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Why is a man dressed as a clown so impossibly strong?
The question consumed Kozuki Momonosuke's mind as he stared up at the figure towering above him. This wasn't just physical height—though Buggy stood tall enough to be imposing. It was the sheer presence that made him seem godlike. The way he occupied space, the casual confidence in every movement, the aura of absolute supremacy that radiated from his very being.
Even Momonosuke's father, the legendary Kozuki Oden, hadn't carried himself with this level of natural dominance. Oden had been powerful, yes. Fierce and unstoppable. But Buggy possessed something different—an innate sense that the entire world existed beneath his notice. Not through cruelty or malice, but through genuine, unshakeable conviction that he stood alone at the apex.
It made submission feel natural. Inevitable. Like acknowledging that water flows downhill or that the sun rises in the east.
Buggy's hand released Momonosuke's throat, and the boy collapsed onto his rear with an undignified thump. But remarkably, the hostility that had been suffocating him moments ago evaporated completely.
"This is fate," Buggy mused, his makeup-painted face splitting into a wide grin. His voice carried genuine satisfaction. "Another piece of the puzzle about this world has fallen into my lap. How fortunate."
The clown's Haoshoku Haki (Conqueror's Haki), which had already been overwhelming, suddenly intensified further. It burst outward in a visible wave of golden-black energy, crackling with lightning that arced between debris fragments. The pressure increased beyond what had pressed down on them mere moments ago—not crushing, but announcing.
I have achieved something. I am satisfied. Witness my strength.
Conqueror's Haki grew stronger as its wielder's convictions deepened, as their sense of self solidified, as their will became more absolute. What Buggy felt now—this profound satisfaction at obtaining two objectives simultaneously—fed directly into his Haki, amplifying it to new heights.
Momonosuke wasn't the only one who noticed.
Douglas Bullet, the Devil's Heir, felt the change like a physical blow. His already battered body staggered under the increased pressure. His feet, which he'd kept planted through sheer willpower, began sliding backward across the blood-slicked deck.
Impossible, Bullet's mind reeled. I'm being forced back. By someone younger than me. By one of Roger's trainee crew members. How?!
The humiliation burned worse than his physical wounds. Since Gol D. Roger's death, no one had made Bullet feel this sensation—this overwhelming gap in power that couldn't be closed through effort or determination alone. Not even Edward Newgate, Whitebeard himself, had generated this level of despair.
But beneath the humiliation, something else stirred. Something Bullet thought had died in Impel Down's darkness.
The desire to fight. To struggle. To overcome.
His dead heart, which had looked down on the world with contempt for so long, suddenly beat with renewed purpose. This feeling—this delicious terror of facing someone truly superior—was what he'd been searching for since Roger's execution.
Buggy looked down at Momonosuke with undisguised arrogance. Not malicious, but utterly confident. Like a king addressing a peasant—aware of the gap, but not cruel about it.
"I thought the Kozuki clan had been completely exterminated," Buggy said conversationally. "Kozuki Oden and I sailed on the same ship, after all. Although..." His grin turned slightly mocking. "I never thought much of your father, honestly. Too rigid. Too bound by his samurai code. But I wouldn't kill an old crewmate's son. That would be... uncouth."
[Character Information: Buggy the Clown—One of the Shichibukai, Captain of the Buggy Pirates, User of the Bara Bara no Mi (Chop-Chop Fruit)]
Relief flooded through Momonosuke so intensely that tears sprang to his eyes. Without hesitation, he dropped into the deepest bow his small body could manage—forehead pressed against the bloody deck, arms extended forward in complete submission.
"Thank you! Thank you for sparing my life! I am eternally grateful!"
There was no shame in his voice. No concern for dignity or pride. Momonosuke's survival instincts overrode everything else. Unlike his father, who'd died with honor intact, the boy understood that flexibility meant survival. Heroism was a luxury reserved for the strong. He wasn't strong. He wasn't even close to qualifying as a hero.
Restoring Wano Country? Leading his people? Those were fantasies. Right now, living through the next five minutes was accomplishment enough.
Bullet shifted his attention to the prostrating child, his scarred face showing confusion. "The Kozuki clan? I don't recall anyone by that name on Roger's ship."
"That's because you'd already left before Father joined," Momonosuke explained quickly, his voice muffled by the deck. At Buggy's permissive gesture, the boy raised his head enough to speak more clearly.
"My father, Kozuki Oden, was the Shogun of Wano Country. He joined Captain Roger's crew for the final voyage—the one that reached Laugh Tale. Without Father's ability to read the Poneglyphs, the Roger Pirates would never have conquered the Grand Line. They couldn't have even found the final island's location."
The words tumbled out in a rush, emphasizing his father's importance. If he could make himself valuable through association, maybe these monsters would continue to spare him.
"Father was essential to Captain Roger's success. He was the key to everything!"
Douglas Bullet's expression darkened as the implications sank in. "So I left just before the most important crew member joined? And that samurai was crucial to reaching Laugh Tale?"
The irony was bitter. Both Kozuki Oden and Douglas Bullet had been defeated by Gol D. Roger, but their responses had differed dramatically. Oden had accepted defeat gracefully and joined the crew as a valued member. Bullet, upon learning that Roger had an incurable disease, had demanded one final duel—a chance to prove himself against a dying man. After losing again, he'd abandoned the crew in disgust, missing the historic voyage entirely.
Pride had cost him everything.
"Fate is amusing," Buggy observed, his grin widening. "Three people connected to Pirate King Roger, all gathering at the same place and time. The former Devil's Heir. The time-displaced son of Kozuki Oden. And myself. The threads of destiny weave in interesting patterns."
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction behind the clownish makeup. This convergence was exactly what he'd been hoping for—opportunities presenting themselves through seemingly random chance.
Since everyone present shared connections to Roger, continued violence seemed counterproductive. They needed a proper setting for conversation. A civilized environment where deals could be made and information exchanged.
Buggy reached into his crimson coat and produced a Den Den Mushi, its features slowly morphing to match his own exaggerated appearance. He dialed with practiced ease.
"Bring the ship to my coordinates immediately," he ordered when the connection established. "Prepare for guests. We're having a party to welcome old friends. Break out the good liquor and meat. I want this done properly."
Pirates who didn't throw parties weren't real pirates. It was an unwritten rule.
Originally, Douglas Bullet should have received this treatment first. Buggy had intended to defeat him, then graciously invite him aboard for celebration and recruitment. But the prisoner who'd just escaped Impel Down's Level Six had proven remarkably stubborn and unclear-headed.
When Buggy had initially tried extending courtesy, Bullet had spat in his face. No appreciation. No recognition of the generous offer. Just immediate aggression—demanding they fight to the death, winner takes all.
The Devil's Heir hadn't earned his nickname through gentle behavior.
In his youth, Bullet had boarded Roger's ship at barely twenty years old and immediately challenged Silvers Rayleigh, the Dark King himself, to single combat. They'd fought to a draw—an incredible feat that established Bullet's reputation. After Rayleigh, no one on the crew except Captain Roger could defeat him in one-on-one combat.
That dominance had been his identity. His pride. His entire sense of self-worth.
At that time, the red-nosed trainee named Buggy and the red-haired trainee named Shanks had been nothing. Weak children playing at being pirates. Bullet wouldn't have wasted breath acknowledging their existence.
So when he'd escaped Impel Down and learned that those same trainees had become major powers—one a Shichibukai allied with the Marine, the other a Yonko ruling a quarter of the New World—Bullet's worldview had shattered.
How? his mind had demanded. How did those weaklings surpass me while I rotted in prison?
The only answer was testing them directly. Proving that his strength remained superior despite the years lost.
He'd been catastrophically wrong.
When the actual fight began, Bullet had thrown everything at his opponent—every technique, every trump card, every desperate gambit. And Buggy the Clown had crushed him. Effortlessly. Casually. Like an adult swatting away a child's tantrum.
Their Busoshoku Haki (Armament Haki) had been roughly equivalent—both refined to near-perfect levels through decades of combat. Their Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki) similarly matched, each predicting the other's movements with practiced ease.
But Haoshoku Haki and Devil Fruit development? Those weren't even close.
Bullet had opened with Haoshoku Haki: Entanglement (Supreme King Haki: Coating)—that advanced technique where Conqueror's Haki was woven into attacks, multiplying their destructive power exponentially. His fists had crackled with black lightning as he unleashed combinations that would have obliterated most opponents.
Buggy had matched the technique effortlessly, his own Haoshoku coating denser and more refined.
Next, Bullet had activated his Devil Fruit awakening. The Gasha Gasha no Mi (Combine-Combine Fruit) at awakened state could affect the environment itself, not just objects he touched. The entire debris field—hundreds of tons of metal, wood, and stone—had risen into the air and fused into his body.
Within seconds, Bullet had transformed into a colossus. A hundred-meter-tall giant constructed from the destroyed Marine fleet, its body reinforced with Armament Haki until it was harder than diamond. This was his ultimate form—overwhelming size combined with impenetrable defense and devastating power.
Buggy had looked at the monster towering above him and laughed.
Then he'd activated his own awakened ability.
The Bara Bara no Mi (Chop-Chop Fruit) at awakened state could split anything within range—not just Buggy's own body, but objects, structures, even concepts. The hundred-meter colossus had been carved into thousands of pieces in an instant, its carefully constructed form dismantled with surgical precision.
The fragments rained down like metallic snow, each piece perfectly severed.
"Impossible!" Bullet had roared, abandoning the giant form. "My Armament Haki should protect against cutting!"
He'd charged forward with pure physical combat—his specialty. Without Devil Fruit tricks, relying only on his superhuman body hardened with Busoshoku Haki, Bullet had been unstoppable in his youth. Even Rayleigh had struggled against his relentless assault.
But Buggy had revealed one final trump card.
"Liberation," the clown had said casually, as if discussing the weather. "My ability can split anything now. Including Haki itself."
The cutting force that descended on Bullet hadn't targeted his body directly. It had targeted the Armament Haki coating his flesh. The invisible armor that had protected him for decades simply... separated. Split apart at the molecular level, leaving him defenseless.
And without that protection, Buggy's follow-up attack had struck at a cellular level. Bullet's very biology had been fragmented—not enough to kill, but enough to inflict agony beyond description. If Buggy had wanted him dead, he'd have been reduced to component molecules.
The fight had ended with Bullet collapsed in his own blood, realizing that the gap between them was insurmountable.
Just as expected, Douglas Bullet proved to be exactly what Buggy had suspected—a bully who only respected superior violence. Beat him badly enough, demonstrate overwhelming strength, and his attitude would shift from contempt to admiration. He'd set the victor as his new goal, something to surpass through constant challenge.
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