White Flame flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his heel as he stepped calmly toward the chaos.
Each footstep echoed against the blood-soaked sand of the arena.
"Die, shorty!"
A gladiator grinned savagely as he rushed from behind, blade swinging down in a perfect arc aimed for White Flame's skull.
He could already see it—his opponent's head split open, blood and brain matter spraying across the sand.
But the strike never landed.
Without even looking back, White Flame tilted his head. The greatsword whistled past, missing by mere inches and biting deep into the ground.
In the same instant, his leg snapped upward—
CRACK!
The kick hit like a cannon. The gladiator's body flew through the air, over the edge, and straight into the waiting jaws of a fighting fish.
The beast leapt, water splashing red.
"Nice reflexes!"
"Let's see how you handle this!"
"From the start, you've been getting on my nerves. You think someone your size deserves the bounty? Die!"
Shouts rose from every direction.Dozens of fighters, smelling blood, rushed in at once.
White Flame had walked right into the center of the killing circle—where everyone became both hunter and prey.
Unfortunately for them, he was neither.
"If you're that desperate to die," he murmured, eyes glinting cold, "I'll gladly help."
He hooked his toe under a fallen sword, flicking it into his hand, and slashed once.
Shhhk.
A man's throat opened in silence. Blood spattered across the sand.
White Flame didn't even blink.The blade flashed again, again, again—three breaths later, everyone who had rushed him lay in broken heaps on the floor.
"That's it? That's all your power amounts to?"
He swung the blade once more to shake off the blood.
"With such pitiful strength, you dare dream of a hundred million Berries? Greed makes fools of men."
White Flame's tone was indifferent, his expression unchanged.
After the massacre in the illegal district, after devouring hundreds through Little Black and Little Two Black, his power had grown exponentially.
Those pirates and killers had come from all across the New World—each skilled in their own ways. Now, their techniques, their muscle memory, their very instincts, were all part of him.
Swordsmanship. Marksmanship. Hand-to-hand combat.Everything they knew, he knew.
And these so-called gladiators?They weren't even warm-ups.
"Look at that! Look at him go!"
"The one in the black coat—it's like a wolf thrown into a flock of sheep!"
"He's unstoppable! Not one of them can last a second against him!"
The host's shrill voice rang through the arena as the crowd rose to its feet.Their roars shook the Colosseum.
"Ghost Mask! Ghost Mask! Ghost Mask!"
The chant spread like wildfire through the stands.
White Flame paused, annoyed by the noise. He snapped his sword in half, grabbed one jagged piece of the blade—and flung it.
Thunk!
The shard pierced straight through the host's chest.The man froze mid-scream, eyes wide, before collapsing in a heap.
"Too noisy," White Flame said flatly, picking up another sword.
"The host! He killed the host!"
"He's so damn cool! Ghost Mask's a monster!"
"That throw—he hit him from that far away, through armor! He's incredible!"
"Ghost Mask's the next Kyros! Ghost Mask forever!"
The crowd wasn't horrified. They were ecstatic.Their bloodlust drowned out their reason.
White Flame sighed."A nation of numb fools."
Up on the platform, Diamante shot to his feet, face dark with fury.
"That bastard killed my host?!"
The Corrida Colosseum was his domain. Killing one of his men in public was an insult he couldn't ignore.If he didn't act now, his authority would crumble.
But before he could even think, the crowd roared again.
"They're all dead!"
"Every last one of them!"
"Ghost Mask's the only one still standing!"
"He's amazing! He's the real deal! The second coming of Kyros!"
In the center of the arena, surrounded by bodies, White Flame stood alone—calm, silent, smoke curling from the cigarette between his lips.
The rest were nothing but corpses.
Dozens of gladiators who'd sworn to take the prize now lay lifeless in the sand, blood soaking the earth around him.
"Well, well…" Diamante muttered, raising a brow. "He's got some skill, I'll give him that."
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Dressrosa's already on edge thanks to that damned man-eating monster… If I can get this Ghost Mask under my command, he could be useful."
The anger drained from his face, replaced by calculation.Then he grabbed a microphone and grinned.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Diamante's voice boomed. "Our champion has been decided! The last man standing—Ghost Mask!"
The audience went wild.
"Ghost Mask! Ghost Mask! Ghost Mask!"
The cheers thundered through the Colosseum.
But White Flame didn't even look up. He simply took one last drag, exhaled, and spoke softly:
"It's time."
"Little Black. Little Two Black. Move."
Diamante didn't notice the two shadows forming behind him.Two invisible humanoid specters—silent, waiting.
In an instant, they struck.
One grabbed his left arm.The other seized his right.
Both kicked off the floor, their combined strength launching Diamante straight across the moat.
Before the audience could blink, the "Heavenly Demon's Hero" landed hard on the arena floor—kneeling before the black-masked victor.
"What… what's happening?!"
"Why is Lord Diamante—kneeling?"
"Did he… trip?!"
The spectators were bewildered.
But White Flame only smiled faintly as he reached up and removed his mask.
"Diamante," he said softly, voice cold and steady."Do you remember me?"
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