Morning sunlight slowly crept over the horizon, casting a soft glow across the land.

And within that fleeting light, the body of Kibutsuji Muzan—the demon who had terrorized humanity for over a thousand years—finally crumbled into ash, vanishing without a trace into the wind.

— — —

"We did it!!"

Cheers of joy echoed through the valley. Swordsmen hugged one another, tears of relief and triumph streaking down their faces.

Among the crowd, Tachibana Kyūjō quietly slid his Nichirin blade back into its sheath. The tension that had gripped his heart for so long now dissolved, giving way to a strange but welcome calm.

"I'm glad... I didn't disgrace the other world-walkers. If I had failed... I might've become a burden to history itself."

— — —

"Kyūjō, did you just say something?" asked Ubuyashiki Kagaya, approaching with his usual serene smile.

Kyūjō shook his head slowly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"No... just that... everything feels so peaceful now."

"I see. Then that's enough."

— — —

That same morning, Yushirō followed in Lady Tamayo's footsteps, embracing the dawn sunlight as his final resting place.

The final battle in the valley was over. And with Muzan's death, humanity was finally free of demons—forever.

Not long after, Ubuyashiki Kagaya officially disbanded the Demon Slayer Corps, which had stood for over a thousand years.

Most surviving members returned home to start new lives with their families.

The once-bustling Demon Slayer headquarters grew silent.

As for Tachibana Kyūjō, now seventeen years old and fully aware that his life wouldn't last another two years... he quietly walked away.

He had awakened the Mark—the flame-like pattern that granted immense power but also carried a curse: an early death.

If he stayed, he would only endanger the friends he fought alongside.

Kyūjō didn't want to die bedridden and alone. So, he chose to travel.

During his first year of wandering, he still kept in touch with Kagaya through messenger crows. But after one year of traveling across Japan, Kyūjō vanished beyond the sea, leaving his homeland behind.

He could feel it—his time was running out.

And so, he sailed toward the land where everything had begun, the place where he wished to rest for the final time.

— — —

A storm raged across the sea.

Thunder tore open the skies as colossal waves surged upward, towering like monsters.

On the steel deck of a massive cargo ship, Tachibana Kyūjō held fast, swaying as wind and rain pounded his body.

For the first time, he truly felt just how small he was against the forces of nature.

The power he once wielded—the techniques he had trained his body and soul to master—now felt like nothing more than dust before the fury of the ocean.

A deafening crack echoed as a wall of water struck the ship.

The massive vessel, over a hundred meters long, shattered like a toy and sank instantly, swallowed by the sea without mercy.

Days passed. The storm eventually faded.

And—

— — —

A sharp pain and crushing pressure woke him from unconsciousness.

Kyūjō groaned, feeling dozens of small feet pressing around him. Disoriented, he struggled to grab one leg for balance and pull himself up.

"What the...? My strength... it's gone?"

He looked at his hands—small and frail. His body had shrunk.

The overwhelming noise of a crowd roared in his ears. Before he could process what was happening, a flood of people swept him toward the center of a massive square.

Kyūjō had no choice but to go along with it. One wrong step here, and he could easily be trampled to death.

— — —

In the middle of the crowd, his eyes locked onto the tall, burly figure standing atop a wooden execution platform.

A man with a wild beard. A presence that felt… familiar.

"Wait... Who is that? Why does he feel so... familiar?"

Before the memory could fully surface, the man raised his voice, booming across the square.

"You want my treasure?"

"Then take it! I left everything I own... in one place."

"Now go, and find it!"

— — —

The year is 1498 of the Sea Calendar.

Twenty-three years before the main story begins, Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King, is publicly executed by the World Government in Loguetown.

Thus begins... the Great Pirate Era.

Kyūjō's eyes flew wide open.

His heart trembled.

"So it's true... I really am in the world of One Piece now..."

As the crowd started to disperse, Kyūjō slipped away, relying on faint memories of Loguetown's layout from his past life.

He moved toward the outskirts of town, eventually arriving at a rundown shack near the edge of the forest.

"This... is my house? Pfft... this is just depressing."

He stepped inside, cautiously checking what was still usable. He found an old, chipped mug and poured water from a clay jug into it.

He drank it all in one go.

"...That should settle my stomach for now."

He leaned back, closing his eyes.

And focused.

Trying to feel it—any trace of the power he once had.

A few moments later, Kyūjō let out a long, relieved sigh.

"It's still here…"

Kenshin Tōmei—the art of merging one's sword, heart, and soul with the world itself. Transparent World. His most vital skill was still with him.

His sword might be gone. His body may be new. But his soul had remained unchanged.

And most importantly—two of his core abilities had come along.

His breathing techniques. And his physical combat instincts.

Everything else, he could rebuild.

He searched through the memories of this new body.

— — —

The boy's name was unknown. A ten-year-old orphan. His parents had been humble fishermen, killed by pirates when he was just a toddler.

People in the town called him "Little Orange"—because he was often caught stealing oranges from gardens just to survive.

Occasionally, someone would throw him leftovers. But no one took him in.

The boy had been labeled a simpleton.

A useless kid with no future.

— — —

Kyūjō opened his eyes and sighed.

"This starting point... is really at rock bottom."

He scavenged through the shack again, finding only a moldy chunk of bread and a dozen half-rotten oranges.

But... there was one ray of hope.

A set of fishing tools—left behind by the boy's parents.

The net and boat were unusable. But the fishing rod, hook, and line could still work.

As a former near-pro-level fisherman in his past life, Kyūjō was confident.

"In a world like One Piece, surrounded by oceans... there's no way I'd starve to death."

After eating a few edible pieces of orange, he set to work restoring the rod.

He tied a line and hooked the moldy bread as bait.

Then, without wasting a second, he headed toward the coast.

While jogging, Kyūjō began syncing his breath—activating the foundation of Thunder Breathing Ver. 1.0, the basic form used to gradually reinforce the body.

Thankfully, even a ten-year-old in this world possessed a sturdier physique than an adult back in his own.

"Still can't use Ver. 2.0 yet..." he muttered.

That version required fine-tuning the lungs and internal organs. His previous body had been ruined by overtraining. This one, though healthy, needed careful adjustment.

That's why Kyūjō was determined to refine his breathing style from scratch—create a true Version 2.0 that combined internal lung control with external "pore breathing."

A long journey, for sure.

But one worth taking.

He arrived at the shoreline, eyes scanning for a good spot. When he found one, he baited the line, cast it into the sea...

And waited.

"Come on... let's see the first catch... of my brand new life."

— — —

(The One Piece arc begins now. If you're enjoying it so far, don't forget to drop a comment. Your support keeps the writer's spirit alive!)

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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