The festival music felt like a lie. The sweet smell of roasting boar turned stomach-churning in the sudden, cold knot of fear twisting inside me. Three days. The big, laughing oji-san – Garp, he'd almost said his name – had vanished into the night, leaving behind only a terrible warning and the ghost of rice cracker crumbs on the stone.
I scrambled up, my red yukata tangling around my ankles, and ran. Not away, like he'd said, but towards the warmth, towards the light, towards Papa and Mama laughing near the takoyaki stall.
"Papa! Mama!" I skidded to a halt, tugging frantically at Papa's sleeve. "We have to leave! A man said— he said big ships are coming! Bad ships! Fire! We only have three days!"
Papa knelt, concern replacing the laughter on his face. "Akane-chan? What's wrong? Who told you this?"
I tried to explain, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush – the big man, the stories, the way his face changed when I said 'Hi-no-Kuni', the warning. Mama stroked my hair, her brow furrowed.
"A strange man telling scary stories at the festival, dear," she said softly, trying to soothe me. "Maybe he had too much sake?"
"No! He was serious!" I insisted, tears welling up. "He looked scared! He said... he said 'Buster'!"
The word meant nothing to them, but the fear in my voice did. Papa exchanged a worried look with Mama, then scooped me up. "Let's go talk to Grandpa Chief," he said, his voice calmer than I felt.
Grandpa listened patiently in the quiet of his study, the scent of old paper and pipe smoke filling the air. He was the oldest man on the island, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, but his eyes were sharp. He heard my story, nodding slowly. Then he looked at Papa.
"We have heard... whispers," Grandpa said, his voice raspy like dry leaves. "Rumours on the currents, carried by traders. Discontent in the West Blue. The World Government tightens its grip." He sighed, tapping his pipe stem against an ashtray. "But a Buster Call? On Hi-no-Kuni? For what reason? We follow the laws. We pay our dues. We are peaceful."
Papa clenched his fists. "But if this man, Garp... if he's truly a Marine Vice Admiral..."
"Then why warn us?" Grandpa countered, though doubt flickered in his gaze. "Why risk himself?" He looked at me, his eyes softening. "Akane saw fear in his eyes, you say? Perhaps... perhaps it is true."
The next day, Grandpa Chief called a village meeting. He relayed my story, omitting Garp's name, speaking only of a 'concerned traveller'. He spoke of the rumours, the possibility, however faint, of danger. He asked if they should prepare, if they should consider leaving.
The response was almost unanimous.
"Run? Like criminals?" shouted Kenji, the blacksmith, his face red. "We have done nothing wrong!"
"This is our home!" cried Mrs. Sato, clutching her market basket. "Our families are buried here!"
"The Marines protect us! They wouldn't harm innocents!" declared Old Man Hiroshi, adjusting his watchman's cap. "Justice prevails!"
They were proud. Stubborn. Rooted deep in the soil of Hi-no-Kuni, the Land of Fire. They believed in the inherent goodness of the world, in the protection of the flag that flew over the Marine outpost on the next island over. They wouldn't run like rats. They would stand tall. Justice, they believed, wore a white uniform and sailed on ships meant to protect, not destroy.
Papa and Mama argued, pleaded. A few families, mostly those with contacts on other islands or newer residents, grew nervous. They packed small bags, their faces grim. But most stayed. They trusted their home. They trusted the idea of justice I myself had believed in just hours before.
The second day passed under a sky too bright, too blue. The air felt thick, heavy. Even the sea birds seemed quieter. The few families who'd decided to leave sailed away on fishing boats, waving goodbye with forced smiles, promising to return when the 'nonsense' blew over. I watched them go, a cold dread settling deeper in my stomach. Papa started reinforcing the storm shutters on our house, his jaw tight. Mama packed essentials into a small chest – dried fish, bandages, water flasks – her movements jerky and unnatural.
The third day dawned grey and unnaturally still. The sea was flat, like hammered pewter. No breeze stirred the leaves. The usual morning chatter of the village felt muted, hesitant. People eyed the horizon, pretending not to. Old Man Hiroshi stood straighter at his post, his hand resting on the hilt of his old cutlass. Kenji sharpened tools in his forge, the clang of hammer on steel echoing louder than usual in the quiet.
Then, around noon, the horizon changed.
It wasn't clouds. It was smoke. Dark, oily plumes rising from the sea. And beneath them... shapes. Ten of them. Massive, grey silhouettes against the pale sky, the flag of the World Government stark and undeniable on their sails. Warships. Larger than anything I had ever imagined. They encircled Hi-no-Kuni like sharks waiting to feed.
A low tremor ran through the ground, a deep, guttural thrum that vibrated in my bones. Then came the sound – a monstrous, tearing roar that drowned out everything else. The sky split open.
Not with lightning, but with fire.
BOOM! CRACK-A-BOOM!
Giant metal balls screamed down, hitting the outer edges of the village. Wood splintered, stone exploded. A house near the shore erupted in a geyser of flame and debris. Screams tore through the unnatural quiet – screams of shock, of pain, of terror.
The world dissolved into chaos.
"They're really doing it!" Papa yelled, shoving Mama and me towards the back door. "To the shrine cellar! Go!"
Cannons roared relentlessly from the ten warships, a deafening, rolling thunder that shook the very earth. Buildings collapsed like sandcastles. The air filled with choking black smoke, the smell of burning homes, and something else… metallic. Blood.
Marines poured onto the shores from landing craft, faceless figures in white, rifles firing. But they weren't alone. Among them moved faster, deadlier shapes – men and women in black suits, their movements fluid and lethal. Cipher Pol.
But the people of Hi-no-Kuni didn't just die. Kenji the blacksmith roared, charging Marines with a white-hot shovel, swinging it like a club before being riddled with bullets. Mrs. Sato, gentle Mrs. Sato, threw rocks, pottery, anything she could grab, her face contorted in fury, until a figure in black blurred past and she simply… fell. Fishermen used harpoons and weighted nets, fighting with the desperate courage of cornered animals. Old Man Hiroshi stood before the village gate, his rusty cutlass surprisingly swift, cutting down two Marines before a high-ranking officer with cold eyes shot him through the chest.
Justice. This was justice? This indiscriminate slaughter?
Papa was trying to lead us through the back alleys, smoke stinging my eyes, explosions making me flinch. We saw neighbours cut down, homes consumed by fire. Mama sobbed, pulling me close. Then, rounding a corner choked with dust, we ran straight into them. Three Marines, their faces grim, rifles raised.
Before Papa could react, before Mama could scream, a blur of motion slammed into them from the side.
"GALAXY IMPACT!"
A shockwave, visible even through the smoke, erupted outwards. Not from a cannon, but from a fist. A massive fist encased in black Haki. The three Marines vanished, flung back like broken dolls into the debris.
Standing there, breathing heavily, fists clenched, was the big oji-san. Garp. He wore his Marine coat now, the one with 'Justice' emblazoned on the back, but it was torn, stained with soot and… blood. His face was thunderous, filled with a righteous fury that seemed aimed at the very ships firing on us.
"Vice Admiral Garp!" Papa gasped, stunned. "You're... you're fighting them?"
"Damn right I am!" Garp roared, his voice cutting through the din. "This isn't justice! This is madness! They won't listen! None of them!" He glared towards the sea, then his eyes found me, huddled behind Papa. His furious expression softened fractionally, replaced by grim urgency. "Chief! Where is he? You need to get the girl out!"
"Grandpa!" I cried, realizing we'd been heading towards his house.
We ran, Garp clearing a path with thunderous punches that sent Marines flying, sometimes deliberately missing lethal blows, other times grimly incapacitating them. He moved like a force of nature, a walking disaster, but even he couldn't be everywhere. Fire rained down. People died. The sounds of battle were everywhere.
We found Grandpa Chief in the hidden cellar beneath the smoldering ruins of his home. He was slumped against a wall, clutching his side where dark blood stained his robes. On the stone floor before him lay three objects.
One was a katana, its scabbard simple wood, but the blade itself… it was forged from something like black glass, yet it pulsed with an inner heat, shimmering slightly in the dim light filtering from above. "Kaenken," Grandpa rasped. "The Flame Sword. It drinks the heat, Akane. It remembers the fire."
Next to it was a fruit unlike any I'd ever seen. It was shaped like an apple, but glowed with a soft, internal white light, intricate gold veins swirling across its surface like tiny feathers. It felt… warm. Holy. "Tenshi Tenshi no Mi, Model: Michael," Grandpa whispered, his voice weakening. "The Angel fruit. Power of the Archangel... power to judge, to protect. Too dangerous for them to comprehend."
Finally, there was a flat, circular stone tablet, about the size of a dinner plate. It was carved from a pale, milky stone, and intricate symbols, unlike any writing I knew, spiraled towards its center, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light. "The Sunstone Heart," Grandpa breathed. "It holds... our history. The true history. Why they fear Hi-no-Kuni. Why they silence anyone who remembers the dawn..."
He pushed them towards me, his hand trembling. "They want these, Akane. The Heart whispers truths the World Government wants buried deeper than the sea. The Fruit holds power they believe only they deserve to wield. The Sword is a key... They learned we still possessed them. An informant... doesn't matter now." His breath hitched. "They declared our knowledge, our very existence, a threat."
He gripped my arm, his eyes boring into mine, fierce despite the pain. "You must survive, child. Eat the fruit. Take the sword. Guard the Heart. Live. Tell the world... tell them what justice really looked like today. Don't let our fire die out!"
Suddenly, the cellar entrance darkened. A figure stood silhouetted against the burning world outside. Old. Impossibly calm amidst the carnage. He wore the robes of the highest authority, and strange, spindly black legs, like a spider's, protruded from his back, supporting his frame. His face was serene, ancient, with spectacles perched on his nose. He looked down at us, his eyes holding no malice, only a cold, absolute certainty.
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn. One of the Five Elders.
Garp stepped forward, placing himself between the Elder and us. His Haki flared, thick and heavy, pressing against Saturn's calm aura. "Elder Saturn! Stop this madness! These people are innocent!"
Saturn adjusted his spectacles, his gaze sweeping over the cellar, lingering on the Fruit, the Sword, the Heart. "Innocence is irrelevant, Garp. Their existence threatens the balance. Their knowledge is a poison. Order must be maintained. The embers of the past must be stamped out." His voice was quiet, cultured, yet carried absolute authority.
"Order?!" Garp roared, his fists trembling. "This isn't order! This is genocide!" He lunged, his fist cloaked in Armament Haki, a blow that could shatter mountains. "METEOR FIST!"
Saturn didn't flinch. He simply raised a hand, palm open. Garp's fist stopped inches from his face, held fast by an invisible force that made the air crackle. Saturn's eyes glowed faintly red. "Your loyalty has always been... conditional, Garp. A flaw we tolerate due to your usefulness."
Garp strained, veins bulging on his neck, but his fist wouldn't move. Saturn flicked his wrist. Garp cried out, stumbling back, clutching his arm as if it were broken.
"The island will be purged," Saturn stated calmly. "The artifacts secured or destroyed. Your interference ends now." He gestured, and two imposing figures in black, Cipher Pol Aigis Zero agents, materialized behind him.
"Grandpa!" I screamed, trying to reach him, but Papa held me back.
Grandpa Chief looked at me one last time. "Survive, Akane," he whispered. Then, he slumped sideways, his eyes closing.
"NO!" Garp bellowed, ignoring his injured arm, charging again.
Saturn sighed, a sound of mild annoyance. One of the spider legs lashed out, impossibly fast, striking Garp in the chest. It wasn't a physical blow that sent him crashing back, coughing blood, but something else... an attack that seemed to drain his very will, his Haki sputtering like a dying candle.
"Enough," Saturn said. "Your value to the Government outweighs your insubordination, Hero of the Marines. For now. Do not interfere further. Secure the girl. Eliminate the rest." The CP0 agents moved towards Papa and Mama.
Terror seized me. This was it. Grandpa was gone. Papa and Mama…
But Garp, bloodied and shaking, pushed himself to his feet. His eyes, filled with anguish and fury, locked onto Saturn. Then, they flickered to me. He saw the sword, the fruit, the stone tablet clutched in my small arms. He saw the CP0 agents closing in.
He made a choice.
With a final, desperate roar, he didn't attack Saturn again. He slammed his good fist into the ground beside me. "QUAKE FISSURE!" The earth cracked, split open. Not a massive chasm, but enough. Enough to distract, to disrupt. In the confusion, as dust billowed and the CP0 agents hesitated, Garp grabbed me.
He didn't run towards safety. He ran towards the chaos outside, towards the burning harbour. He shoved the glowing fruit into my hands. "Eat it! Now!" he commanded, his voice raw.
Sobbing, terrified, not understanding but trusting the desperation in his eyes, I bit into the Angel Fruit. It tasted like sunlight and ozone, overwhelmingly pure, filling me with a strange warmth even as tears streamed down my face.
Garp half-dragged, half-carried me through hell. Buildings crashed around us. Marines fired blindly into the smoke. He deflected blasts, punched soldiers aside, his movements blurring despite his injuries. He found it – a small, sturdy fishing boat, miraculously untouched, hidden beneath a collapsing pier. He tossed me in, along with the Kaenken and the Sunstone Heart, which I clutched like talismans.
"I'm sorry, kid," he whispered, his voice thick with blood and regret. He looked broken, the 'Hero' utterly defeated. "I couldn't stop them… Even I… am powerless against the ones above." He sliced the mooring rope with a Haki-infused finger.
A cannonball screamed towards us. Garp turned, bracing himself, and met it with his own body, roaring as the explosion threw him back onto the burning dock but shielded the boat.
He pushed the small vessel away from the inferno with the last of his strength. It drifted out, caught by the current, moving away from the island that was no longer home, just a funeral pyre.
"Don't cry," his voice, faint but fierce, carried across the water. "Run."
I huddled in the bottom of the rocking boat, clutching the warm stone and the sword hilt. The Angel Fruit churned inside me, a confusing power awakening alongside the all-consuming grief. I looked back.
Hi-no-Kuni was vanishing. Not sinking, but being erased. Engulfed in an ocean of fire, hammered by relentless cannonades from the impassive warships. The screams had mostly faded, replaced by the roar of flames and the crash of collapsing structures. The sea around the island boiled, stained crimson. Black smoke clawed at the sky, blotting out the sun. Through the haze, I could just make out a figure standing amidst the flames on the dock – huge, battered, defiant. Garp. The Hero of the Marines, watching me go, trapped in the inferno he couldn't prevent, the symbol of the very 'Justice' that had just murdered my world.
My tears dried, replaced by something cold and hard crystallizing in my seven-year-old heart. The warmth of the Sunstone Heart felt like a promise. The weight of the Kaenken felt like a burden. The power thrumming beneath my skin felt like a weapon.
Hi-no-Kuni burned. And as the last silhouette of my island dissolved into smoke and flame, I didn't feel sadness anymore. I felt rage. Pure, untainted, and absolute.
The world would pay.