— — — — — —
Whitebeard was gasping for air, staring in disbelief at Rimuru who was still bouncing around like nothing had happened. He'd just tanked hundreds of his punches, yet Rimuru looked completely untouched. What the hell was this?
His plan had been simple: wear Rimuru down until the kid ran out of stamina. But somehow, he was the one who'd hit his limit first. If he hadn't just used his strongest move to force Rimuru back, he might already have lost.
"What's wrong, Grandpa Whitebeard? Are my little fists too heavy for you? Can't handle it anymore?" Rimuru put on a wide-eyed innocent look, the kind that dripped with mockery, and even wiggled his tiny fists for emphasis. "Want me, a little kid, to go easy on the so-called strongest man in the world?"
Serves you right for laughing at me earlier. Now it's your turn to suffer.
Go easy on him? Haha, easy my ass. I'm Rimuru, the Supreme Grudge Collector, the Walking Blacklist. Every jerk who's crossed me has their name neatly filed away in Raphael's library. There's no such thing as 'done with revenge'—only 'not yet'… or 'not enough.
Whitebeard's mouth twitched hard as he looked at Rimuru's smug little face. Petty didn't even begin to cover it. This slime was the embodiment of "holding a grudge."
Wait… Rimuru was just a kid, wasn't he? Whitebeard glanced at the tiny figure again. Great. His own fault for picking this fight. Guess he'd have to see it through to the bitter end.
"One strike to decide it," Whitebeard growled. He was on his last legs anyway. All or nothing.
"Fine by me." Rimuru wasn't keen on dragging things out either.
Whitebeard gathered every last shred of Armament Haki into his right hand. The already jet-black fist darkened further, so much so it swallowed the light, like it was wrapped in liquid shadow. The sheer force of it made the air tremble.
Rimuru narrowed his eyes at the surge of power. "Guess I should get serious too."
"Black Flame!"
A jet of pitch-black fire erupted from his own hand, the heat so intense the space around it warped.
They moved at the same instant, their feet shattering the ground as they launched forward.
BOOM!
The collision ripped the island apart. Half the landmass was swallowed by tearing space rifts, the other half consumed by the raging black flames. Then, with a sickening crack, the entire island split down the middle.
"Damn it!" Marco felt the shockwave coming. "Fall back! Everyone retreat, now!"
Too late—the tidal waves came crashing in.
"All division commanders, stop the waves!" Marco barked, transforming mid-shout into his phoenix form and soaring ahead.
"Undying Thistle!" His blazing wings spread wide, holding back the bulk of the onrushing sea.
"Rose Rondo!" Bista slashed, and a storm of conjured blossoms sliced the waves apart, delicate petals carrying terrifying force.
One after another, the commanders unleashed their ultimate techniques. Together, barely, they contained the surge.
By the end of it, Marco was drenched in sweat, his flames guttering. He'd almost burned himself out completely.
"What about the island…?" he muttered, forcing his tired eyes toward the smoking ruins.
The haze slowly cleared. Rimuru's small frame came into view, standing steady. Beside him, Whitebeard lay collapsed on the ground.
"Old Man lost…?" The Whitebeard Pirates froze in disbelief. "Impossible! Pops can't lose!"
Even the commanders were struck dumb. Their invincible father figure had actually been defeated. For a moment, none of them knew how to react.
Rimuru, meanwhile, sprouted a pair of wings, grabbed Whitebeard by the collar, and casually flew him back toward the ship. From afar, the sight looked… ridiculous. Like a bat lugging a bull through the sky.
When he landed, the crew snapped out of their stupor and rushed forward.
"How's Pops?!" Marco asked urgently.
"It's a little serious, but nothing permanent. He just needs a month of rest," the ship's doctor reported after a quick check.
"Uh… sorry about that." Rimuru scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. Beating up their beloved captain wasn't exactly a great way to make friends.
"Don't apologize," Marco sighed, rolling his eyes. "It was a duel. Injuries happen. Pops isn't gonna hold it against you. He's Whitebeard, remember?"
"Yeah…" Rimuru smiled faintly, glancing at the old man. "He is Whitebeard."
"My Lord, don't you have that potion?" Ranga piped up, wagging his tail.
"Oh right! Thanks, Ranga!" Rimuru smacked his palm to his forehead. In each hand, a blob of blue jelly suddenly formed.
"What the heck is that?" Marco and the others eyed the strange substance warily.
"This?" Rimuru grinned. "Full Recovery Potion." He lobbed one onto Whitebeard, and it burst on contact, dissolving into light that seeped into his body.
A warm glow spread across Whitebeard's massive frame. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a long sigh. "Hah… that feels good."
The crew stared, slack-jawed. "That's insane…"
— — —
A few moments later...
"Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho, Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho."
"Gather up all of the crew! It's time to ship out Binks' Brew! Pirates we, we'll divide and conquer all the seas! With the waves to rest our heads, ship beneath us as our bed...…"
The legendary song of the Pirates drifted across the moonlit waves. Rimuru lounged on a chair, quietly sipping his drink, while a chorus of rough voices howled the tune out of sync and completely off-key.
Whitebeard's voice was by far the loudest—and also the most off-pitch. Rimuru couldn't help thinking it felt like someone had strapped a bomb to the note and launched it halfway across the Grand Line.
Still, sitting there and listening, Rimuru felt a strange peace. The wild singing reminded him of his own dad back home, who'd belt out horribly off-key songs and force the family to call it "good." And his mom… A lump rose in his throat. How long until he could see them again? Would he ever get back?
"Rimuru, you okay? Why're you crying?" Marco noticed the tears streaking down Rimuru's face and leaned over with concern.
"It's nothing." Rimuru wiped his eyes and gave him a small smile.
"Master…" Ranga seemed to pick up on Rimuru's mood. He leaned close and licked his cheek.
"Stop licking me!" Rimuru laughed, rubbing the star wolf's soft fur. The plush, fluffy texture instantly lightened his mood. Nothing beat fluff therapy.
"Rimuru…" Marco hesitated, then asked, "Do you still have… that thing?"
"What thing?" Rimuru tilted his head. "You gotta be more specific, you know."
"The blue blob you used to heal Pops," Marco explained as best he could. At his words, the entire crew stopped singing and turned to stare at Rimuru with hopeful eyes. Even Whitebeard was watching with keen interest.
Originally, he had thought his body would take ages to recover, but Rimuru had just tossed that weird blue jelly at him, and not only were his injuries gone, even his hidden ailments had vanished and his stamina fully restored. To pirates, something like that was practically a divine treasure.
Just imagine: two pirates fight to near death, and then one casually slaps a blob on themselves and is back at full strength. That's enough to make the other side die of rage.
"Yeah, I've got some," Rimuru admitted, suddenly feeling goosebumps under all those stares. He'd been just a normal high schooler, never good with attention, and even as a Demon Lord he'd rarely given speeches. Having every pirate eye on him made his chest tighten a little.
Still, he quickly composed himself and put on his best sly-merchant grin. "But what'll you trade me for it? And don't even think about offering gold or treasure. I'm not interested."
"Devil Fruits," Whitebeard said without hesitation. For something that could save lives, he wasn't about to miss the chance. With those potions, he could protect countless sons.
"Deal!" Rimuru replied instantly. "One Devil Fruit gets you ten potions. No bargaining."
The Whitebeard Pirates exchanged looks of disbelief. That price was absurdly cheap. With that merchant face Rimuru just pulled, they had thought it would cost a fortune.
Apparently, Rimuru was the worst kind of businessman: a clueless one.
In the end, though, Whitebeard's own talent for haggling came out, and he managed to renegotiate the deal, pressing Rimuru for a tougher exchange rate. They traded ten Devil Fruits on the spot: eight Zoans at ten potions apiece, and two Paramecias at twenty apiece.
That meant Whitebeard got 120 potions for 10 Devil Fruits.
Everyone was curious about where Rimuru had pulled the items from, but no one asked. After all, every man has his secrets.
From that day on, almost every Whitebeard pirate carried at least a recovery potion. They became practically unkillable, a nightmare across the Grand Line, earning a new reputation: the crew you least wanted to fight, and the crew you most regretted meeting.
...
Time passed, and Rimuru grew close with the crew aboard the Moby Dick. Of course, that didn't stop him from beating up over a dozen of them—for the simple crime of calling him a girl. That had made him snap, aura flaring in outrage. And since everyone had potions, he didn't hold back.
Meanwhile, Ranga had his own drama. Marco had once underestimated him, and from then on, Ranga looked at him every day with the eyes of someone watching an idiot.
Marco finally snapped and challenged him—only to be thoroughly crushed. Ranga wasn't just strong in body, speed, and stamina. He commanded black lightning, and his magic power had already reached awakened Demon Lord levels. Only a Yonko like Whitebeard could fight him.
And so, the days slipped by in laughter, brawls, and drinking. After a month of traveling together, the Moby Dick finally reached Loguetown.
"Pops, we've arrived at Loguetown!" the helmsman called out.
"Loguetown, huh?" A spark lit in Rimuru's eyes. "Gol D. Roger… time to finally meet you."
.
.
.