The next morning...
Fish-Man Island was boiling.
The rumor had become a shout, and the shout was now an uproar: Princess Shirahoshi was marrying a human. An unprecedented event.
From the upper classes to the port merchants, everyone was talking about the same thing: that muscular, brutal, dominant man who had defeated Whitebeard's subordinates.
Tiberion Hanma.
...
Banquet Hall.
The room was vast and sacred, with an imposing architecture shaped like a giant shell, its decorative pearls hanging from the ceiling like chandeliers.
The columns were lined in white, and the center of the hall was occupied by a stage shaped like mother-of-pearl.
The guests' seats were divided into two large wings. And right in one of them, among illustrious government figures, nobles, and high-ranking security officers, sat Shyarly, Gion—subtly disguised—Vice Admiral Tokikake, and a small group of undercover Marine soldiers.
Shyarly, with her usual sobriety, merely observed Tiberion from her seat.
At her side, however, Gion was stiff.
Her fists clenched on her thighs, shoulders tense, teeth grinding.
The look she gave Tiberion wasn't human.
Tiberion, for his part, didn't even seem to notice her.
Tokikake had his arms crossed and brow furrowed. He'd been watching Gion for a while. Since she returned at dawn, something about her had changed.
It wasn't just the clean clothes… it was her aura.
He had asked her directly what was wrong, but got nothing in return.
But now, there, in front of that Tiberion Hanma, Gion's rage was overflowing like a volcano.
Tokikake studied her from the corner of his eye, seriously.
'It doesn't make sense. Did they already fight... and she lost?'
That couldn't be true.
'Gion isn't weak. Even against an Admiral, she could hold out for hours. So… what kind of defeat could have left her like this?'
"Hmph… I don't know what the hell this Tiberion Hanma did to her," he muttered under his breath so only his group could hear, "But if my future wife wants to kill him… then that guy is my enemy."
He let out a lewd chuckle, as if already picturing himself as the hero who'd bring Gion Tiberion's head as a wedding gift.
"Hehe… who knows, maybe if I gift her his corpse, she'll finally say yes. Gion-chan can't resist a man of action…"
Shyarly heard him without even turning her head.
"Neptune…" Tiberion's impatient voice rumbled from the stage, "It's almost time. Where's Shirahoshi?"
He stood on the red carpet, arms relaxed, hands in his pockets, and a bored expression on his face. On his chest was a white flower as a symbol of the ceremony, but otherwise, his clothes hadn't changed at all. Black pants, black cloth shoes, and a black shirt.
It looked like the whole world was dressed for a wedding—except the groom.
"Gulp…"
Neptune swallowed hard.
From his place near the altar, he kept glancing toward the entrance of the hall, as if expecting something to arrive just in time to save him.
The sweat on his forehead betrayed him.
Whitebeard's reinforcements should be close. His only hope was that they appeared before Shirahoshi made her entrance. Because if she started crying in front of that entire crowd… if she got scared, then the Sea Kings lurking in the depths could react.
And if that happened, everything would go to hell.
With a forced smile, he replied:
"She's on her way. I've sent someone to get her again. It's just… well, you know how women are… they take a while getting ready."
"..."
Tiberion didn't respond right away. He just stared at him for a couple of seconds, with a strangely neutral expression.
Then he tilted his head, smirked boldly, and murmured:
"Alright. Then we'll wait a little longer…"
"But tell me something, Neptune… You're waiting for Whitebeard's sons, aren't you?"
!
The silence grew heavy.
"And what if I told you I'm waiting for them too?"
Tiberion's smile widened like that of a shark smelling blood. A curve of madness danced on his lips, and his eyes weren't just confident—they were arrogant.
Neptune felt a chill.
For a moment, it seemed to him that the monster standing before him wasn't even human. Who waits joyfully for those coming to kill them?
Was he incapable of feeling fear?
Or was he simply a demon in human skin?
Before he could come up with an answer, a deafening noise tore through the air.
Bang
Bang
Two gunshots exploded near the entrance of the hall. The echo bounced off the walls, freezing everyone in place for a second.
The grand banquet doors were violently knocked down, and a dark tide of bodies and voices poured into the room.
Pirates.
Hundreds of them.
Some tall as towers, others short and stocky, all of them with wild eyes, visible scars, and bodies tattooed with Whitebeard's Jolly Roger. They came armed, furious… and with a murderous intent impossible to ignore.
One of the first to charge in shouted with a deep voice, amplified by pure, uncontrollable rage:
"The Whitebeard Division is here to kill Tiberion Hanma! If you're not involved, get the hell out!"
The civilian guests, nobles, and merchants began retreating in panic. Chairs toppled. Glasses crashed to the ground. The musicians in the corner dropped their instruments and hid behind the columns.
In total, over five hundred pirates had stormed in.
And they weren't just grunts.
Among them marched eight high-ranking captains.
Whitey Bay, the "Ice Witch," was clearly visible.
Beside her were Epoida, André, and behind all of them, closing the march like an enraged giant, stood Little Oars Jr.
And in the middle of that hurricane, with eyes blazing with excitement...
Tiberion was still smiling.
"Quick, get out of the hall!"
"I'm serious, that's Whitebeard's crew! The real crew!"
"And they're not alone… the captains are with them!"
"My God… this group is terrifying! This time, Tiberion Hanma is done for!"
The murmurs turned into panic. Hundreds of guests began to run, pushing each other as they fled in a rush toward the side exits of the hall.
In the midst of the chaos, Shyarly didn't move right away. She remained still for a few more seconds, staring at the center of the hall, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Her eyes locked on Tiberion, still standing on the platform, calm to the point of madness.
It was as if he had already seen all this coming.
Shyarly bit her lip in distress and finally forced herself to retreat, swallowing her emotions.
"Let's go," Tokikake said in a low voice as he approached Gion. "We'll wait outside."
Gion didn't respond. She didn't even look at him. She cast one last glance at Tiberion… a sharp, cutting glare.
Then she turned and walked out with the rest of the entourage.
Neither she nor Tokikake had imagined Whitebeard would send so many captains at once. It was a response bordering on excessive.
This wasn't just a revenge mission anymore.
It was a declaration of war.
"Not even an admiral would come out of that unscathed..." Tokikake muttered, watching from a distance as the pirates spread out.
Gion halted and spoke in an unyielding tone:
"Tokikake. You handle Whitebeard's crew. Tiberion Hanma is mine."
Tokikake raised his eyebrows, surprised by the resolve in her voice.
"Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit...?" he asked, still wearing his crooked smile. "At the end of the day, he's just a big guy with muscles."
Gion looked at him then. But her face wasn't filled with rage. It was empty.
"Overdoing it?" she repeated, her voice hollow.
She said nothing more. But if a man had been able to overpower her so easily… then his true strength was far more terrifying than it seemed.
Tokikake, not fully understanding the situation, shrugged.
"Relax. They're going to tear each other apart. Heh… looks like tonight we'll be reaping big."
He smirked with malice, as if already smelling a promotion.
…
Inside the hall…
The air felt crushed by the presence of Whitebeard's division captains. But there, standing atop the stage, Tiberion remained unmoved, not shifting even an inch.
The pirates looked at him as if his grave had already been dug.
And then, Blenheim roared.
"So you're Tiberion Hanma!?" he shouted, his voice shaking the floor, "Get off that fucking stage and come here already!"
Zash
Before anyone could process what was happening, an invisible wave of pressure burst from Tiberion's body. In the blink of an eye, his figure vanished from the platform, leaving behind only air.
And when he reappeared…
He was standing less than a meter in front of Blenheim.
Everyone present was paralyzed! Even the captains couldn't follow the movement with their eyes. The only thing they caught was a blur warping the air… and then—there he was.
Blenheim, still on guard, reacted on pure instinct. Without thinking, he swung his massive saber.
"Die, you worthless insect!"
But just as the blade began to fall, Tiberion's fist was already in motion.
It was faster than sound, sharper than any cut, and packed with a force that defied all physical law.
Boom
The punch landed squarely in the abdomen. Blenheim's body—muscles tense, saber still mid-swing—was launched straight across the hall like a human missile.
Blood exploded from his mouth in a red burst, and the ground trembled as he crashed. The blow had nearly torn his stomach open. He passed out instantly, eyes rolling back.
"…"
For a few seconds, not even the echo of the strike could be heard.
"W-What…!? He took him down with a single hit!?"
"Impossible! That's Captain Blenheim!!"
"Blenheim!" shouted another pirate, running toward the captain's motionless body. "Are you alright?! Answer me, damn it!"
The rest of the squad hesitated for a moment.
But not all of them.
One of the most imposing among them stepped forward. Kingdew, the massive hand-to-hand fighter, moved ahead with fury burning in his eyes. He stood over five meters tall, and his arms were like columns.
He wore special combat gloves.
"You bastard!" he roared. "You're not even taking us seriously! Do you know what you've just done?! You've signed your death sentence!"
And with that, he lunged forward, fist raised high.
But… so what?
Tiberion, now standing over two and a half meters tall after multiple enhancements to his form, kept walking forward with the same arrogant stride.
Every step oozed the confidence of a predator that found no prey worthy of thrill.
He walked through the group like they were irrelevant shadows.
And when Kingdew, with his colossal frame, threw a punch with all his strength—time seemed to freeze for an instant.
Tiberion raised his fist and, at the moment of impact…
Pum
A dry crack echoed through the hall like thunder. Kingdew's fist shattered on contact.
It wasn't a fracture. It was total destruction.
"AAAAAARGHH!!" Kingdew screamed in agony, shattering the silence.
The pain was so intense that he dropped to his knees, drenched in sweat, staring at his arm… or what was left of it.
His forearm hung limp, utterly wrecked. The bones in his fingers had collapsed inward, and the radius was shattered in multiple spots—clearly visible to the naked eye.
"W-What… what was that!?"
"His arm… it's completely destroyed!"
Terror gripped the hall.
But then came another wave of fury.
"Tiberion Hanma, you son of a bitch!" one of the captains bellowed. "You're digging your own grave!"
"We're gonna cut you into a thousand pieces! It doesn't matter who you are!"
Right at that moment, two gunshots rang out.
Bang
Bang
From the side, a figure appeared: Curiel, with his trademark green fisherman's hat, ear protectors firmly strapped to his head, and two smoking short-barreled pistols in his hands.
He had fired directly at Tiberion's temple from dangerously close range.
But what happened next froze everyone's blood.
Tiberion didn't move.
He simply raised a hand and, mid-air, caught both bullets between his fingers.
As if they were nothing but annoying insects.
As if he had done it a thousand times before.
And in fact, he had—the Demon Brain had already foreseen it all.
Everything had been simulated in his mind tens of thousands of times.
Looking at his closed palm, he clenched his teeth with slight annoyance… and crushed his fist tightly.
Crack
The bullets, trapped inside his grip, began to compress. Three thousand tons of raw grip strength crushed them until they began to glow.
A thin thread of smoke rose from his fist.
A spark slipped out from between his fingers.
And then, as he opened his hand again… the two bullets had fused into a single deformed projectile, which he let drop onto his open palm.
"Is this all?"
The eyes of those present began to tremble.
Literally.
Their pupils. A chill crawled up from the base of their spines to the back of their necks.
Catching bullets was already insane. But crushing them with one hand until they nearly ceased to exist… that had no name.
It was as if the rules no longer applied.
What the hell was this man…?
Tiberion, without moving an inch, slowly turned his gaze toward his attacker.
His red eyes, full of impenetrable darkness, locked directly onto Curiel, who was still holding his pistols.
And just then, Curiel grinned.
"What the fuck are you looking at!?" he shouted. "I shot you on purpose, you piece of shit!"
"What, you think you're the Pirate King just because you caught two bullets?"
With a step forward, he holstered his pistols and pulled out a weapon bigger than his own torso: a rocket launcher from his back.
"I've got a rocket launcher, muscle freak! Wanna catch this too? Or are you gonna use your ass this time?"
Laughter erupted from some of the pirates.
Because Tiberion didn't answer.
Curiel didn't know—there was no way he could've known.
He had no way of understanding that his rocket launcher no longer meant a thing against that monster.
Because Tiberion wasn't just strong.
He was a biological aberration.
His body, even at just 42% of the Yujiro Hanma genetic mold, had already transcended humanity. The bones of his body—reconstructed, reinforced, and densified by the system—had a hardness seven hundred and fifty-six times greater than the strongest structural steel ever created.
A bullet couldn't pierce him anymore. A sword? Even less. A rocket… at most, might rip out a strand of hair—if it got lucky.
There wasn't a single weapon in the hall capable of causing him real harm.
________
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