One Piece: SSS-Rank Haki at Age Seventeen

On a desolate, ruined island, weathered rocks were riddled with strange holes carved by years of sea wind. Sparse patches of withered grass rustled faintly across the gravel.

"Old man…"

Sanji spoke, his voice carrying a lingering note of confusion as he turned toward Rayleigh, who was reclining in a rattan chair. His brows knit slightly.

"Whenever I try to merge the power of the Goro Goro no Mi with Diable Jambe…"

He paused and lifted his right leg, staring at it intently.

"It always feels… wrong."

Sanji carefully searched for the right words. The usual frivolous sharpness on his handsome face was replaced entirely by pure puzzlement.

"At the instant when lightning's heat and hellfire intertwine and erupt together… I always feel a very faint sense of rejection."

He gestured in the air with his fingers, trying to give shape to the abstract sensation.

"It's like two rushing torrents flowing toward the same direction, but right at the point where they collide most tightly… they shove each other slightly."

"Or like two tuning forks with different frequencies. Even if they're struck together, there's always a trace of discord."

Rayleigh half-closed his eyes. His silver hair fluttered in the sea breeze. He didn't answer immediately—he simply listened.

"It's that barely noticeable awkwardness," Sanji continued, his speech quickening as frustration crept in.

"It causes the explosion—what should've been perfect—to lose a bit of force at the most critical moment."

"Maybe to others it still looks incredibly powerful. But I can feel it myself. That fused attack… only brings out about eighty percent of its true potential."

He clenched his fist. His knuckles cracked softly as his sharp gaze shot toward Rayleigh.

"Old man Rayleigh, you've seen countless powers across the seas. This kind of rejection—like two things that are naturally incompatible… what's the real reason?"

The sea wind swept across the island, lifting grains of sand and brushing across Rayleigh's weathered face.

His gaze slowly shifted from the distant horizon to Sanji's leg—the one that held both thunder and flame.

"Rejection?"

Rayleigh set down his sake flask. A knowing curve appeared at the corner of his lips.

"That's only the surface of the matter. The real reason is that these two powers come from entirely different origins and levels of existence."

"The flames of your Diable Jambe burn because of the modified lineage factor inside your body."

"No matter how fierce they are, their essence still belongs to this world. They rely on your flesh, your will—on life energy that falls within the category of 'human.'"

His fingers lifted slightly, as if pinching an invisible arc of electricity lingering in the air.

"But this lightning comes from the Goro Goro no Mi."

"What it represents is a form of rule-based power that transcends ordinary physical laws."

"One is a creation born from human technology. The other is a fragment of the world's fundamental rules."

"The rejection you feel now is simply the shallowest manifestation of that difference."

Rayleigh's tone shifted as he looked directly at Sanji.

"And the fact that you only feel discomfort from that difference means one thing."

"Your understanding of the Goro Goro no Mi still remains at the level of mere application."

"You're only manipulating the phenomenon of lightning. You haven't truly grasped or controlled the part of it that represents the rule itself."

His voice suddenly grew heavier. Each word struck like tempered iron against stone.

"But listen carefully, kid—when a Devil Fruit crosses a certain threshold and reaches the realm of Awakening, the problem goes far beyond something as mild as 'rejection.'"

Rayleigh leaned forward slightly. His eyes shone with a dangerous intensity.

"Awakening means the power of the Devil Fruit is no longer satisfied with existing inside its user."

"It expands. It aggressively invades outward, forcibly assimilating the surrounding environment—even the rules of what it touches—into a domain aligned with its own nature."

He paused for a moment, letting the sea wind carry away the last trace of hesitation from his voice.

What remained was a cold verdict.

"A flame born from human technology—the fire of a lineage factor—simply cannot compete with the Awakened Lightning that represents a fragment of the world's rules."

"In the end, it will only be suppressed… or completely reconstructed."

Only the endless crashing of waves remained on the island.

Along with the chilling implication of Rayleigh's words.

"So what you're saying…"

Sanji spoke slowly. His voice was deeper than usual, each word carefully drawn from deep thought.

"The most rational and correct path right now… is to abandon the flames of Diable Jambe entirely, and devote everything to the lightning of the Goro Goro no Mi?"

He understood.

Rayleigh had made the difference clear—like a knife carving into stone.

The technological fire of a lineage factor versus lightning that could twist reality once awakened.

The gap in level was undeniable.

Forcing the fusion would not only be inefficient—it might even trigger a war of powers inside his body in the future.

Like carrying an unstable bomb.

The logic stood before him like a mountain.

But…

Sanji lowered his head and looked at his legs.

He could almost still feel the sensation of flames wrapping around his foot—the burning heat that stung like pain, yet resonated with the fiery heart of a cook.

Diable Jambe wasn't just a technique.

It had been born on a frozen wasteland of despair.

It carried the oath he made to his comrades.

It was proof of the path he took—breaking free from chains and defining strength with his own will.

The flames carried his past.

His rebellion.

It was part of the soul of Black Leg Sanji, not Vinsmoke Sanji.

Abandon it?

A powerful unwillingness lodged in his throat like a thorn.

It wasn't simple greed for power.

It felt more like denying a part of his very existence.

Rayleigh saw the struggle and reluctance in Sanji's eyes.

He didn't rush him.

He simply took another drink and let the silence between them ferment.

After a while, he nodded slightly—then slowly shook his head.

"What I said just now," Rayleigh said calmly, his voice deep as the vast sea itself,

"is the common sense of the seas. A truth verified through countless battles and bloodshed."

"It's the path with the lowest cost and the clearest future."

"If you follow it, you'll still step firmly into the ranks of the top powerhouses—under the name of pure lightning."

But then his tone shifted.

In the eyes that had witnessed countless legends and countless downfalls, a spark suddenly ignited—like a meteor tearing across the night sky.

"But Sanji… the real monsters of the sea…"

"The ones who stand at the peak of the waves and turn their names into symbols of an era…"

"They never walk roads paved by 'common sense.'"

"When they see a barrier, they think about how to break it—or surpass it."

"When they encounter two incompatible powers, they stake everything—using all their wisdom—to create a third possibility that has never existed before."

Rayleigh clenched his hand in the air as if grasping that intangible possibility.

"That road is covered in thorns."

"Nine deaths for one life."

"You might never find the exit. You might be devoured by those conflicting powers and erased entirely."

His gaze became like an iron anvil as he hammered the next words into Sanji's ears.

"But if you succeed…"

"What you'll possess won't simply be flame or lightning."

"It will be something unprecedented—something belonging solely to Black Leg Sanji."

"Your own Law."

Sanji's pupils suddenly shrank.

All the hesitation, reluctance, and calculations were split apart like a storm bolt.

What remained was not confusion.

It was a razor-sharp flame igniting in his heart.

The path before him was no longer a fork.

It was a vast wilderness—dangerous and magnificent, completely unexplored.

"..."

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air tinged with salt and scorched heat.

After a moment, he faced Rayleigh again.

No longer like a junior seeking advice from a senior.

But like a warrior offering a formal salute to the one who showed him the path.

He clasped his hands slightly.

The motion was simple, yet powerful.

When he lifted his head, the eyes that usually reflected beautiful women or enemy weaknesses had changed.

The hesitation and frustration were gone.

In their place was clarity—and a burning determination.

"I've learned a lot, old man."

His voice wasn't loud.

But it rang clearly like the first strike of a freshly forged blade, echoing across the barren island.

He didn't say which path he would choose.

But the light burning in his eyes already answered.

Whether he followed common sense to the summit…

or wagered everything to carve a new road…

He would walk it as Black Leg Sanji.

"Cough, cough."

A cough suddenly broke the solemn training atmosphere.

The voice carried its usual coolness—along with a faint hint of speechless annoyance.

Near a charred tree trunk in the distance, Trafalgar D. Water Law leaned against it.

His spotted hat was covered in dust.

His once-stylish fur coat was torn in several places, revealing half-wrapped bandages underneath—some still stained with blood.

He held a jar of medicine in one hand.

His movements were stiff from the wounds, though his expression remained mostly calm.

Only the slight furrow in his brows betrayed the pain—and his wordless reaction to the scene before him.

"Mr. Rayleigh,"

he said flatly without looking up, still struggling with his bandages.

"Since you're giving lessons… how about giving me a little guidance too?"

The air froze for a moment.

Rayleigh turned his head and looked at Law's battered state.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

He lifted his sake flask and took a long drink before snorting.

The look he gave Law was like someone staring at a troublesome brat who was complaining after getting special treatment.

"You?"

Rayleigh said bluntly.

"You're the Surgeon of Death. You've already developed your ability to a dazzling level."

"The way you use ROOM, your tactical tricks, even the way you combine it with swordsmanship…"

"The path beneath your feet is so clear it might as well have been drawn with a ruler."

"What exactly do you need me to teach you?"

"How to wrap your bandages more neatly?"

The words were sarcastic—but also high praise.

Law paused slightly while applying the medicine.

For a split second, the corner of his mouth twitched—whether from pain or something else was hard to tell.

Nearby, Sanji suddenly snapped back to reality.

Only then did he realize that during his intense conversation with Rayleigh, he had completely forgotten about the heavily injured patient beside them.

And those injuries…

Well.

While training inevitably led to some bumps and bruises…

At least seventy to eighty percent of the credit probably belonged to Sanji himself—who had gotten a bit too enthusiastic beating up a "sparring partner."

A faint trace of guilt flickered across his heart like a tiny electric spark.

He adjusted the collar of his already-torn suit and walked toward Law.

"Hey… you."

Sanji crouched down beside him, his tone lacking its usual frivolity as he looked over Law's shocking wounds.

"You're a doctor, sure—but wrapping your own bandages… kinda awkward, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, he naturally reached out and took the bandage roll from Law's hand.

"I'll do it."

His voice wasn't especially gentle—if anything, it sounded a bit stiff.

But his movements were surprisingly steady and precise.

Law's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

He clearly wasn't used to this sudden "kindness."

He glanced up at Sanji with those distant eyes.

He didn't say anything.

But he didn't refuse either.

Silently, he handed over the medicine.

The wind continued blowing across the island.

On one side sat Dark King Rayleigh, watching the two young men interact while shaking his head and drinking.

On the other side was a cook who had temporarily set aside the dilemma of his power path to focus on bandaging wounds—

and a slightly awkward Surgeon of Death quietly enduring the pain.

A strange atmosphere spread across the island.

A little awkward.

Yet unexpectedly harmonious.

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