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( Old Xen POV )

"Just call me Old Xen. I'll send you on your way now, and remember, you'll be sent to a random place and time. The things you've wished for and gained from the gacha will be integrated into you the moment you arrive. Hehe, goodbye, child." With those final words, I watched as I sent him off to his destination.

What an intriguing soul. He should be fine now. Well, scratch that a soul without fate can't connect with the word "fine" at all. Now that I'm thinking about it, why didn't that bitch as a goddess of fate, have that soul on her radar? I mean, even if it's a fateless one, it should still be a part of her job to monitor it, isn't it? Eh, whatever, she's always one of the laziest around. I just hope this gamble will pay off in the end.

Now, where am I again?

Oh right, I need to get the fuck out of here. Why do I still need to do this shit when I'm already old? I deserve retirement!!!

.....

( 3rd POV )

Beneath the canopy of an ink-black sky, dotted with shimmering stars, a world teeming with life and mystery stirred restlessly. The vast oceans that wrapped around this world rippled softly under the pale glow of the moon, their waves caressing the shores of countless islands, each with its own unique climate and hidden secrets. Above, amidst the swirling constellations, a soul descended, like a beacon of light breaking through the night.

It was no ordinary descent.

To the inhabitants of this strange world, it resembled a falling star—a brilliant streak of light cutting across the sky, leaving behind a trail of ethereal beauty. Onlookers across various islands paused, their eyes drawn upward to the celestial display.

In some towns, people clasped their hands together, whispering wishes into the cool night air, hoping that the falling star would bring them fortune. Children watched in awe, their faces lit up with wonder, while elders muttered ancient beliefs about such rare phenomena. Yet, in other corners of the world, the falling star went unnoticed or ignored, as the people, hardened by their daily struggles, could not afford the luxury of idle wonder.

The Grand Line

On an uninhabited island in the treacherous waters of the Grand Line, a solitary ship lay anchored at the shore. Its crew had made camp, and near a roaring bonfire, the air was alive with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the lively notes of music that echoed through the dense, tropical forest.

Amidst the celebration, a man with a broad chest and a wild grin, sporting a thick mustache, raised his large glass of wine to the sky. The flickering flames of the bonfire cast long shadows on his face, highlighting his flushed cheeks from one too many drinks. His name was Roger, captain of the infamous Roger Pirates.

"Huh...?" he muttered, his brow furrowing as his gaze fixed on the distant heavens. There, streaking across the sky, was the star.

Beside him, a man with sharp glasses, calm yet vigilant, glanced up from his drink. "What's wrong, Roger?" he asked, his voice steady as he took a casual sip of wine. This was Silvers Rayleigh, Roger's right-hand man, known as the 'Dark King.'

Roger squinted, still staring at the light as it trailed across the sky. "Well... Rayleigh, I could've sworn I heard something while watching that star. Voices, maybe? Or..." He paused, his lips curling into a sheepish grin. "Maybe I'm just drunk, wahahaha!"

Rayleigh chuckled, shaking his head as he stole Roger's wine glass with a deft hand. "You're definitely drunk, Captain. But I have to admit, it is a beautiful sight," he mused, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the star as it disappeared beyond the horizon.

"Hey! That was mine!" Roger gave Rayleigh a mock betrayed look, but their playful quarrel was interrupted by a voice from behind.

"Captain Roger! Look at Buggy!" A small, red-haired boy pointed toward the campfire, where a young boy with a bright red nose knelt on the ground, hands clasped together in fervent prayer. "He's making wishes, hoping that star brings him a treasure map!"

The boy, Shanks, snickered at the sight, but Buggy, the red-nosed pirate-in-training, shot up with an indignant glare. "Shut up, you idiot Shanks! You wouldn't understand. That star is gonna bring me the luck I need! Mark my words, I'm getting a treasure map out of this! Gyahahaha!"

A burly man with long, spiked hair, busy sharpening his axe, grunted. "You'd better train harder if you want to find any treasure out there, kid."

Roger laughed, slapping Buggy on the back. "Wahaha, Gaban's right, Buggy! But don't worry, you'll get your treasure one day. Just not today."

As the crew continued their banter, Roger raised his glass again—this time refilled by Rayleigh—and declared, "Enough talk! It's time for a banquet! Wahahaha!"

Rayleigh sighed, scanning the dwindling supply of wine. "Uh, Captain, we're almost out of wine..."

Roger waved him off dismissively, grinning wide. "Huh? Don't worry about that! We'll just grab more from the next group of pirates we run into! After all, we, the Roger Pirates, are the freest crew on the seas! Wahahaha!"

Red Line - The Grand Castle

High above the seas, in the heart of the imposing Red Line, lay a grand castle, its halls cold and echoing with silence. In one of the vast rooms, swords were embedded in the ground like a garden of steel. At the center of it all stood a throne, tall and regal, crafted from dark stone.

A figure sat upon it, draped in shadows. The only light came from the figure's crimson eyes, which slowly opened as if awakened from a deep slumber.

"Hmm...? What was that?" the figure murmured, its voice low and ancient. "Was it just my imagination?" The room remained still, the air heavy with mystery. "No... it's not time yet. Back to sleep."

With a soft sigh, the figure's eyes closed once more, and the room returned to silence, its secrets untouched by the passage of time.

West Blue - Furiko Island

Far away, in the West Blue, on the war-torn island of Furiko, the atmosphere was somber. The small town, nestled between the cliffs and the shore, had been ravaged by a recent pirate attack. Buildings lay in ruins, their walls crumbling under the weight of destruction. The streets were filled with scattered debris, and the few remaining townspeople wandered aimlessly, searching for what little they had left.

Marines patrolled the area, helping where they could, but their efforts were too little, too late.

An old woman emerged from the nearby forest, her weathered face twisted in concern as she surveyed the destruction. "Sigh... what a disaster," she muttered under her breath. "Pirates, again. I thank the heavens I wasn't in town when it happened."

As she made her way through the rubble, her eyes caught sight of something unusual. "Huh?" She stopped, her gaze fixed on a small bundle lying just beyond the edge of the town, partially hidden beneath a broken cart.

Curiosity piqued, she hurried over, and when she arrived, her breath caught in her throat. "Oh my... It's a baby!" she gasped, kneeling down to inspect the tiny child. He lay there, peacefully asleep, with no sign of harm, no clothing to protect him from the cold night air.

The old woman gently picked him up, her heart swelling with pity and confusion. "Who left a baby here? And why...?" She cradled him in her arms, her eyes softening as she noticed how calm he seemed. "Thank goodness, you're alive. But how? You're not even shivering from the cold."

As she began walking toward her small home, she murmured, "Well, I can't leave you here. No, no. Let's get you settled, and I'll ask around in the morning. If no one claims you... I suppose I'll keep you myself." She smiled gently, her voice softening with tenderness. "I've never had a grandchild before, but maybe it's about time I did."

With a gentle laugh, she carried the child back to her home, unaware that the baby she had found carried with him a secret far beyond her understanding.

.....

A few years later

A boy with grayish-white hair stood in the shadowy corner of an alley, his expression blank and unreadable. His purple eyes, which sometimes glowed with an unnatural sheen, were fixed on the group of children playing in the open field. Though tall and healthy for his age, he remained a silent observer, as if the world around him had little to offer.

"Hey, freak! What are you staring at?!" a short, scrappy-looking kid yelled from across the field, his voice filled with spite.

"He actually came here? How dare him!? Courting death!!!" An ugly fatty snarled, as he began to roll up his sleeves, preparing to charge.

"W-wait," a third kid stammered, his hands still wrapped in bandages from a previous encounter. "Don't you remember? No matter how hard we beat him last time, he barely got a red mark. But our hands—bruised, bleeding, and sore for days. He didn't even flinch."

The others stopped in their tracks, the memory of their painful encounter fresh in their minds. It was as if the mere thought of it made their hands throb anew.

"Hmph!" The short kid spat on the ground. "Let's go somewhere else. And don't even think about following us, freak!" He took off running, and the others quickly followed.

"Damn him," one muttered as they disappeared down the road.

The boy, named Vanze, didn't move. He watched them go, his expression unchanged, as if their insults and aggression were nothing more than a passing breeze. He stood there, motionless, until a familiar voice called to him.

"Vanze, why are you standing here? Let's go home," came the gentle voice of an elderly woman, reaching out her hand to him.

The old lady, known as Grandma Neal, had a warm smile as she approached Vanze, her gray hair tucked neatly beneath a headscarf. "I finished selling today's harvest," she continued, her voice filled with warmth. "Some merchants bought everything—they're setting off for a long voyage. Oh, and Mari said she'd be joining us for dinner tonight, so we should head back soon."

Vanze's gaze shifted to her, and without a word, he took her hand. Together, they walked through the narrow, worn streets of their small town, the sun beginning to set over the distant hills, casting a soft orange glow over the rooftops.

At Dinner

The cozy, modest home smelled of freshly baked bread and stewed vegetables as the sound of clinking dishes echoed through the tiny kitchen. A young woman with blonde hair, dressed in a nun-like outfit, emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray of food. Her face beamed with a warm smile.

"Let me help you with those, Grandma Neal," Mari said, her voice gentle as she placed the food on the wooden dining table.

"Thank you, dear," Grandma Neal replied with a chuckle. Though her back was slightly hunched, her eyes gleamed with affection. "You've always been such a help. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Vanze, seated quietly at the table, observed the two women without expression, his purple eyes following their movements as they set the table. He nodded slightly when Grandma Neal called his name, signaling that dinner was ready.

As they sat together, eating and chatting softly, Mari's brow furrowed. "Grandma Neal, are you feeling alright? I saw you coughing in the plaza earlier, and you looked pale. I'm worried about you."

The old lady waved off the concern with a dismissive hand, her smile never faltering. "I'm fine, dear. It's just age catching up to me, that's all. No need to worry, Vanze," she added, sensing his silent attention. "I'll be just fine."

Vanze glanced at his grandmother, but his face remained blank, betraying none of the emotions stirring within him.

"Anyway, didn't you say the orphanage needed help tomorrow, Mari?" Grandma Neal changed the subject, her tone light.

"Yes," Mari sighed. "We're short-staffed, and with so many children, it's been a bit overwhelming."

Grandma Neal's eyes lit up with an idea. "How about Vanze helps you tomorrow? It would be good for him to be around other children, and he could use the socialization."

Mari hesitated, glancing at Vanze. "I don't know… Won't he be busy helping you in the plaza tomorrow?"

"I only need to collect a payment," Grandma Neal said with a reassuring smile. "Vanze is strong—he's a fine young man at six years old. He can handle helping you, I'm sure."

Vanze, as always, said nothing, but he nodded in agreement, his blank face masking whatever thoughts he might have had.

"Thank you, Grandma," Mari replied softly, grateful but still cautious. She lowered her voice, careful not to let Vanze hear. "You know I'll take care of him. But… you worry about him, don't you?"

Grandma Neal sighed, her eyes softening as she gazed at Vanze from across the room. "He's a good boy," she murmured. "But he's never cried, not even as a baby. He doesn't speak. He doesn't show happiness, anger—nothing. It's as if he's holding everything inside." Her voice wavered with quiet concern. "But I can feel his emotions. I just want him to be happy."

Mari gave a sympathetic smile. "Vanze is special, Grandma Neal. The other kids don't understand him, and they're scared because he's different. But being different isn't bad. I'll make sure he's alright tomorrow."

Grandma Neal's tense shoulders relaxed, and she reached over to pat Mari's hand. "Thank you, dear. I'm so grateful. I can go in peace then, fufu."

The Next Day – At the Orphanage

Vanze worked in silence, carrying heavy boxes with ease, his small hands gripping the crates that would have been difficult for any other child his age to lift. The children at the orphanage watched in stunned silence, their wide eyes following his every move.

"Thank you, Vanze," Mari said, beaming as he placed the final box down. "You've been such a big help today. Here's some money for a drink later, my treat."

Vanze nodded, pocketing the $10 berry from Mira without a word.

"Grandma Neal must still be in the plaza, be careful when you go there, Vanze. There is a lot of people there at this time. See you later." After parting ways from sister Mira, Vanze is coming out of the orphanage and starts walking to the plaza to find his grandma.

As he left the orphanage, he made his way through the crowded streets toward the plaza where Grandma Neal had gone to meet the merchants.

At the Plaza 

The bustling port town of Furiko was alive with activity, its narrow streets filled with merchants, travelers, and townsfolk all going about their day. The salty breeze from the nearby ocean mingled with the aromas of fresh fruits, spices, and baked goods that filled the air. Stalls lined the marketplace, vibrant fabrics and exotic wares hanging from every corner, while voices rose in a lively chorus of bartering and laughter.

At the heart of the plaza, Grandma Neal stood with a merchant, her gray hair gently swept beneath her simple scarf. She handed over the last of her freshly harvested goods, the final crates being loaded onto the merchant's ship at the dock.

"Well, Old Neal," Mr. Tim, the merchant, said with a hearty laugh, slapping a bag of Berrys into her hand, "this should keep us stocked until we reach the next island. Your produce is the best we've had all seasons!"

Grandma Neal chuckled, her weathered face lighting up. "Thank you, Mr. Tim. It's always a pleasure doing business with you."

The merchant paused, his curiosity getting the better of him. "I heard your grandson helped with the harvest this time? Isn't he just a boy? Six years old, right?"

A proud smile spread across Grandma Neal's face. "He may be young, but don't let his age fool you. Vanze is strong, stronger than most think."

Mr. Tim whistled in admiration. "Well, I'll have to meet the lad next time. Seems like he's got quite a future ahead of him."

With a final wave, the old woman said her goodbyes and began weaving through the crowd, unaware of the shadow that had slipped from a dark alley behind her. The man, his features obscured by a tattered hood, followed her closely, his hand tightening around the handle of a dagger concealed within his cloak.

The plaza was crowded, bustling with life as people moved in every direction. Grandma Neal walked slowly, her mind on Vanze and the dinner they would share later that evening. The crowd swallowed her, the sounds of the marketplace masking the approach of the hooded man.

Vanze entered the plaza, his steps steady but his expression as neutral as ever. He had come to find his grandmother, but the throngs of people made it difficult to navigate. His purple eyes scanned the mass of bodies, searching for her familiar figure.

The atmosphere around him was chaotic yet typical for the port town, with dockworkers shouting orders, sailors preparing to set sail, and merchants calling out their wares. Vanze moved through the crowd like a ghost, unnoticed by most as he pushed forward.

Finally, he spotted her, standing only a few meters ahead, her back turned to him. Relief washed over him, but before he could reach her, he saw something that stopped him in his tracks.

A man, quick as a shadow, lunged at Grandma Neal from behind. The glint of metal caught the sunlight for a brief second, and then the dagger plunged into her back. The old woman gasped, her body trembling as her hand instinctively flew to the wound. Blood spread across her clothing as her legs gave way beneath her.

Vanze stood frozen. His mind, usually so detached, struggled to process the sight in front of him. People screamed, the crowd scattering in every direction as chaos erupted around him. The thief, his face twisted in malicious satisfaction, ripped the pouch of Berrys from Grandma Neal's hand and bolted, disappearing into the panicked crowd.

Vanze's feet finally moved, staggering forward, but his heart felt heavy, as though the world had slowed around him. He reached his grandmother just as her body slumped forward. Her eyes, filled with pain yet somehow still warm, found his. She tried to speak, her lips moving, but he couldn't hear her over the noise. All he saw was her fading smile as her eyes fluttered shut.

And then, everything shattered.

A force, aura and terrifying, erupted from Vanze. The air around him grew thick and suffocating, an oppressive aura expanding outward in all directions. People nearby gasped, then collapsed as the weight of his power crushed them, unconscious before they even hit the ground. The man who had stabbed his grandmother was no exception—he fell, unmoving, his prize forgotten in the dust.

The energy was wild, uncontrollable. It surged from Vanze, a reflection of the storm that had been building inside him for years. But it was too much. His vision blurred, and the oppressive force began to fade as his strength gave out.

What he didn't know is that not only did he awaken that aura, but also something else...

A moment before he closed his eyes, he saw...

[§~∆¥`^°#$•|~×...]

[Recalibrating...]

[System Activation...]

And he passed out.

.....

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A/N: Please donate your power stones and leave more reviews for my story, I appreciate it and thank you for your support!