One Piece: SSS-Rank Haki at Age Seventeen

Somewhere in the "Paradise" half of the Grand Line.

Dark clouds hung low overhead, as though they might collapse onto the sea at any moment.

The Marine Headquarters battleship Jūgaku cut through the heavy waves.

It was a specially modified large-scale warship, its hull one-third wider than standard Marine vessels. Even the deck had been layered with fine gravel.

At the center of the deck stood Admiral Fujitora, motionless as an ancient pine tree.

He wore a slightly worn lavender yukata that fluttered gently in the sea breeze, a black-purple sash tied neatly around his waist.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his cane sword, Shikomizue.

Vice Admiral Momonga stood three paces behind him, a sea chart rattling loudly in the wind.

The usually calm and composed Vice Admiral now wore a deep frown, his voice noticeably lower than normal.

"Admiral Fujitora, based on our speed and the ocean currents, we should reach the territorial waters of the Walmart Allied Kingdom in roughly thirty minutes."

He paused before adding:

"That region contains seventeen inhabited islands and over thirty reef clusters. The terrain is… extremely complicated."

Fujitora did not answer immediately.

He tilted his head slightly upward.

Though his eyes remained blind, it felt as though he were "watching" the leaden sky itself.

The wind carried the scent of distant storm clouds, the movement of deep-sea currents, and… something far more ominous.

Several seconds later, he slowly opened his eyes.

There were no pupils within them—only cloudy white blindness.

A savage X-shaped scar stretched across both eyes, as though some sharp blade had once violently severed his connection to sight itself.

"Golden Lion Shiki…"

Fujitora's voice rumbled low like distant thunder, each word carrying the crushing weight of gravity itself.

"He could descend through those clouds at any moment. Inform the entire ship—cancel silent navigation protocol and enter highest combat readiness."

After a brief pause, he added something unusually emotional:

"That man… isn't the kind of guest who announces his arrival."

Momonga silently sighed and turned to relay the orders.

On the opposite side of the deck, Vice Admiral Onigumo took a savage drag from his cigar, smoke hissing through his clenched teeth.

He paced irritably across the gravel-covered deck, his boots grinding harshly against the stones.

"We've been wandering the sea like headless idiots…"

"It's already been three days! And we still haven't even seen the Flying Pirate Fleet!"

"We've practically drained seventy percent of Marine mobile forces outside the New World for this operation…"

"This damn ocean is too huge!"

"Communication depends on Den Den Mushi, intelligence travels by manpower, and ships still rely on wind and rudders!"

"By the time we receive reports and arrive, the pirates have already looted the island and moved on to the next one for another party!"

Just as the oppressive atmosphere threatened to solidify—

"REPORT!!"

The lookout's voice suddenly rose in shock, trembling with disbelief.

"Ten o'clock ahead! Through the fog… there's an island silhouette!"

"What?!"

Several officers rushed toward the railing simultaneously.

Onigumo even drew his blade, pointing it directly toward the fog-covered waters.

Fujitora sharply turned toward that direction.

Though blind, the cane sword in his hand trembled faintly.

Momonga had already raised a telescope.

Through the thinning mist, the outline of an island slowly emerged.

Its shape looked normal enough, but—

"There's thick black smoke above it."

Momonga's voice tightened.

"Not cooking smoke… smoke from massive fires."

Onigumo snatched the telescope away.

After one glance, his expression changed immediately.

"Full speed ahead! Move toward the island at maximum velocity!!"

The warship's engines roared violently.

The bow smashed through the waves as the vessel surged forward at full speed.

The gravel-covered deck rattled from the intense vibrations, nearly throwing several soldiers off balance.

As they drew closer, telescopes became unnecessary.

It was a medium-sized island with a gentle coastline.

The docks and fishing boats that should have occupied the shore were completely gone.

At the island's center stood the outline of a town, though multiple buildings still burned fiercely, black smoke twisting skyward like enormous serpents.

Most horrifying of all—

Blood.

Fresh blood.

The thick metallic stench overwhelmed even the salty sea air and the odor of burning debris, like an invisible hand squeezing everyone's throats.

Fujitora stood at the bow of the ship, the hem of his yukata whipping violently in the blood-scented wind.

The hand gripping his cane sword tightened hard enough to produce faint cracking sounds from his knuckles.

Those blind eyes remained fixed toward the burning island.

And deep within the clouded white, something dark seemed to churn.

"…Were we too late?"

His voice was barely above a whisper.

But the next instant—

BANG!

His cane sword slammed into the deck.

The sheath shattered the gravel beneath him as an invisible gravitational shockwave spread outward from his position.

The entire battleship accelerated once more, the hull briefly lifting above the surface of the sea itself.

"ALL HANDS—!!"

Fujitora's voice exploded like thunder, utterly stripped of his usual gentleness.

"Prepare for landing! Medical teams move to the front! Combat squads disperse in units and begin search operations!"

"No matter what remains on that island…"

He opened his blind eyes fully, the X-shaped scars appearing demonic beneath the blood-red sky.

"We're taking it back!!"

The warship shot forward like an arrow released from its bow, charging toward the island consumed by blood and flames.

What awaited them was hell itself.

Severed limbs and corpses littered the shattered streets between collapsed civilian homes.

Sticky pools of blood soaked every inch of scorched earth, staining the ruins a dark crimson-red.

The air reeked of rust-like blood, dust, and death.

One slash mark.

Two.

Ten.

Hundreds.

Gigantic sword scars carved across the island like the claws of a demon.

Homes, shops, clock towers—

Every structure had been cleanly split in half by some terrifying force, their cuts smooth as mirrors reflecting the pale daylight.

Only a supreme swordsman could leave behind such destruction.

Precise.

Cold.

Beautiful in its brutality.

"Damn it… it was Golden Lion!! We… we came too late!!"

Vice Admiral Onigumo clenched his teeth so hard they cracked audibly.

His hatred for pirates burned like wildfire inside his chest.

He surveyed the hellscape before him, boots splashing through still-wet pools of blood.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Fujitora walked slowly toward the center of town, leaning upon his cane sword, wooden sandals clicking against the ruined ground.

Though blind, his Observation Haki spread outward like an invisible tide, enveloping the entire island.

Within that world of perception, the flames of countless lives flickered out one by one.

Desperate screams.

Dying breaths.

Final heartbeats.

All of it merged into a silent lament heavier than any mountain.

"REPORT!! We found survivors over here!!"

A Marine shouted urgently from the eastern ruins.

Vice Admiral Momonga immediately rushed over, crushing debris beneath his heavy footsteps.

The survivor was a man around forty years old.

His face was pale as paper, breathing shallow and strained.

Every inhale made his chest rise painfully.

Momonga knelt beside him and removed his Justice Coat, placing it beneath the man's head.

The man slowly opened his eyes.

His fading gaze eventually focused upon the Marine insignia on Momonga's shoulder.

"…Marines…"

He rasped the word weakly.

A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

But there was no relief in that smile.

Only despair and disappointment.

"…You came too late…"

His voice was weak, yet it struck every Marine present like a whip.

"When that golden-haired demon descended from the sky… we prayed…"

"We prayed for white warships to appear…"

"We paid the Heavenly Tribute… every single year…"

"We thought that would buy us safety…"

Momonga's throat tightened.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

Tears welled within the man's clouded eyes, washing streaks through the blood on his face.

"We woke before dawn every day just to work…"

"My child had a fever and we still couldn't afford a doctor…"

"We saved every single coin…"

"All for those damned Heavenly Tribute payments!!"

His voice suddenly rose with the last strength of a dying man.

"And what happened?! When the pirates' blades came down… where were you people?!"

"Is this the Marines' 'Justice'?! You take our blood-earned money and this is how you protect us?!"

The surrounding Marines lowered their heads in silence.

Some clenched their fists.

Others turned away.

Several had red-rimmed eyes.

No one spoke.

Only the wind howled through the ruins while the man's breathing grew weaker and weaker.

"My wife…"

"When she died… I called her name…"

"And she still answered me…"

Tears streamed endlessly down his face.

"My little daughter… she was only six…"

"She always ran into my arms when I came home…"

"But now she's lying there…"

"So small…"

"So cold…"

Suddenly, he laughed.

The sound was more heartbreaking than sobbing.

"You finally came…"

"How wonderful…"

"How timely…"

"Did you come all this way… just to hear me say 'thank you' after I lost everything?"

Momonga opened his mouth.

But every explanation died in his throat.

He wanted to say that most of the Heavenly Tribute went to Mary Geoise.

Wanted to explain how Marine fleets were stretched thin across the Four Blues and the New World.

Wanted to say they had sailed nonstop for three days and nights without rest.

But in the face of mountains of corpses…

In front of a husband.

A father.

A man who had lost everything—

Those explanations sounded pitifully meaningless.

"We…"

Momonga's voice turned hoarse.

"We truly…"

The man didn't let him finish.

"We only wanted to live…"

He stared blankly at the gray sky.

"To live peacefully…"

"Normally…"

"Why… is that so hard…?"

His chest rose one final time.

Then stopped forever.

A medic checked his pulse in silence before slowly shaking his head.

Momonga remained kneeling there for a long time.

Gently, he closed the man's eyes and covered his face with the Justice Coat.

In the distance, Fujitora slammed his cane sword into the ground once more, cracks spiderwebbing across the earth beneath him.

Onigumo slowly drew his blade, its edge humming within the dead silence.

And all around them, the Marines stood motionless amid the overwhelming scent of blood.

Silently questioning the weight of the "Justice" they carried upon their backs.

And what, exactly, they were truly fighting for.

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