Rai D. Arashi's life settled into a rhythm both brutal and purposeful. The lonely island had no clocks, no calendars, and no seasons marked by human hands — only the endless waves, the cries of gulls, and the sun's passage overhead. Yet he counted the years by his growth, each scar on his body etched into memory, every flicker of lightning woven deeper into his blood.
By the time he turned eight, the boy who had once been a confused twenty-year-old from another world had already begun forging himself into something the seas had never seen. The Thunder Fruit was more than a gift — it was a curse, demanding mastery, demanding his very essence. At first, he treated it like a weapon, shooting bolts into the ocean, splitting trees apart with careless flashes. But soon, he learned the fruit wasn't just about destruction — it was about control.
His first revelation came during meditation. Sitting cross-legged on the rocky cliff, he listened to the hum of electricity within his veins, a faint whisper at first, then a roar. He realized he could guide it, not just outward as attacks, but inward — stimulating muscles, nerves, even his heartbeat. By focusing the current through his body, he doubled his reflexes, moved faster than his own shadow, and healed small cuts faster than nature intended. "If lightning powers machines in my old world," he murmured one night, "then here… it will power me."
But the fruit also held danger. Overcharging his body nearly tore muscles apart. One mistake and his cells screamed in pain, leaving him collapsed on the dirt, twitching, smoke rising from his skin. These failures became as common as his victories. And so, he turned to the other treasure fate had given him — the Seastone.
The Seastone was merciless. Just touching it drained his strength, smothering his lightning, leaving him weak and gasping. But Arashi embraced it. He cut slabs of Seastone into cuffs, manacles, even weighted vests. Day after day, he wore them, trained under their crushing weight, forcing his body to rely not on fruit power, but on pure will and flesh. He ran cliffs until his legs bled. He swam in the sea until his lungs burned. He fought imaginary foes, fists cracking against trees while lightning refused to answer his call. If the world was going to strip him of his powers, he swore he would still rise, unbroken.
Through pain came awakening. Around age ten, the storm within him took a new shape — Haki. At first, it was instinct. He sensed birds before they landed, fish darting below waves, the tension in the air before a storm. His mind sharpened, expanding outward, feeling the flow of life. And when frustration boiled, when he screamed his rage at the endless sky, the world seemed to shudder. Trees bent, birds scattered, and even the sea rippled unnaturally. It was Conqueror's Haki — raw and untamed. But Arashi smiled through the sweat. "So… the king's will, huh? Then I'll carve my throne in immortality."
Years bled into each other. Training became ritual, pain became prayer. Lightning wrapped his fists until they sang like thunder. He crafted techniques, naming them with a boyish pride that faded into solemn mastery. Raijin Step — using electricity to amplify his speed until he blurred like a phantom. Pulse Edge — directing currents into blades of raw voltage. His masterpiece was Thunder of Destruction, where he fused Conqueror's Haki into a bolt that shattered everything it touched, as if the heavens themselves judged his enemy.
Yet, amidst the victories, a question haunted him: Why fight? Why grow stronger? Why pursue power in a world not his own?
At night, beneath the endless stars, he whispered his truth. "I don't want to be a god. I don't want a crown. I want… to live forever. To see the end of all seas, the truth of this world. If there is a key to immortality, I will find it. If the gods deny me… I will steal it."
The seas remained silent. But deep within, Rai D. Arashi knew the world was listening.