Age 16. Shimotsuki Village.
Boredom was a physical weight. For Sol, it felt heavier than the timber he hauled, heavier than the boulders he crushed, and heavier than the secrets he kept.
Shimotsuki Village was beautiful. It was a painting of serenity, with its weeping willows, traditional architecture, and the gentle scent of rice wine wafting from the taverns. But to a creature designed for war, serenity was torture.
Sol sat on the edge of the wooden pier, his legs dangling over the water. The sea was calm. Disgustingly calm.
"Hey, Sol!"
A large, burly fisherman named Goro waved from his boat, which was docked nearby. He was struggling with a heavy net full of bluefin tuna. "Give us a hand, will ya? This haul is a backbreaker!"
Sol sighed, stood up, and walked over. He didn't step on the boat—he knew his density would sink it. instead, he reached out from the dock, grabbed the thick rope of the net with one hand, and pulled.
Heave.
Five hundred pounds of struggling fish flew out of the water and landed softly on the dock. It took zero effort. Sol didn't even flex.
"Hahaha! Incredible as always!" Goro cheered, slapping Sol on the back. "You're a freak of nature, kid! You should join the construction crew in Loguetown. You'd make a fortune."
Sol forced a smile. It was the goofy, lopsided grin he used to disarm people. "Maybe, Uncle Goro. Maybe."
Construction, Sol thought bitterly as he walked away. I have the power of a Demonic God inside me, and they want me to stack bricks.
He needed a fix. He didn't gamble with dice or cards—that was boring. Money meant nothing to him. The "Gamble" he craved was the moment when your heart stops, when the blade is an inch from your eye, when you bet your entire existence on a single split-second reaction.
He hadn't felt that in years. The bandits were a joke. The local wildlife learned to run away from his scent. He was the apex predator in a petting zoo.
The Old Graves
Needing to clear his head, Sol wandered away from the village center toward the jagged cliffs on the far side of the island. This area was forbidden to children, which naturally made it his favorite spot.
The path wound through a dense bamboo forest until it opened up into a small, neglected clearing overlooking the crashing waves below. There were old stones here. Graves. But not the standard East Blue headstones. These were jagged, upright rocks with strange writing.
Wano script, Sol recognized from his past life's knowledge.
This village was founded by Shimotsuki Kozaburo, a legendary swordsmith from Wano who fled his country illegally decades ago. He was the one who forged Enma (Oden's sword) and Wado Ichimonji (Zoro's sword).
Sol ran his hand over the rough stone of a grave marker.
"You guys were warriors," Sol whispered to the ghosts. "Real warriors. You crossed the Grand Line. You fought in the New World. You probably killed people over honor."
He felt a pang of jealousy.
"Young man."
Sol spun around. He hadn't heard anyone approach. That annoyed him. His instincts were getting dull.
Standing at the edge of the bamboo grove was a tall, bespectacled man with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a simple kimono and had a gentle, almost sleepy expression.
Koushirou. The master of the Isshin Dojo. Zoro's teacher.
"Master Koushirou," Sol bowed slightly. He respected strength, and while Koushirou looked like a librarian, Sol knew the man was a retired beast.
"You come here often," Koushirou said softly, stepping forward. He didn't look at Sol; he looked at the sea. "Few people in the village visit the old founders anymore. They find the cliffs... unsettling."
"It's quiet here," Sol replied. "And loud. The waves hit harder."
Koushirou adjusted his glasses. "I've heard rumors about you, Sol. The boy who lifts boulders. The boy who broke the bandits."
Sol shrugged. "Just rumors."
"Is it?" Koushirou turned to him. The glasses gleamed, hiding his eyes. "You have a fire inside you. A very large, very unruly fire. I can feel the heat from here."
Sol stiffened. He has Observation Haki. He can sense the Asura.
"Most boys with your... energy... come to my dojo," Koushirou noted. "They want to learn to cut steel. They want to be heroes. Why haven't you?"
Sol looked at his own hands. "Because swords break, Master. If I swing a sword with everything I have, it shatters. And... honestly?" Sol looked up, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. "I don't want to cut things. I want to break them. I want to feel the impact."
Koushirou studied him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. It was a sad, knowing smile.
"A brawler," Koushirou mused. "There is a path for that, too. But be warned, child. A sword has a sheath to contain its sharpness. A fist does not. If you do not find a way to sheath your heart, you will cut everyone around you."
He turned to leave, his wooden sandals clicking on the stone.
"One piece of advice," Koushirou called back over his shoulder. "A storm is coming tonight. A 'King' has drifted off course. If you seek a gamble... the cove to the north is where the current pulls the debris."
Sol watched him go.
A King?
Sol's heart skipped a beat. Thump-thump.
A grin slowly spread across his face. It wasn't the goofy grin. It was a predator's snarl.
The Gamble
The storm hit at midnight.
It was a violent squall, typical for the East Blue but fierce enough to send the villagers locking their shutters. Rain lashed down like bullets, and thunder shook the foundations of Sol's house.
Sol was already gone.
He stood on the slippery rocks of the North Cove, drenched to the bone. The wind whipped his hair into his face, but he didn't blink. He stared into the black, churning water.
Koushirou wouldn't lie, Sol thought. He sensed something.
The waves crashed against the cliffs, sending spray fifty feet into the air. The ocean was roaring.
And then, a sound cut through the thunder.
GROOOOAAAAARRRR!
It wasn't a natural sound. It was a wet, guttural bellow that vibrated in Sol's chest.
From the darkness of the sea, a shape emerged. It was massive. At least thirty meters long. It looked like a cross between an eel and a bulldog, with slimy green scales and a maw full of jagged, chaotic teeth.
A Sea King.
A small one, by Grand Line standards. A "Lord of the Coast." But here, in the peaceful East Blue? It was a kaiju. It had likely been dragged into the Calm Belt currents and spat out here, confused, hungry, and enraged.
It lunged at the cliffs, smashing stone with its bulk, trying to beach itself to escape the currents.
Sol didn't run. He stepped forward.
"Finally," he whispered. "A partner."
He didn't activate the fruit yet. He wanted to feel the fear. He wanted to know if he could die.
The Sea King spotted him. A tiny morsel on the rocks. With a roar, it snapped its neck forward, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow a car.
Sol stood his ground. He waited.
Closer. Closer. Bet your life on the timing.
When the teeth were three feet away, smelling of rotten fish and death, Sol moved.
"The House always wins!"
He didn't dodge away. He jumped into the mouth.
He slammed his feet onto the bottom row of the creature's teeth and caught the top row with his bare hands.
SLAM.
The jaw clamped down, but Sol held it open.
He was a fifteen-year-old boy holding open the jaws of a thirty-meter monster. His knees buckled. The pressure was immense. Thousands of tons of bite force pressed down on him.
"Nngghhh!" Sol gritted his teeth. His bones creaked.
This is it! his mind screamed. This is the rush! If I slip, I'm paste!
The Sea King thrashed, whipping its head side to side. Sol was ragdolled through the air, but he didn't let go. He laughed. A manic, breathless laugh.
"Is that all you got, ugly?!"
The creature roared (as best it could with its mouth propped open) and dove underwater.
Sol held his breath. He couldn't swim. This was the ultimate ante. If he let go now, he drowned. He had to kill it before his lungs gave out.
Down they went into the black, freezing water.
Sol felt the pressure building. His lungs burned. The Sea King spun, trying to dislodge him.
Okay. Fun's over. Time to pay up.
Sol closed his eyes and found that dark, angry knot in his chest. The Asura.
Wake up.
FWOOM.
Underwater, a dull red light exploded. The water around Sol began to boil instantly. Bubbles of steam hissed from his skin.
His eyes snapped open, glowing pure white.
Stage 2: Wrath Form.
His strength skyrocketed. The thousands of tons of pressure felt like nothing.
Sol roared, a sound of pure aggression that traveled through the water. He ripped his hands apart.
CRACK.
He didn't just hold the jaw; he dislocated it. He tore the Sea King's mouth open until the hinges of its jaw snapped.
The creature spasmed in agony.
Sol planted his feet on the creature's tongue and launched himself like a torpedo down the creature's throat. He wasn't going to be eaten; he was invading.
He coated his fist in the superheated, red aura of his fruit.
"WRATH CANNON!"
He punched the inside of the beast.
The impact was muffled by the water and flesh, but the result was devastating. The heat and force traveled through the Sea King's body. Its eyes bulged. A shockwave rippled through the water outside.
The creature went limp.
Sol grabbed a tooth and hauled himself out of the slack jaw. He kicked off the corpse, propelling himself toward the surface.
He breached the water, gasping for air, steam rolling off his red skin. He grabbed the jagged rocks of the cliff and hauled himself up.
He lay on the cold stone, the rain sizzling as it hit his superheated body. The adrenaline was fading, leaving him shaking.
He looked down. The massive carcass of the Sea King bobbed in the surf, belly up.
Sol stared at the sky. He started laughing again, but this time it wasn't manic. It was hollow.
"It was too easy," he whispered, wiping water from his eyes. "Even that... was too easy."
The thrill was gone. The "high" had lasted maybe thirty seconds.
He sat up, the red fading from his skin. He looked out at the dark horizon, toward the Grand Line.
"I can't stay here," Sol said to the storm. "I'm going to rot if I stay here. I need bigger stakes. I need monsters that don't break."
He clenched his fist.
"One more year. I'll prepare. I'll build a boat that can survive hell. And then... I'm going to challenge the world."
One Year Later. Age 17.
The day had come.
Sol stood on the small, private dock he had built near the cliffs. Bobbing in the water was his masterpiece.
It wasn't a grand galleon. It was a 20-foot sloop, built from the densest Ironwood he could find in the forest. It was ugly, blocky, and looked more like a floating tank than a boat.
He named it The Coffin. Because he was gambling his life on it.
He wore a simple outfit: loose black cargo pants tucked into combat boots, a white sash around his waist, and an open crimson vest that showed off his scars. He carried no weapons. He carried no map. Just a Log Pose he had bought from a traveling merchant for an obscene amount of money.
His parents stood on the shore. His mom was crying. His dad looked proud but terrified.
"You have enough food?" Elara asked for the tenth time.
"Yes, Mom."
"You have the fresh water?"
"Yes, Mom."
"You remember to not punch any Marines unless you have to?" Bram asked.
Sol grinned. "I make no promises."
He hugged them both. He hugged them hard, memorizing their scent, the feel of their clothes. He knew, realistically, he might never see them again. The life of a pirate—even a solo one—was a one-way ticket.
"I love you guys," Sol said softly. "Thanks for... everything. For letting me be weird."
"Just come back alive," Bram choked out. "Be the strongest. But come back."
Sol hopped onto The Coffin. He untied the rope.
He didn't have a crew to shout orders to. He grabbed the single sail rope and hoisted it with one hand. The canvas caught the wind. The heavy boat lurched forward.
As the distance grew, Sol looked back at Shimotsuki Village. He saw the dojo on the hill. He saw the forest where he trained.
He turned his back on it.
He looked forward. The sea was wide, blue, and full of monsters.
Sol cracked his knuckles. His eyes Gleamed.
"Alright, World," he said to the open ocean. "Deal the cards."
End of Chapter 4