Year 1505 of the Sea Calendar (17 years before Luffy set sail)
West Blue, inside a certain kingdom's royal palace
Smoke choked the air, flames clawing high into the night sky.
Perched atop a mountain of corpses, Rob Lucci gave his thirteen years of service to the World Government a final verdict.
A pile of dog shit.
"Lucci, your assessment is complete. You should now qualify as a full member of CP9, coo~"
The pigeon on his shoulder, Hattori, chirped happily. Lucci didn't respond.
Perhaps the Rob Lucci of the "original timeline" would have felt some pride. But for him—someone who had been a man from earth in another life before awakening here as an infant—joining CP9 was nothing more than fastening a tighter leash around his throat.
Thirteen years of blood, torture, and training in CP9's shadowy hometown had led to this moment. And yet, all he felt was cold.
He knew how his story was supposed to go: a so-called genius among geniuses, saddled with nothing but a common Zoan Devil Fruit. Sent on asinine undercover missions at the peak of his youth. Returned as a feared assassin, only to be outpaced by the age of monsters that followed. From someone the Four Emperors deemed worth killing… to someone unworthy of anything more than a side character.
Lucci's lips curled faintly.
This world may revolve around Monkey D. Luffy, but he would not resign himself to being another cog in that fatalistic script. If fate made him a clown, he would at least knock out a few of the "main actor's" teeth before bowing out.
And today, of all days…
Today was supposed to be his final test to become a full-fledged CP9 operative.
But away from the suffocating surveillance of his hometown, it was also his first true chance to slip the government's leash.
"Hattori," Lucci said evenly, "I've decided. I won't be part of CP9 anymore."
His voice was quiet, but in the cavernous, smoke-filled palace it rang louder than a bell.
"Coo?!"
Startled, Hattori flapped wildly before darting away in panic.
The words had barely left his mouth when a shadow appeared. A man in a black suit and a cat mask materialized like a ghost behind him, a flintlock pistol already leveled at Lucci's back.
"Lucci," the masked man hissed, "I can't ignore what you just said."
His tone dripped with wariness. As the appointed supervisor of this assessment, he knew better than anyone the kind of monster standing before him.
Lucci had slaughtered the very pirates who massacred this kingdom—hundreds of them—methodically, like a butcher dissecting cattle. His only injury was a bit of dirt smudging the edge of his clothes.
To display such monstrous power at only thirteen… yes, the higher-ups had every reason to call him a once-in-eight-centuries genius.
"Don't move," the cat-masked agent warned, tightening his grip. "At this distance, don't be fool enough to test the speed of a bullet—"
He never finished the sentence.
A white-hot pain bloomed in his chest, followed by the metallic taste of blood flooding his throat.
They said, "Withinseven feet, the gun is both accurate and fast and unmissable."
But against Lucci, such sayings were meaningless.
"Cough… how—how is this… possible…"
His eyes widened at the hand thrust clean through his heart. Disbelief painted every inch of his face.
"You can't even process the speed of a finger pulling the trigger," Lucci murmured coldly at his ear. "Practice more in your next life."
He withdrew his hand, crushing the heart as he pulled free. The corpse crumpled bonelessly into the growing pool of blood.
Lucci bent down, retrieved the fallen pistol, and without a change in expression fired a round into the back of the man's skull.
"This'll make sure you stay dead and be no one's lackey. You're welcome."
The head burst like a melon, splattering brain matter across the palace floor.
Lucci lowered the pistol, then absently massaged the veins throbbing in his calf. "Still a bit much for a body this young, huh?"
Tearing a strip of cloth from the dead man's suit, he wiped the sticky blood from his hand.
The Rokushiki had been the only true gift from CP9's hellish "education." And as a natural genius, he had mastered all of them. Still, he'd reported to his superiors that he had only learned Shigan, hiding the rest for moments like these.
"Lucci, there are no other CP9 members around, coo~ What should we do now, coo~"
Hattori fluttered back onto his shoulder, fretting. "If we're caught, we'll be roasted squab, coo~!"
"Maybe," Lucci said flatly. "Pigeon head with wine, roasted or boiled?"
"Don't say that, coo!" Hattori pecked his cheek, near tears.
Lucci ignored him. "The island's been cleansed. The only supervisor is dead, and no one knows what happened here. In a chaotic world like this, a genius dying early isn't surprising."
From the corpse, he recovered a specialized Den Den Mushi. He stared at the sleeping snail, thoughts racing.
With it, he could reach Spandine. And through Spandine, the Gorosei. He could use the knowledge he carried—of Imu, of the Nika Fruit—to extort power or fortune.
But eventually, he exhaled a long, quiet sigh.
He had no Celestial Dragon bloodline. No strength yet to defend the truths he carried. Playing such cards now would make him nothing more than the next "Devil Child"… or something worse.
"…Speaking of which," he muttered, "Nico Robin should also be in West Blue. I wonder where she's running."
Strength. In the end, it all came down to strength.
Slipping the Den Den Mushi into his coat, he turned toward the royal treasury. Even a kingdom this small would have something worth taking.
"Hattori," he asked suddenly, "do you rely more on your left eye or your right?"
"Coo coo?"
"Well… since I need to disappear for some time, I should alter my face. And I'll have to alter your face too. So right or left eye? Burn scar on the right cheek? Or deep slashes on the left?"
"Coo! That's terrifying, Lucci! A mask! Just wear a mask, coo!"
A faint smirk ghosted his lips. "Good idea."
The treasury door loomed ahead. Lucci felt it before he even touched it—a strange, pulling sensation. The kind they whispered about: Devil Fruits choose their own masters, and his was calling him.
Perhaps something was waiting for him inside.
A Mythical Zoan, maybe. Worth eating.
He steadied his breath and pushed the door.
Creaaak.
Light spilled into the gloom. His pupils shrank. His hair bristled.
Because staring back at him—
—was a huge horned man.
And a spiked club swinging straight for his skull.
"Tekkai!!!"
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