Finn couldn't comprehend how in the world his ship had come to possess a Devil Fruit. He hadn't even been aware of its existence on board until now, and the thought that such a priceless treasure had been so close—just within his grasp—yet slipped away, made his blood boil. He wanted to scream, to curse his fate, his luck, and even the heavens themselves. How could destiny play such a cruel joke on him? If only he had known earlier he might have been the one to eat it.
The thought tore through his mind like fire. If I had that Devil Fruit right now, he thought bitterly, I wouldn't be this powerless. I'd be strong enough to crush these Marines and make them regret ever crossing paths with me.
He wasn't blind. His sharp eyes caught every motion on the battlefield. Smoker's figure blurred into the air, his body turning into pure smoke as he rocketed skyward, effortlessly deflecting every cannonball fired from their ship. Each blast that failed to hit its mark reminded Finn of his own helplessness. The way Smoker moved, unharmed and unstoppable, was the clearest proof that he was a Devil Fruit user.
A surge of envy and desperation welled up inside Finn. If only he had such power, the situation would be different. Maybe—just maybe—he could have stood his ground against Smoker and those Marines instead of cowering behind the broken railing of his ship. But right now, his only option, his only slim chance at survival, was to use the boy as a hostage.
Yet even that plan crumbled under the weight of reality. The boy, too, possessed a Devil Fruit power. And not just any fruit—the ability the boy displayed wasn't something ordinary or weak. It wasn't one of those lesser fruits that granted mere tricks or parlor powers. No, he saw how Gojo used the Devil Fruit powers, and it really is a powerful ability up to now. This was a Devil Fruit of immense power, one that could shift the tide of battle and crush any hope Finn had left.
And as he stood there, trembling with fury and regret, he finally understood that fate had already chosen its favourite—and it wasn't him.
While Finn's mind was burning with regret and envy, Gojo had already begun climbing the steps toward him—calm, unhurried, and terrifyingly confident. Each of his footsteps echoed softly against the wooden deck, like the rhythm of inevitability drawing closer. The boy didn't even open his eyes, yet there was something unsettling about the way he moved—each step precise, as though he could see everything without needing sight.
Seeing Gojo's boldness, Finn's fury erupted. His pride, already wounded beyond repair, could no longer endure the humiliation. "Bastard!" he shouted, voice echoing across the deck. "So what if you've got a Devil Fruit power? You think that makes you untouchable? I'll still kill you! I refuse to die at the hands of a brat—a brat I was planning to sell as a slave! That would be too damned humiliating!"
He unsheathed his sword with a violent pull, the sound of steel scraping against the scabbard slicing through the air. Without another thought, he leapt from the top of the stairs, descending like a madman. His boots struck the steps with heavy thuds until he was already upon Gojo, swinging his sword downward with all his strength.
But Gojo's closed eyes didn't hinder him. In the stillness of his mind, he could feel every movement—the rush of air displaced by Finn's falling body, the tension in his muscles, the killing intent radiating from him like heat. His heightened senses drew a perfect picture in his head long before the sword arrived.
At the precise moment the blade slashed toward him, Gojo bent his knees and ducked in one smooth, almost elegant motion. The sword cut through empty air just inches above his head. Finn's momentum carried him forward, leaving his stance wide open.
And in that fleeting instant, Gojo struck back. His sword flashed—a clean, controlled swing that sliced across Finn's hand.
A sharp shhk! cut through the air, followed by a strangled cry of pain.
The deep, clean slice across Finn's hand made him scream in agony. His sword slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the deck, the sound sharp against the chaos around them.
Gojo, his eyes still closed, didn't halt even for an instant. His movements flowed like water—precise, deliberate, and seamless. The motion of cutting Finn's hand naturally carried into the next; his body turned slightly, his grip steady, and in one refined continuation he drove his sword forward, piercing Finn's chest. Before the man could even gasp for air, Gojo drew the blade back in a controlled arc and thrust it again, this time into Finn's neck.
Finn's breath caught. His body convulsed once, then fell limply onto the stairs, face down. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the wood a dark, glistening red. The pirate captain who had moments ago shouted with pride and rage now lay motionless, his ambition and life snuffed out in a blink.
For a heartbeat, the world was silent. The air itself seemed to hesitate, as if unwilling to disturb the stillness that followed Finn's death.
Then—bang!
A gunshot split the quiet. One of the pirates, trembling with rage and fear, had fired at Gojo. But Gojo did not dodge. The bullet raced toward him and, as before, slowed down mere inches away—about three or four inches from his body—suspended as if the air itself had turned solid. It fell harmlessly to the ground with a soft metallic clink.
The pirate who had fired the shot froze, horror etched on his face. "He—he killed our captain! He'll kill us next!" he shouted, voice cracking. "All of you, attack him! If we all attack together, we can still win!"
But just as the pirate's panic echoed across the deck, Gojo moved. Calm, deliberate, and fluid, he bent down and picked up Finn's fallen gun. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. Raising it slowly, he aimed at the pirate who had dared to fire at him, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet struck the man in the forehead with a sharp crack, and the pirate crumpled instantly, his body collapsing onto the deck in a lifeless heap. The remaining pirates froze, shock and terror spreading like wildfire through their ranks.
Till this moment, Gojo had never fought in a true large-scale battle—neither in this life nor in his previous life. Yet, as he moved, it was as if some invisible algorithm guided him. Each step, each swing, each shot, each subtle shift in weight or angle was calculated instinctively. His mind anticipated trajectories, velocities, and counter-movements with uncanny precision. That was why he had been able to react to Finn and Juno so gracefully—turning every attack into a seamless counter, killing with an elegance that seemed almost effortless. To an observer, it looked easy. Too easy. And yet, it wasn't that his opponents were weak; it was Gojo's natural mastery of perception and combat that made them appear so.
All of this stemmed from his unique eyes, still closed, yet functioning with a clarity beyond normal sight. Every movement, every shift in the environment, every intent of his attackers flowed into his mind as data—perfectly analysed, perfectly executed.
Gojo muttered softly to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Is this Six Eyes… just like how my eyes work? Interesting. I'll have to study its proper function later. But first…" His voice hardened, carrying the weight of immediate purpose. "…let's deal with these pirates."
Gojo, eyes still closed, faced the cluster of pirates working the cannon. He raised Finn's pistol with the same slow, effortless motion he used for everything—no hurry, no wasted movement—and let his voice carry across the deck like a cold promise.
"All of you," he said, measured and calm, "if you don't want to die, move away from the cannon. I don't want to be a butcher on this ship. Walk away now and you live. Keep manning that gun and I will kill every one of you. Stop firing the cannon and let the Marines come aboard."
The words landed with the force of a verdict. Around the cannon, the men who had been shouting and frenzied a moment before went silent. They'd all seen the pirate who fired at Gojo fall with a single, precise bullet to the head. They'd watched Finn—once a swaggering captain—reduced to a corpse in a handful of flowing motions. That sight had carved fear straight into their bones.
They hesitated only a moment, the distance between courage and survival collapsing in their minds. If they fled the cannon now and surrendered to the Marines, they might face punishment—but it would be punishment, not immediate death.
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