ever bolder."
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