[They say if you gather enough brains, you can summon a dragon. Let's crowd-fund one together.]
[The Logia Tremor-Tremor Fruit is my personal headcanon. Please stop asking why it is not a Paramecia.]
…
My name is Garon. I am a transmigrator.
Once, I imagined myself carving out a legend in the world of pirates, standing atop the seas like a storm no one could ignore.
Reality struck harder than any club.
No system. No cheat ability. Not even a halfway decent golden finger to lean on.
Still, I had one advantage. Foresight.
I knew the plot. I knew the tides of history. If I could not become the protagonist, I could at least cling to the right coattails and ride the waves to glory.
Or so I thought.
That naive illusion shattered when I turned ten.
I still remember that day. My hands trembled as I unfolded a wrinkled newspaper. Printed across the page was a name that made my blood run cold.
"Golden Roger."
Not Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King.
Golden Roger.
In that instant, I understood.
This world had already veered off the path I remembered.
The Rocks era was still at its peak. The seas were ruled by monsters whose names shook the sky. And my so-called foresight, pieced together from short clips and scattered memories, suddenly felt like a cruel joke.
The next day, in order to survive, I clenched a recruitment notice from the West Blue Marine Branch and enlisted without looking back.
If Koby, the future hero who once fled at sea, could rise from chore boy to Marine Headquarters colonel in two years, surely a transmigrator like me could do at least that much.
Reality proved otherwise.
Four years. A full four years.
With no background, no connections, no pedigree, I scraped and clawed, bribed and borrowed, risking everything just to crawl my way up to logistics second-class private.
At that time, the famed Marine instructor Zephyr had just been promoted to Vice Admiral of Headquarters under the title "Black Arm." He had not yet begun training the next generation.
There was the prestigious Marine Academy at Headquarters, but its slots were rarer than gold.
And Garon was nothing more than a nobody from the West Blue branch. No Haki. No Devil Fruit. No exceptional talent. Just a bit stronger than average and otherwise utterly ordinary.
Rising through military merit?
That was suicide in the era of the Rocks Pirates.
So if death awaited me either way, I might as well gamble big.
A Devil Fruit.
That was my answer.
Any fruit would do. Just one was enough to rewrite my fate.
And the opportunity lay in the God Valley Incident.
Six Devil Fruits. Rewards prepared by the Celestial Dragons.
For four years, I endured for this single chance.
I saved every berry I could. I maneuvered between West Blue crime families. I risked my life. I even mortgaged my own organs to loan sharks.
Thirty million berries in total. After greasing every palm I could find, I finally secured a spot among the Marines assigned to guard the Celestial Dragons during their so-called "field trip."
Four years of patience.
This was no longer just a gamble with my life.
I was betting on the future of this world.
…
Year 1484 of the Sea Circle Calendar. God Valley.
"Hah!"
Garon tore himself out of unconsciousness and snapped his eyes open.
"Conqueror's Haki again…"
This was the fiftieth time he had been knocked out by the overwhelming shockwaves. He forced himself upright, struggling to prop up his upper body.
He lay at the edge of the island's outer forest. Not far away, the coastline stretched into view.
Memory flooded back in a violent rush.
The Celestial Dragons' hunting game. The sudden storm. The ambush of the Rocks Pirates. The arrival of Roger and Garp.
Then that sky-splitting clash of Conqueror's Haki, followed by devouring darkness.
"Damn it!"
Garon slammed his fist into the ground.
"What time is it? How long was I out? The battle…"
He staggered to his feet. His legs trembled from the lingering pressure left behind by Rocks and Roger's clash.
Through the canopy, the sky burned an unnatural dark red. Distant thunder rumbled without pause.
"Please do not tell me it is already over…"
Fear coiled around his heart like a venomous snake.
By the time he blacked out, the war had already erupted. Roger and Garp were locked in decisive battle against the Rocks Pirates.
And those six Devil Fruits that could change his destiny…
Garon bit his lip until blood filled his mouth, forcing himself to think clearly.
"The Fish-Fish Fruit and the Paw-Paw Fruit… they should still be somewhere on this island…"
His voice faltered.
Deep down, he knew the truth.
The brutal slaughter that lasted less than a day had likely already ended.
When the sky-splitting Conqueror's Haki vanished, so too did the era of Rocks.
Now, the island no longer echoed with battle cries. Only scattered cheers from surviving Marines drifted through the air.
"It is over…"
The thought sank its fangs into his chest.
The Fish-Fish Fruit had fallen into the hands of a young Charlotte Linlin. The Paw-Paw Fruit would belong to Bartholomew Kuma. As for the others, they were probably long gone.
Four years of planning.
Over twenty million berries in debt against his own body.
A complete joke.
"So in the end… I…"
His fists shook uncontrollably as years of suppressed rage erupted.
"AH!"
He roared and smashed his fist into the nearby oak tree.
The trunk shuddered violently. A white apple dislodged from above and dropped with uncanny precision onto his head.
The sudden thud stunned him.
He glanced down instinctively.
"What…"
In his sight lay a strange apple. Its surface was white, etched with crack-like patterns, like shattered crystal.
A Devil Fruit.
His breath hitched. He grabbed it instantly, pupils shrinking, fingers tightening around it.
He looked up at the canopy. Ordinary red and green apples swayed gently in the wind.
They looked nothing like the one in his hand.
Garon stared at the pale fruit. The fractured patterns gleamed eerily in the sunlight.
Crunch.
Without hesitation, he bit down.
The moment the flesh touched his tongue, an indescribable, revolting taste surged through him. His stomach twisted, threatening to reject it. He forced himself to swallow.
"Ugh…!"
He dropped to his knees.
He barely had time to curse the flavor before his body convulsed.
Bones. Muscles. Blood.
It felt as though countless microscopic shockwaves pierced through every inch of him. Every nerve vibrated at a terrifying frequency.
His vision warped. The ground rippled like waves. Even the air trembled unnaturally around him.
Then, suddenly, silence.
A strange, absolute stillness.
Garon's pupils contracted.
He could feel it clearly.
His body was disappearing.
No. Not disappearing.
Transforming into something more fundamental.
He was becoming vibration itself.
And he could create and control those particles of tremor at will.
Garon lowered his gaze.
Under his command, his arm shifted into a semi-transparent, quivering state, as though composed of countless trembling particles, gently oscillating with his breath.
He clenched his fist experimentally.
Boom!
An invisible shockwave exploded outward. The air ahead shattered like glass. A fan-shaped blast swept forward, pulverizing every tree within ten meters into dust.
"This… this is the Tremor Fruit?!"
He stared at his hand in disbelief.
"No. That is not right."
He could feel it clearly.
He was not channeling vibration through a medium.
He was the source.
The embodiment of all tremors between heaven and earth.
With a thought, his body dissolved into an intangible shockwave. In an instant, he passed straight through a broken tree trunk and reformed on the other side.
Elementalization.
Logia.
"There is no doubt. It is Logia!"
Ecstasy surged through him, only to freeze mid-breath.
"Wait… The Tremor-Tremor Fruit is supposed to be Paramecia. So why did mine turn into a Logia?!"