Chapter 17 - Contestants Part 2

{ White Void }

[ Dr. Genus ]

~ Paradise Grand Line

Among the many unique islands in the Grand Line, one stands out as a marvel of technology—Mecha Island. Unlike the rest of the world, where machinery is still catching up, this island boasts a level of advancement beyond comprehension. However, the island itself is a mystery, for it rests upon the back of a colossal, ancient sea turtle. This creature, a relic of time itself, awakens only once every thousand years to lay its eggs before vanishing once more into the depths. Due to this, no Log Pose can track the island, making it impossible to find unless fate itself wills it.

The island is a city of steel, its buildings constructed purely of iron, metal, and other mechanical components. Among them, a particular skyscraper stands out like an anomaly. Its curved yet towering structure, adorned with reflective glass panels, defies architectural logic. It appears almost precarious, as if it should collapse at any moment, yet it stands tall—a testament to the ingenuity of its creator.

At the very top of this peculiar skyscraper, a man is hunched over his latest invention: a motorbike, a project inspired by his son. This man is none other than Ratchet, the sole ruler of Mecha Island and the mastermind behind its incredible technological advancements.

He is a thin man with a round face, narrow brown eyes that emit a sinister aura, and light brown hair neatly combed back. Dressed in a white lab coat, he appears utterly absorbed in his work, meticulously adjusting each intricate component of his creation.

Without looking away from his project, Ratchet speaks in a commanding tone.

"Gonzo, bring my son here immediately."

"Understood, my Lord," the elderly butler replies with a bow before promptly turning on his heel to carry out the order.

Gonzo is a man of considerable stature, his muscular frame contradicting his age. A neatly trimmed mustache sits upon his face, accompanied by a few wrinkles that mark the passage of time. His bald head gleams under the artificial lights, and he is impeccably dressed in a black-and-white suit, complete with white gloves.

A few minutes later, in the dimly lit corridor of the skyscraper, Gonzo walks alongside a small boy. The atmosphere is heavy, and despite his years of service, the butler is sweating profusely under the intense gaze of the child beside him.

Dr. Genus, as he is called, is a boy of small stature, his straight black hair reaching his chin. His deep red eyes are concealed behind a pair of small, rounded glasses. Dressed in a cyan hoodie with a drawstring, cropped pants, and red slippers, he appears unassuming—until one meets his gaze.

"Old man, you need to stop panicking," the boy speaks in an amused tone, pushing up his glasses with his index finger in a practiced motion. "I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm not a monster."

Despite the reassurance, Gonzo cannot ease the unease in his heart. The child's presence alone is overwhelming, almost suffocating. He has witnessed things—horrors beyond explanation. He has seen this very boy obliterate criminals without lifting a finger, their silent screams of agony burned into his memory.

Dr. Genus, perceptive as ever, notices the butler's distress and smirks.

"Do you know why my father is calling for me?" he asks, his tone carrying an air of superiority. "I'm busy."

"My apologies, young master. I do not know the reason," Gonzo replies with a deep bow, placing his right hand over his chest. "However, if I were to assume, it is likely that he requires your assistance with his work."

Genus hums thoughtfully before nodding. Without another word, he jogs ahead, leaving Gonzo behind.

As the butler watches the boy disappear down the hallway, a shiver runs down his spine.

"I don't think anyone in this country is safe from him… not even you, my Lord."

⸻———————————

[ Erich Von Tschermak ]

~ Paradise Grand Line

There exists a myth in the world of One Piece—an old tale whispered among sailors—the legend of Sky Island. While many dismiss it as mere fantasy, those who have seen the White Sea with their own eyes know the truth.

Floating high above the ocean, Sky Island is a paradise unlike any other, its vast landscape adorned with towering trees and surrounded by an endless sea of clouds. Within this realm, four ordeals govern the land, each ruled by a priest who serves the self-proclaimed god of the island.

In the Ordeal of Iron, a tall, tanned man with a bald head stands in quiet contemplation. A pair of large, white wings protrude from his back, yet they remain utterly useless, incapable of granting him flight.

Beside him, a young boy mirrors his stance, his small wings folded neatly against his back. He bears the same tanned skin as his father, but unlike the solemn priest, the child's face is alight with excitement.

This boy, Erich Von Tschermak, is no ordinary child. He carries knowledge beyond his years—knowledge of a world far removed from this one. He remembers everything. In his previous life, he had watched an anime called One Piece, and now, he finds himself living within it.

He turns to his father, his voice brimming with eagerness.

"Papa, now what? I've completed the training regime with ease. You told me to return once I could no longer improve. Well, here I am."

The corner of Ohm's eye twitches. He sighs heavily, running a rough hand through his son's hair.

"You're not normal, son," he mutters, exasperated. "You shouldn't be this strong at your age. You should be playing with other children, not training like a war-hardened veteran."

Erich smacks his father's hand away, rolling his eyes.

"You've said that a hundred times already," he complains.

Ohm merely shakes his head, eyeing his son with a mixture of pride and unease.

"You're lucky," he says at last. "God himself has let you be. When you were born, I thought you were a bad omen… but perhaps you are blessed after all."

Erich scoffs at the sentiment but secretly agrees. He is indeed fortunate—for two reasons.

First, he was reincarnated into a world he knows inside and out.

Second, Enel, the self-proclaimed god of Skypiea, is an arrogant fool. Despite possessing one of the most powerful Devil Fruits, he underestimates others.

'That bastard should already know I can manipulate wood,' Erich muses. 'Is he not afraid? Or is he just that stupid? If that's the case, I could use it to my advantage…'

Far away, in a luxurious chamber, a man lounges on a white couch, biting into a ripe red apple. His skin is pale, his build lean yet muscular. His golden hair gleams under the soft light, and his elongated earlobes dangle down to his chest.

With a slow, lazy grin, Enel mutters to himself.

"What will that child do? Will he try to defeat me? Become my subordinate? Or will he travel the world as my emissary… spreading my divine name to the ignorant masses?"

As he takes the last bite of his apple, his eyes narrow in amusement.

Only time will tell.

———————————

[Hyouhu Kyousuke]

Fish-Man Island

Deep beneath the ocean, over 10,000 meters below sea level, nestled within the massive hole under the Red Line, lay an extraordinary underwater island—Fish-Man Island. Encased in a colossal protective bubble, this island was a haven where humans and other creatures could survive despite the crushing depths of the sea.

But as with any civilization, there was always a place where the less fortunate resided. Fish-Man Island was no exception.

Within one of the many slums, a young boy stood among a gathering of children. His body was entirely covered in shimmering blue scales, reflecting the dim light of the ocean floor. His mouth revealed rows of incredibly sharp, triangular teeth—surprisingly pearly white despite his surroundings. His eyes were small, round, and completely white, and under them, three sets of curved facial markings accentuated his intimidating presence. Gills lined his broad shoulders, allowing him to breathe freely underwater.

The boy's physique was astonishing. His muscular frame boasted well-defined abs and chiseled pectoral muscles, an impressive build for someone so young. Yet, the most peculiar thing was not his appearance—it was his demeanor.

A crowd of children, both older and younger than him, surrounded him in an oddly cheerful atmosphere. There was a strange sense of admiration, even excitement, in their eyes. And Kyousuke? He walked among them with a deliberate, elegant stride, parting the gathered children like a veteran soldier inspecting his troops. When he reached the end of the line, he made an abrupt 180-degree turn, his posture straight and disciplined.

Then, with a grin that sent shivers down spines, he addressed them.

"Now that I've finally mastered my abilities, it's time for you all to train. And let me be clear—I will not go easy on you. Even if you beg for mercy, I won't stop."

His eerie grin widened, sharp teeth glinting ominously.

Without another word, Kyousuke raised his index finger and pointed at the gathered children.

Then, in an instant, he flicked his finger upward.

Screams and panicked cries erupted as every single child was suddenly lifted into the air. Their legs flailed, arms swung desperately as they struggled against the invisible force holding them aloft. Some kicked uselessly, trying to swim through the air as if it were water, but nothing worked.

For several minutes, they remained suspended, their voices growing hoarse from their frantic screaming. Then, just as suddenly as before, Kyousuke pointed downward.

Terror filled their faces as they plummeted toward the unforgiving concrete below.

Cries of horror rang through the slums. Some children clenched their eyes shut, bracing for impact. Others tried to scream but found their voices stolen by the sheer panic coursing through their veins.

Then—mere inches from the ground—Kyousuke pointed his finger forward.

Their descent stopped abruptly, leaving them hovering just above the concrete before finally being lowered down gently.

As their feet touched the ground, many of the children collapsed. Their faces were stained with tears, their bodies trembling from the overwhelming fear they had just experienced. Some had fainted entirely, while others gagged and vomited whatever food they had eaten earlier.

Kyousuke, meanwhile, simply chuckled in amusement, watching their miserable expressions with delight. He never got tired of this.

But then—one boy dared to step forward.

A child, slightly older than some of the others, pushed his way through the trembling crowd. His face was twisted with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"Master, you need to stop this!" he demanded, his voice attempting to carry authority. "Or else!"

His attempt at intimidation failed miserably.

Kyousuke's grin faltered for only a moment before twisting into something even more delighted. His white eyes gleamed with interest.

"Oh my goodness," he cooed mockingly. "Look at you, standing up to me. I'm so pleased! Truly, I am. What a brave little thing you are."

Then, his expression darkened.

"But… I cannot accept that tone. It's rude. So, I'm going to do it again."

He turned to the rest of the children, who were now staring at the boy who had spoken out. Their gazes burned with silent fury. Their exhaustion and humiliation turned into a single, unified emotion—blame.

This was his fault.

The defiant boy flinched, his earlier confidence crumbling beneath the weight of their glares. His body trembled as he stammered out an apology.

"I-I'm so s-sorry, b-boss! Please forgive my i-insolent behavior!" he pleaded, throwing himself to the ground in a deep bow, his forehead pressed against the dirt.

Kyousuke let out a slow, pleased chuckle.

Then, he lifted his finger once again.

Screams echoed as the children scrambled to escape, but it was futile. In an instant, the entire group was lifted into the air once more. This time, they spun wildly, their bodies twisting and flipping uncontrollably as Kyousuke waved his finger through the air.

Like a conductor guiding an orchestra, he moved his hand with an eerie grace, controlling the chaos with nothing but a flick of his wrist. His other hand remained clasped behind his back, as if he were some nobleman overseeing a grand performance.

His laughter rang through the slums, echoing through the narrow alleyways.

And his "students" continued to spin in the air, completely at his mercy.

——————————-

[Gabriel D. Gray]

New World – Wano Country

Wano Country—an isolated nation untouched by the rule of the World Government—was a land steeped in tradition and rich history. However, in the present era, it had become nothing more than a stronghold for the Beasts Pirates, ruled under the iron grip of Kaido, one of the Four Emperors.

At the very heart of this fallen country lay its capital, the Flower Capital, the only place that still flourished amidst Wano's suffering. It was here, within the grand palace towering over the city, that the current shogun, Kurozumi Orochi, resided. His authority was not born of strength but rather from his submission to Kaido, which ensured his reign remained unchallenged.

Inside the castle, laughter echoed through a lavishly decorated chamber. Orochi sat at the center of attention, surrounded by a group of beautiful women draped in extravagant silk kimonos. Their hands shamelessly roamed his stocky frame as they giggled at his every word.

Orochi himself was a rather large man with a disproportionately big head and a stocky build. His thinning purple hair was tied into a topknot at the back, and his thin mustache curled upward at the ends. His beady eyes, usually filled with arrogance, gleamed with lust as he admired the smooth, bare waists of the women beside him.

With a lecherous expression, he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and suddenly asked, "My lovely ladies, have you seen my son? Where has that boy gone?"

The women barely paid attention, continuing to giggle and touch him as if they hadn't heard his question.

Before anyone could respond, a tall elderly man entered the chamber in a hurry. His dark robes swayed as he moved swiftly toward Orochi, his long goatee swaying with each step. This was Fukurokuju, the head of the Oniwabanshu—Wano's elite ninja force.

Bowing slightly, Fukurokuju spoke in a calm yet serious tone, "My lord, the young master has already departed for Onigashima to meet with Kaido and his son."

Orochi's eyes widened in confusion before quickly narrowing in anger.

"Huhhh? And why, exactly, is he going there? More importantly, why wasn't I informed before he left?!" he demanded, his face twisting into a scowl.

Fukurokuju remained composed as he stroked his long goatee. "My deepest apologies, my lord. Young Master Gurē disappeared last night. At first, we foolishly believed we could locate him before sunrise. However… we gravely underestimated his ability to evade us. Even at such a young age, his skill allowed him to escape me and my subordinates with ease."

For a moment, Orochi remained silent. Then, his anger abruptly faded, replaced by his signature, exaggerated laugh.

"Kahahahaha! It's no big deal! Do you hear that, ladies? My son is incredible! Kahahahaha!" Orochi boasted, throwing his head back in laughter as he praised his child.

The women around him laughed along, their eyes twinkling with feigned interest, though some exchanged uncertain glances.

{ Onigashima – The Fortress of the Beasts Pirates }

Onigashima—an island located to the south of Wano—was Kaido's domain. It was here that the Beasts Pirates gathered, where Kaido's top subordinates often convened to deliver reports, and where the infamous Emperor himself resided.

Once a year, during the Fire Festival, Kurozumi Orochi and his men would visit this island to pay their respects to their so-called protector and celebrate their conquest of Wano.

Inside the vast fortress of Onigashima, Kaido sat at the center of a grand hall, his massive form dominating the space.

He was a true behemoth—standing at a staggering 710 cm, his sheer bulk and overwhelming muscles dwarfed ordinary humans. From his head sprouted a massive pair of gray-white, sharp-pointed horns that curved toward the front. His long, heavy-browed face bore deep lines, his bloodshot eyes giving him a permanently menacing expression. The only scar on his seemingly indestructible body was the massive, recessed X-shaped wound carved into the right side of his chest—a reminder of his battle with Kozuki Oden.

Currently, Kaido was drinking carelessly, the enormous sake cup in his hand looking almost comically small due to his size. The air in the hall was thick with the scent of alcohol, and the floor beneath him trembled each time he moved.

Seated before him was a young boy, taller than most children yet still vastly overshadowed by the Emperor before him.

The child had long, deep purple hair, neatly tied into a bun style at the back of his head. Despite his youthful appearance, he possessed a toned, muscular physique—his lean build resembling that of a seasoned swimmer.

Kaido took a deep swig of his drink before letting out a loud, rumbling laugh that shook the room.

"Wororororo! So, you're Orochi's brat, huh? And yet, you have the guts to walk into my territory. Do you even know who I am, boy?" Kaido asked, his booming voice sending vibrations through the air.

The child's uneasy grin widened slightly as he looked up at the Emperor without hesitation.

"First of all," he began, his tone calm yet firm, "I'm adopted. I'm not his actual son."

Kaido raised an eyebrow at that.

"Secondly… I want you to teach me," the boy stated plainly, his sharp eyes locked onto Kaido's.

Kaido studied him for a moment before setting his sake cup down with a loud thud, the impact making the floor tremble once more.

"I don't want to teach you," he said, his voice laced with boredom. "I'm already busy with someone else. Besides… why the hell should I waste my time training you?"

Without hesitation, the boy stepped forward confidently and pointed a finger toward himself.

"Because… I want to kill you, Orochi, and take over this country."

Silence fell upon the room.

Kaido's eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could respond, the child continued.

"As far as I recall, you love amazing battles, and you want to die. So, train me—make me strong—and I'll be the one to destroy you."

For a moment, Kaido said nothing.

Then—he burst out laughing.

"WORORORORO!!" His laughter was deafening, shaking the very foundations of the fortress.

Behind the boy, Kaido's subordinates stood frozen in shock. Their jaws nearly hit the floor as they processed what had just been said. They all had the same thought—this kid was dead.

No one—NO ONE—challenged Kaido in his own domain and lived.

And yet, after his thunderous laughter finally subsided, Kaido's expression shifted into something else. A wide, fanged grin.

"Well then…" Kaido muttered, his drunken eyes gleaming with interest. "I'll train you. Alongside my own kin."

The child smirked. His plan was working.

Kaido leaned forward slightly, his grin never fading. "But… if you really think you'll succeed in killing me one day, you better prove it. Don't disappoint me, kid. At least, you're already more impressive than my idiotic son."

He then waved his hand dismissively toward his subordinates. "Now, get me another drink. My mood's already ruined."

The boy, Gabriel D. Gray, smirked and sat down comfortably in front of his new master, crossing his arms as he observed Kaido drowning himself in sake once again.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

He wasn't going to die—not yet. His gamble had paid off.

If he wanted to become strong, he needed to be trained by the best. And Kaido—one of the strongest creatures in the world—was his best option.

Glancing at the subordinates behind Kaido, he immediately sensed their weakness. His aura surged, enveloping the entire room in a suffocating wave of pressure.

One by one, they collapsed like dominoes.

Kaido raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised, but quickly grinned again.

"You could've just told me you had [Conqueror's Haki], kid. No need for all that."

Gabriel merely chuckled. "I wanted to tell you something… privately. And I couldn't risk spies overhearing."

Kaido's grin widened. "Oh? And what exactly do you have to hide?"

Gabriel's eyes gleamed with excitement.

"A [Devil Fruit]. The Kaeru Kaeru no Mi."

———————————

[Edwin D. Hubble]

Paradise - Grand Line

Marineford, the base of operations for the Marine Headquarters, stood as a symbol of law and order in the world. It was home to Fleet Admiral Sengoku, the Admirals, and countless Vice Admirals, as well as lower-ranking officers when they weren't stationed elsewhere. The city surrounding Marineford was inhabited by the families of Marine soldiers, providing a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of their duty.

Inside the Fleet Admiral's office, a man sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead with a tired expression.

The past ten years had taken a toll on him.

The search for the Pirate King's child had ended in failure. The surge of new pirates influenced by the last words of Gol D. Roger had only made his job harder. Selecting the right candidates for the Seven Warlords—under pressure from the World Government—was something he despised. And then, there was the constant looming threat of the Four Emperors.

Sengoku was exhausted.

He hadn't expected the burden of his position to be this overwhelming. Paperwork, endless decisions, and the weight of the world on his shoulders—it was enough to make him consider walking off the nearest cliff.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath as silence filled the room.

But his moment of peace was short-lived.

The Den Den Mushi on his desk rang, shattering his brief respite.

~ Peru Peru Peru Peru

~ Peru Peru Peru Peru

~ Gatcha!

With a sigh, Sengoku picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. His already exhausted expression turned into one of annoyance when he saw the snail mimicking the very person who haunted his nightmares.

Garp.

Sengoku immediately scowled, his golden aura flaring slightly in irritation.

"No more, Garp! You are not going back to your hometown again! I am drowning in paperwork while you're out there, relaxing! How dare you?!" he shouted, his patience wearing thin.

On the other end, Garp grinned, casually munching on a handful of rice crackers.

"Calm down, old man. Have some crackers. Helps with the nerves—trust me, I know from experience," Garp said, his tone lighthearted.

Sengoku nearly slammed the receiver down. The urge to throw it against the wall was strong, but he managed to control himself, taking slow, measured breaths to prevent an aneurysm.

This wasn't the first time Garp had ignored orders.

He had repeatedly returned to his hometown under the pretense of training his "grandson," despite direct orders to remain at his post. Time and time again, he swore it would be the last time, only to disappear again.

Sengoku couldn't deny that Garp was an irreplaceable asset—one of the strongest Marines in history. But his idiotic behavior was infuriating.

Suddenly, loud shouting erupted from Garp's side of the Den Den Mushi.

Sengoku frowned. "What's going on over there?"

"Oh, just a little scuffle on my ship," Garp replied nonchalantly. "By the way, I picked up an interesting kid. Pretty strong. But I don't like him. Gives me a weird vibe. Creepy as hell."

Sengoku's eyes narrowed. "An interesting kid?"

"Yup."

"Tell me about him," Sengoku ordered.

"I don't wanna."

"Garp."

"You have to guess, Goku," Garp teased, flicking a booger into the sea.

Sengoku immediately hung up. There was no way he was playing one of Garp's stupid games. Instead, he called one of Garp's subordinates to get real information.

"Tell me about the kid," Sengoku commanded.

"Yes, Fleet Admiral," the voice on the other end responded. "His name is Edwin D. Hubble. He's ten years old. But, sir… he's dangerous."

Sengoku's brow furrowed. "Dangerous?"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant confirmed, his voice laced with unease. "I fought him myself, and he held his own. At ten years old. And what's worse… he has a Devil Fruit."

Sengoku's grip on the receiver tightened. "What kind of Devil Fruit?"

"We're not entirely sure, sir," the man admitted. "But it allows him to teleport and warp physical attacks."

Sengoku's expression darkened.

Teleportation and the ability to manipulate attacks?

That was a problem.

If this child's abilities were as overpowered as they seemed, the World Government would need to be informed immediately.

{ Monkey D. Garp's Marine Ship }

A red-haired child stood on the deck of the Marine vessel, his piercing orange eyes scanning his surroundings with unsettling sharpness. His pale skin contrasted starkly against his vibrant hair, and his physique—lean yet muscular—spoke of someone far beyond his years in physical capability.

At his feet, a Marine lay unconscious, groaning in pain as he clutched his waist.

In front of the child, Garp sat cross-legged, happily devouring his rice crackers without a care in the world.

Edwin stepped forward, tapping Garp's knee to get his attention. His expression was serious.

Garp sighed. "What do you want, brat?"

"Teach me," Edwin said firmly. "These Marines are too weak."

Garp didn't even hesitate. "No."

The answer was immediate and absolute.

"Do not ask me again," Garp continued, jabbing a finger into his nose before flicking whatever he found at Edwin. "I don't like you. End of discussion."

The tiny projectile vanished before it could reach Edwin, disappearing into thin air.

Edwin remained unfazed.

"But why don't you like me?" he pressed. "I haven't done anything to you."

Garp scowled. "No reason. I just don't like you."

Edwin's expression remained neutral. "Fine, then. I don't like you either."

With that, he turned away, making his way toward the remaining Marines, intent on fighting again.

But Garp moved first.

Without warning, the Vice Admiral swung his fist down toward Edwin's head—holding back just enough to avoid killing the boy, but still delivering an earth-shattering blow.

Edwin reacted instantly.

He teleported.

In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind Garp, causing the Marine hero to twist around and launch another punch.

But Edwin wasn't done.

This time, he teleported one of the weaker Marines in front of himself.

Garp barely stopped his fist in time, his knuckles hovering inches from the terrified soldier's face. The unfortunate Marine, however, had already passed out, collapsing into a trembling heap with a dark stain forming beneath him.

Garp clenched his teeth, his fist still hovering mid-air.

Then, finally, he sighed.

"…This," Garp muttered, "is exactly why I don't like you."