-Broadcast-
There is no free lunch in this world.
Kozuki Momonosuke had learned that lesson repeatedly throughout his short, brutal life. He'd escaped Punk Hazard's hell only to find himself aboard the Buggy Pirates—trading one captor for another, one nightmare for a different variety. Every person who'd shown him even temporary kindness had wanted something in return.
Information. Loyalty. Blood.
Especially blood.
Deep beneath Iron Island—the territory claimed by Buggy the Clown as his base of operations—an extensive underground facility was under construction. The Shichibukai's official residence sat above ground, presenting a respectable facade to visiting dignitaries and Marine representatives. But the real work happened below, in laboratories carved from bedrock and reinforced with steel.
This was where Momonosuke had spent the last ten days of his life.
The banquet celebrating Bullet's recruitment had ended hours after it began, most of the crew passing out drunk on the deck. Momonosuke, still frustratingly sober despite consuming enough alcohol to fell an adult, had been escorted below by silent guards. No explanation. No preparation. Just a firm grip on his shoulder and a descent into artificial light and sterile corridors.
If he wanted to become stronger—truly strong enough to face Kaido—he would need to be cut open. Studied. Bled.
The price of power was always paid in pain.
"Mr. Buggy has given me quite the surprise," a voice had said when Momonosuke first entered the main laboratory. The tone was smooth, almost pleasant, but carried an underlying coldness that made the boy's skin crawl. "I didn't expect that a bloodline supposedly extinct in Wano Country would reappear in the world. Kozuki Momonosuke... you are truly the finest experimental material I could have hoped for."
The speaker had emerged from shadows like something born from nightmares.
His face was pale—not naturally fair-skinned, but bloodless, like paper or corpse flesh. Long black hair fell past his shoulders in a silken cascade that seemed too perfect, too maintained for someone working in a laboratory. But it was the eyes that made Momonosuke want to run: golden and slit-pupiled like a serpent's, reflecting light with an inhuman gleam. Blue-green magatama-shaped earrings dangled from his earlobes, swaying gently with each movement.
Everything about him whispered predator.
"I truly wish I could keep you here indefinitely," the man continued, his thin lips curving into something that might have been a smile. "There's so much we could learn together. So many fascinating experiments. But Master Buggy has imposed... limitations. Such a pity for the advancement of science."
[Character Information: Orochimaru—Lead Scientist of the Buggy Pirates]
The name fit perfectly. Orochimaru—as cold-blooded and predatory as his namesake suggested. He'd been born in the same isolated warrior nation as Wano Country, though from a different era or region. To him, the ancient feuds between the Kozuki and Kurozumi clans meant nothing. Bloodlines were simply data. Families were genetic repositories. And anyone who entered his laboratory—regardless of their heritage or status—became raw material for experimentation.
The first session had lasted six hours.
Momonosuke had been strapped to a medical table—not violently, but firmly, leather restraints ensuring he couldn't move during "procedures." Orochimaru had drawn blood. So much blood. Vial after vial extracted with clinical precision while the boy fought not to cry out. Then came the tissue samples—small cuts made with surgical tools, flesh removed from his arms, legs, even his scalp. Each sample carefully labeled and stored.
"Fascinating cellular structure," Orochimaru had murmured while working, more to himself than to Momonosuke. "The Kozuki bloodline factor shows unusual resilience. And there's something else here... a secondary genetic marker I wasn't expecting..."
The scientist had leaned closer, his serpentine eyes gleaming with discovery.
"This changes everything."
That had been day one. Nine more days had followed, each session revealing new depths of Orochimaru's methodical cruelty. He never caused unnecessary pain—that would contaminate the data—but he also showed zero empathy for his subject's suffering. Pain was simply a side effect of valuable research.
And the worst part? Momonosuke had endured it willingly. Because this was the price Buggy demanded. This was what becoming strong enough to face Kaido required.
Father, the boy had thought during the worst moments, did you ever have to sacrifice this much dignity? Or were you always strong enough that others couldn't treat you like an object?
Now, on the tenth day, Momonosuke pulled his shirt back on with trembling fingers. His arms were covered in small puncture marks and healing cuts—evidence of the repeated sampling. His body ached from being restrained in the same position for hours at a time. But he was alive. Conscious. And according to Orochimaru's last assessment, "progressing adequately."
"This is your final session in the laboratory," Orochimaru informed him, disposing of the latest blood samples in a specialized storage unit. "After today, you'll begin physical conditioning on Iron Island's surface. Master Buggy himself will oversee your combat training personally. Consider yourself fortunate—he rarely takes such direct interest in subordinates' development."
Momonosuke nodded mutely, not trusting his voice. Ten days in this underground hell had felt like months. The thought of actual combat training—brutal as it would undoubtedly be—seemed almost pleasant by comparison. At least he'd be outside. In sunlight. Able to move freely.
But as he watched Orochimaru organize the collected samples, labeling each one with careful notation, a question that had been building for days finally forced its way out.
"Orochimaru." The boy's voice was hoarse from disuse—he'd spent most sessions silent. "If you want me to continue cooperating with experiments in the future, I will. But you have to tell me something first."
The scientist paused, turning those golden serpent eyes toward him. "Oh? And what would that be?"
"Why are you so interested in my bloodline?" Momonosuke met that inhuman gaze as steadily as he could manage. "Your attitude has changed over the past week. At first, you treated me like any other subject—useful but unremarkable. Now you look at me like I'm the key to something important. I want to know why. I want the truth."
It was a gamble. Demanding information from someone who held absolute power over him could backfire catastrophically. But Momonosuke had noticed the shift in Orochimaru's demeanor. The scientist had discovered something—some secret about the Kozuki bloodline that even the family itself didn't know.
And if there were hidden advantages in his genetics, advantages that could make him stronger, then he needed to understand them.
Orochimaru's expression didn't change, but something flickered in those golden eyes. Calculation, perhaps. Or amusement.
"This..." The scientist's hand stilled over the samples. "I hadn't expected you to be so perceptive. Most children your age wouldn't notice such subtle shifts."
He set down the vial he'd been holding and turned fully toward Momonosuke. For a long moment, he simply studied the boy in silence. Then, coming to some internal decision, he pulled out a Den Den Mushi.
"I should consult with Master Buggy before revealing certain... sensitive information."
The call lasted less than a minute. Momonosuke couldn't hear Buggy's side of the conversation, but he watched Orochimaru's face carefully. The scientist's expression remained neutral throughout, offering only brief confirmations: "Yes." "I understand." "Of course."
When the call ended, Orochimaru secured the Den Den Mushi and turned back to Momonosuke with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"It seems our captain values you quite highly. He's given me permission to share what I've discovered." The scientist gestured toward the laboratory's exit. "Come to my office. I'll show you some documentation. There are... significant surprises regarding your heritage."
Momonosuke nodded, sliding off the examination table. His legs were unsteady after hours of being restrained, but he forced them to support his weight. "That's exactly what I wanted."
He followed Orochimaru through the underground facility's winding corridors. The complex was far more extensive than he'd realized—branching tunnels, multiple laboratories, storage chambers filled with equipment whose purpose he couldn't identify. Everything was lit by harsh artificial lights that cast no shadows. The air smelled of chemicals and filtered ventilation.
After approximately ten minutes of walking, descending two more levels in the process, they arrived at a heavy steel door. Orochimaru opened it with a key hanging from a chain around his neck, revealing his private office beyond.
The room was chaos.
Papers covered every available surface—stacked on the desk, pinned to walls, scattered across the floor in organized piles that only their owner could navigate. File cabinets lined one wall, most of their drawers hanging open with folders protruding at odd angles. A whiteboard dominated another wall, covered in complex diagrams and notations written in multiple languages.
"Wait here," Orochimaru instructed, gesturing to one of the few clear spaces where a chair sat isolated. "Finding specific documentation in my filing system requires... particular knowledge."
Momonosuke sat obediently, watching as the scientist began rummaging through the paper mountains. Folders were opened, examined, discarded. Drawers were pulled out and their contents sorted through with surprising speed. The search had a manic quality despite Orochimaru's outwardly calm demeanor—a treasure hunt where the treasure was information.
Nearly half an hour passed. Momonosuke's patience, worn thin by ten days of medical procedures, began fraying further. But just as he was about to ask if they could continue this another time, Orochimaru made a sound of satisfaction.
"Ah. Here it is."
The scientist withdrew a large document that appeared to be a technical drawing or anatomical diagram. He carried it carefully to the whiteboard and secured it flat against the surface using magnetic clips. Then he stepped aside, allowing Momonosuke a clear view.
The boy leaned forward, squinting at the image, and... blinked in confusion.
It was a drawing of eyes. Just eyes. A pair of them, rendered in meticulous detail. But the most striking feature was their color—pure white. Not blind-white, but white irises with faint lavender undertones. Delicate veins were visible around the edges, drawn with technical precision.
This is what he spent half an hour searching for? A picture of strange eyes?
"Is this some kind of joke?" Momonosuke asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. "You wasted all that time looking for a drawing of eyes? What's so special about white eyes? Is this some kind of aesthetic preference?"
The question came out more rudely than intended, but ten days of medical torture had eroded the boy's patience for elaborate mysteries.
Orochimaru's expression hardened slightly. When he spoke, his voice carried the tone of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student.
"Don't underestimate what you're seeing." He pointed at the diagram with one pale finger. "These are not merely 'strange eyes.' This represents one of the two lost dōjutsu—eye techniques—that once existed in Wano Country. Both bloodline abilities were thought extinct centuries ago."
He turned his full attention to Momonosuke, those serpent eyes boring into the boy.
"If my experimental data is correct—and it is—the blood flowing through your veins carries genetic markers from the Hyūga Clan. And it comes not from your father's side, but from your mother. From Lady Toki herself."
The words landed like physical blows.
Momonosuke's mind went blank for several seconds, struggling to process the implications. His mother? Lady Toki's original name before marriage had been Amatsuki Toki—that much he knew. But Hyūga? He'd never heard that surname. Never encountered any legends or stories about a Hyūga Clan in Wano's history.
"That's..." He struggled to find words. "I've lived in Wano Country for years. I've never heard of any Hyūga Clan. And these 'two major eye techniques'—what are you even talking about? Are you making this up? Bullying me because I'm a child who can't verify your claims?"
The suggestion that his mother had hidden something so fundamental about her heritage made his chest tighten uncomfortably. Lady Toki had certainly kept secrets—her Devil Fruit ability, her true origins, her knowledge of future events. But lying about her own bloodline? About genetic traits that would pass to her children?
"My mother wouldn't..." Momonosuke's voice cracked slightly. "She wouldn't lie about something like that. She carried me for ten months. Gave birth to me. Raised me. Mothers don't harm their children. And in the end, she used the last of her Devil Fruit power to send everyone to safety eighteen years in the future. She sacrificed herself to save us!"
The defense came out harsher than intended, driven by both confusion and a desperate need to believe his mother had been honest with him about the important things.
Orochimaru's thin lips curved into a smile that held no warmth—only amusement at the boy's emotional reaction.
"Your ability to shift between attitudes is remarkable. One moment demanding truth, the next rejecting it because it doesn't align with your comfortable assumptions." The scientist's golden eyes gleamed. "If Master Buggy hadn't specifically ordered me to keep you intact for training purposes, I'd have you dragged out and dissected into countless samples. Your cells would provide excellent material for my cloning projects."
The threat was delivered casually, matter-of-factly, and somehow that made it more terrifying than any shouted intimidation could have been.
Orochimaru leaned against his desk, arms crossed, radiating cold contempt.
"I cannot tolerate having my scientific findings questioned by a layman. Especially one who clearly absorbed nothing during his upbringing in Wano Country. The fact that you've never heard of the Hyūga Clan or the ancient dōjutsu tells me everything I need to know about your homeland's current state."
He shook his head with what might have been disappointment.
"Wano's rulers are mediocre fools with no ambition to preserve true knowledge. They let their history decay, their legends fade, their bloodline abilities disappear into myth. The country is rotting from within, led by people too comfortable and incompetent to maintain what their ancestors built."
The assessment was brutal, but something about it rang uncomfortably true. Momonosuke had witnessed Wano's insularity firsthand—the strict isolation, the refusal to engage with the outside world, the adherence to tradition even when that tradition served no practical purpose.
Orochimaru gestured dismissively toward the door.
"If you don't believe me, then leave. Get out. I have no reason to lie to you—I gain nothing from deception. After revealing these truths, you'll still be required to cooperate with my future experiments. Your belief or disbelief changes nothing about my research schedule."
The scientist turned his back, apparently done with the conversation.
Momonosuke remained seated, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to storm out, to reject these impossible claims about his mother's hidden heritage. But another part—the part that had survived Punk Hazard, that had learned to be pragmatic above all else—recognized an opportunity.
If what he's saying is true...
If I really do carry some ancient bloodline ability...
If these 'eye techniques' could make me stronger...
The boy didn't move. Didn't speak. Simply sat there, silently communicating his decision through inaction.
Orochimaru glanced back over his shoulder, noting Momonosuke's continued presence. That cold smile returned.
"Still here? Good. I was hoping your curiosity would override your sentiment." The scientist turned back around fully, settling into his desk chair. "You're cleverer than I initially assessed. Most children would have run away crying about their mother's honor. But you recognize that understanding your true heritage matters more than protecting comfortable illusions."
He steepled his fingers, golden eyes reflecting the harsh laboratory lighting.
"Very well. Let me tell you about the Hyūga Clan, the lost dōjutsu of Wano Country, and exactly what genetic advantages flow through your veins. But I warn you—once you understand the truth about your bloodline, you cannot unknow it. And the implications will force you to question everything you thought you understood about your family's history."
Momonosuke swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. But his voice came out steady when he spoke.
"Tell me everything."
Because in the end, that was all he had left—the desperate pursuit of knowledge that might, somehow, translate into the power needed for revenge.
Even if that knowledge came from a monster who viewed him as nothing more than a fascinating specimen to be studied, cut open, and catalogued.