Half a month later, at the docks of Loguetown.

A towering man over two meters tall stood on the sun-warmed planks of the harbor. Slung across his waist was an absurdly long greatsword—an imposing weapon that looked more suited for monsters than men.

In one hand, he carried a thick cloth sack. It was heavy. Stained dark with dried blood.

Behind him, his shadow stretched long—like a predator's tail trailing its prey.

Tachibana Kyūjō stepped off a merchant ship without a word. But the moment his boots touched the dock, the atmosphere changed.

A sharp pressure filled the air, like the very sunlight had turned heavier. Dockworkers and townspeople instinctively stepped back, parting like a tide to clear his path—without ever being told.

"So this is what it feels like… standing over two meters tall, huh?" he murmured with a faint smile.

His tone was soft, but the strength in his voice seemed to sink into the very ground beneath him.

His calm didn't last long.

A squad of Navy soldiers in blue-and-white uniforms came running toward him. The symbol of Justice on their coats fluttered as they encircled him cautiously.

There were about ten of them—armed and tense. But in their eyes, there was hesitation. Worry.

Their squad leader stepped forward, voice tight with forced authority.

"State your name and purpose. What business do you have in Loguetown?"

From the way they stood, the look in their eyes—they already knew.

This wasn't a man they could handle.

But Kyūjō remained composed. He simply held up the bloodied sack.

"No need to panic. I'm just a bounty hunter. This bag's full of pirate heads. You can trade them in for Berries."

His baritone voice rang clear.

And the moment those words left his lips, the soldiers glanced at each other. Some looked relieved. Some… still wary.

The leader let out a breath and nodded, a stiff smile on his face. "In that case… please come with us to headquarters. We'll handle the processing."

Kyūjō gave a slight nod. He wasn't lying.

The bag did, indeed, contain the heads of pirates—dozens of them—hunted down over the past two weeks.

After spending years holed up in Shimotsuki Village, only now did Kyūjō truly grasp how deeply the last words of the Pirate King, Gold Roger, had scarred the world.

The seas had changed.

Pirates were sprouting like weeds after the rain.

They were everywhere in the East Blue—some amateurs, some dangerous.

During his merchant voyage, pirate crews had shown up time and time again.

Most just demanded "passage fees" and left. But not all of them played nice.

Some murdered.

Some trafficked slaves.

Some left nothing but fire and ash wherever they passed.

Those were the ones Kyūjō hunted.

And now, with a dozen severed heads in hand, he planned to use Loguetown—the gateway to the Grand Line—as a launchpad.

To search for the ones behind the tragedy of his past.

But the world was never that simple.

— — —

Inside the Loguetown Navy base, Lieutenant Colonel Boris Kaller sat behind a desk cluttered with papers, a fat cigar clenched between his teeth.

Before him, a junior officer was listing off Kyūjō's bounties.

"Captain Higgins of the Mad Pirates—1.5 million Berries."

"First Mate Savant—950,000."

"Other crew members…"

Kyūjō frowned.

The numbers were too low.

Way too low.

He'd memorized the bounty posters. He knew these men were worth more.

Were they really bold enough to cut the reward in broad daylight?

Still, he said nothing.

"Total comes to 4.35 million Berries," the officer announced, tossing a small wooden chest toward him.

Kaller exhaled a puff of smoke and leaned back lazily.

"Take your money and go."

Kyūjō clenched his fist.

He could feel the fire rising in his chest—but still held it in.

Then came a soft ping in his mind.

A message from his internal system: "Access to the archive room denied by Lt. Colonel Kaller."

That… was one step too far.

— — —

Without warning, Kyūjō turned and slammed his fist into the officer beside him—sending the man flying across the room and crashing into the wall with a dull thud.

In the same fluid motion, he grabbed Kaller by the collar and yanked him forward.

His right hand hardened—steel-like with willpower—and slapped the Navy officer across the face. Again. And again.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Kaller didn't even have time to resist.

He slumped like a ragdoll.

"I came here politely… This is how you repay me?" Kyūjō's voice was ice.

It didn't take long for Kaller's face to swell like a steamed bun. His eyes were blackened like a panda's, his lip split open, and three of his front teeth were missing.

"Enough! Please—enough! I'll return the money, double if you want!" he begged, trembling with terror.

Kyūjō scoffed. "I don't need double. I just want what's mine. And access to the archives."

"I-I understand!" Kaller sobbed. "I'll have a soldier escort you… right away…"

— — —

Unfortunately, even in the underground archives…

There was nothing.

No records of two fishermen from a small, unnamed village who were killed years ago by pirates.

"…Of course there isn't," Kyūjō muttered bitterly.

Civilian casualties meant nothing to the Navy. Unimportant. Unrecorded. Unacknowledged.

He exhaled deeply.

If that's how it was…

Then he'd hunt every pirate he could find.

Eventually—he'd find the truth he was looking for.

But as he stepped out of the base…

A new scene awaited him.

— — —

Dozens of Navy soldiers had surrounded the main gate.

Cannons aboard the warships in the harbor had swiveled into position—aimed directly at Kyūjō.

Atop the lead vessel stood Kaller, bruised, swollen, and seething with fury.

"Are the cannons ready?" he growled.

"Yes, sir—but if we fire now, the damage to HQ will be—"

"I'll take responsibility. Fire!"

And so—

A thunderous roar filled the harbor as multiple cannonballs screamed through the sky toward the plaza.

But Kyūjō didn't move.

He calmly drew his sword—Rairyūken—from its sheath.

A dark, crimson-black aura flared around his right arm like molten fire—advanced Busoshoku Haki.

Proof that this man was no ordinary swordsman.

With a single upward slash, a wave of cutting force screamed into the sky—splitting the incoming cannonballs like brittle glass.

Metal shards rained harmlessly into the sea.

Kaller went pale.

All that remained in his chest was one emotion:

Terror.

He knew—this man was not someone he could ever hope to defeat.

— — —

Kyūjō lowered his blade and stepped forward.

His sword pointed toward the sea.

Then—he raised it high.

And swung.

The sound that followed was like the world itself had cracked open.

A massive shockwave tore across the plaza, carving a deep trench in the stone, ripping through crates, ships, and harbor walls—

—and splitting the ocean.

The water parted down the middle in a narrow, terrifying ravine—stretching hundreds of meters—before it slowly collapsed back into itself.

Kyūjō said nothing.

He simply turned, walking toward the docks.

No one dared stop him.

Not a single soldier raised their weapon.

They all stepped aside in silence.

Because none of them wanted to be next.

— — —

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