I had been sailing with the Red-Haired Pirates for five days. Those days were priceless. I watched them closely. Yes, they were pirates—but there was an undeniable aura of freedom and honest warmth among them. I saw their strength, the way they moved, interacted, and faced the world. I observed Shanks in particular, his unmatched Haki presence, even though he never flaunted it openly.
I quietly trained my Cosmic Yin-Yang in the corner of the deck, absorbing every movement they made, every pattern of wind they harnessed. From Benn Beckman and Yasopp, I learned much about Grand Line navigation, cross-referencing their knowledge with my Universal Star Reading. My fifteen-year-old body was growing stronger thanks to regular meals and proper rest.
Shanks and his crew didn't press me further about my past or the map I had mentioned. They simply accepted my presence, treating me like a temporary crewmate.
They taught me pirate songs, shared travel stories, and offered me the sweet drinks Lucky Roux always had. It was a raw yet honest kind of freedom—something I had never known in my previous life of Dao and abstract concepts.
I realized joining a crew like this might not be as bad as I had imagined.
On the sixth day, as twilight began to spread across the sea, I felt something. A vibration—not from the ship, nor the waves. It came from the sky.
The sensation… was familiar. Too familiar. It was the friction of Dao—two massive concepts of reality colliding, their cosmic energies grinding together and creating an anomaly in space-time. It was the sound of the universe rewriting itself, a phenomenon I, as a manifestation of Dao, understood instinctively.
"What's that?!" some of the crew shouted, pointing upward.
Above us, the once-calm blue sky rippled. A visible distortion formed—like heat haze warping the air—but on a massive scale. Strange colors flickered in and out of the vortex, accompanied by a faint rumble only I could feel deep within my soul.
Shanks, who had been lounging with a sake cup, instantly tensed. His straw hat dipped slightly over his eyes, but his aura shifted. He felt something unusual, even if he couldn't pinpoint the source.
"Captain!" Lucky Roux called. "Something's falling!"
All eyes turned skyward. From the heart of the anomaly, a glowing point shot downward at tremendous speed, leaving a fading trail of light. It wasn't a meteor—it was the residue of Dao friction, a fragment of energy torn free from the clash of two cosmic concepts.
The object plummeted toward an island that had just appeared on the horizon—an island that hadn't been there before.
"An island just popped out of nowhere!" Yasopp exclaimed.
Shanks stared at the newly emerged land, then glanced at me. His expression was serious. "That island… feels wrong," he muttered. "Something that shouldn't exist is there."
I knew exactly what he meant. The island was now contaminated with the fallen Dao energy—perhaps a fragment of another dimension, or the convergence point of an anomaly. For me, it was a lead—the first tangible clue to what had happened to my Dao, and how I might restore it.
The crew's eyes were fixed on the island. Shanks, in particular, bore an expression rarely seen—focused and tense. He felt the abnormality.
"Captain, we should be careful," Benn Beckman said, flicking away his cigarette. "That island appeared out of nowhere, and there's something heavy in the air."
Shanks nodded, then turned to me. "Eron, you saw that light fall earlier?"
I kept my voice calm. "Yes. Its energy… it's different. I've never felt anything like it. It's as if… nature itself shifted." I couldn't explain Dao to him, but describing it as a shift in the fabric of the world was close enough.
A thin grin tugged at Shanks's lips. "Interesting. In that case… looks like we have a new destination. Change course! We're investigating that island!"
The Red-Haired Pirates, known for their spontaneous adventures, lit up with excitement. The crew skillfully turned the ship toward the mysterious island.
As we drew closer, the strangeness grew. The trees were warped and twisted, their shapes unnatural, and their colors far too vivid—like a freshly painted canvas. The air felt thick, wrapped in an eerie silence.
Shanks's ship anchored at a shore of strange black sand. The sound of the waves here was different—less like the ocean's song and more like whispered secrets. Shanks, Benn Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, and a few others disembarked. I followed, the alien sensation in the air prickling at my senses.
Shanks stepped onto the sand first.
And then, everything changed.
BOOOOM!
It wasn't an explosion. It was pressure—a wave of Conqueror's Haki unlike anything I'd ever felt. Not just a shockwave—this was so dense, so deadly, it felt as though the air itself had solidified into an invisible wall smashing into every cell of our bodies.
Shanks—one of the strongest Conqueror's Haki users in the world—staggered back a step, clear surprise flashing in his eyes. His right eye narrowed, muscles tensed.
The crew collapsed. Several dropped unconscious instantly, foam at their mouths. Lucky Roux choked, dropping the meat he'd been chewing. Yasopp fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Only Benn Beckman remained standing, his face pale, gripping his knee to steady himself.
As for me—I felt the pressure pierce my fifteen-year-old body, drilling into the core of my soul. This was Conqueror's Haki beyond anything I'd seen or read about in One Piece. More than dominance—this was the pressure of existence itself. It was as if my stolen Dao was crying out, a faint echo of the power I once held.
Blood trickled from my nose, my body trembling violently—but I did not fall. My consciousness, as a Dao Ancestor, refused to kneel. I had transcended death before. No matter how strong, Conqueror's Haki was merely the will of this universe.
Everyone was confused—even Shanks. The pressure didn't fade. It lingered, suffocating, as if the island itself were a living entity radiating absolute power.
The crushing presence intensified. Most of the Red-Haired crew lay sprawled and gasping, some too weak to even speak. Lucky Roux swayed, his face green. Yasopp tried to rise, but his knees shook uncontrollably. Only Shanks and Benn Beckman remained on their feet, struggling to endure.
Shanks gazed toward the dense jungle ahead, his usual cheer gone, replaced by hard focus. He knew this was no ordinary threat that strength alone could overcome.
"What… is this?" Shanks muttered, his voice taut. "This isn't normal Conqueror's Haki… whose is it? And why is it this strong?!" He tried to take a step forward, but the air itself seemed to grow heavier, as if turning solid.
Benn Beckman, straining to remain upright, glanced at him grimly. "Captain, this isn't right. We need to retreat. Our crew can't last much longer."
Shanks clenched his fist, frustration in his eyes. He was a Yonko—one of the strongest in the world—yet this unseen power rendered them helpless.
His gaze flicked to his fallen crew, then to me, still standing despite the blood running from my nose. A spark of curiosity flashed in his eyes—how could a boy like me withstand this?
At last, with clear reluctance, Shanks made his call.
"Everyone back to the ship!" he roared, forcing his voice through the choking weight. "Evacuate now! We can't fight this!"
It was a rare sight—Red-Haired Shanks, retreating. Those still conscious dragged their unconscious crewmates back toward the ship. Lucky Roux and Yasopp, though still trembling, hurried to help.
I stepped back slowly, keeping my balance. This experience gave me new insight into just how far Conqueror's Haki could manifest as a force of existence itself.
The source of this… it had to be connected to the fallen Dao anomaly.
With great effort, the crew returned to the ship. Some still pale and shaking, others unconscious on the deck. Jaw tight, Shanks ordered the sails set, steering away from the cursed island.
The farther we sailed, the more the suffocating Haki loosened, like invisible bindings unclenching. The air returned to normal.
The crew began to recover, though confusion and fear still lingered.
"Captain… what the hell was that?" Lucky Roux asked, face pale.
Shanks stared at the shrinking island in the distance. "I don't know," he admitted—something Shanks rarely said.
"It wasn't like any Conqueror's Haki I've ever known. It felt… more fundamental. As if the island itself rejected our existence."
Then he looked at me, his eyes filled with questions. "Eron, you alright? You didn't pass out."
I simply nodded, wiping the blood from my nose.
"A little dizzy. But fine." I couldn't tell him that I was a Dao Ancestor whose Dao had been stolen, not destroyed—that I had endured pressures far greater in other universes.
"Incredible," Shanks murmured, a thin, contemplative smile forming.
"There's something very strange about that island… and about you, kid. You've got remarkable endurance."