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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The world, for the man on the execution platform, had shrunk to the space between a rubber boy and a black blade. Dracule Mihawk stood as an insurmountable wall, a living embodiment of the absolute peak of power in the world. And his little brother, his stupid, reckless, wonderful little brother, was running head-first into that wall with a grin on his face.
The two halves of his soul screamed in a discordant symphony of terror.
The part that was Ace, the brother, was a raw, exposed nerve of panic. He can't win. This isn't a fight, it's an execution. Mihawk will cut him in half without even trying. He has to run, he has to turn back!
The part that was Kenji, the reader, was a cold, calculating machine of dread. This is it. The test. Mihawk isn't trying to kill him, not really. He's measuring him. Measuring the distance between Luffy and the throne Whitebeard currently occupies. But a test from a man like Mihawk can be just as fatal as a killing blow. One wrong move, one moment of hesitation, and Luffy is just a memory.
The internal conflict was a vortex, threatening to tear his consciousness apart. He was trapped between the immediate, emotional terror of a brother and the detached, knowledgeable horror of an observer. He was both and he was neither. A ghost in his own body, a prisoner watching a tragedy he had already read, powerless to stop it.
Down on the plaza, Luffy did not stop. He did not hesitate. He saw the World's Strongest Swordsman, registered the threat, and kept charging. It was the only way he knew how to move: forward.
Mihawk raised Yoru. The movement was slow, deliberate, almost casual. But to anyone with even a shred of Haki, it felt as if the weight of the world was shifting. He swung the blade, not with the full force that could cleave mountains of ice, but with a flick of the wrist. It was the single most powerful, and yet most casual, sword slash Ace had ever witnessed. The air itself seemed to part before it, a wave of invisible, razor-sharp pressure screaming across the plaza directly at Luffy.
Luffy's instincts, honed by a hundred impossible battles, saved him. He didn't try to block it. He didn't try to punch it. He threw himself to the side, tumbling across the bloody stone in a messy, desperate roll. The slash passed by him, continuing its journey across the battlefield until it struck the frozen tsunami far in the distance, carving a new, massive canyon in Aokiji's wall of ice.
The display of power was absolute. The message was clear: I am here. You are here. The distance between us is infinite.
Ace's breath hitched. His heart hammered against his ribs. The two souls within him, both pushed to the absolute limit of their endurance by this single, terrifying moment, finally collided.
There was no grand explosion. No flash of light. It was a moment of perfect, profound stillness in the heart of the storm. The frantic screaming of Ace the brother and the cold analysis of Kenji the reader did not fade; they fused. Kenji's knowledge of the future was no longer a memory from another life; it was an instinct, a dark premonition. Ace's fiery loyalty and love were no longer a blind, raging force; they were tempered by a cynical, strategic pragmatism. The sarcasm, the laziness, the sharp intellect of a slacker from another world, merged completely with the pride, the pain, and the unyielding will of the son of the Pirate King.
The internal dialogue ceased. The war between two identities was over. There was no more "Kenji's mind" or "Ace's soul."
There was only "I."
And I was Portgas D. Ace.
A new clarity washed over him. The panic did not vanish, but it was now a tool, a cold motivator. The terror was a whetstone, sharpening his focus to a razor's edge. He looked at the battlefield, and for the first time, he wasn't just seeing a chaotic brawl. He was seeing a board. A shogi board, with kings, pawns, and sacrifices. And his brother was a pawn charging straight for the enemy king, with all the strongest pieces in the game standing in his way.
This isn't just a test of Luffy, Ace thought, his mind now a seamless blend of two lifetimes of experience. This is Mihawk making a statement. He's showing the world, and Shanks, what it means to challenge this stage.
Luffy, back on his feet, was not deterred. He broke off a massive chunk of a ship's mast that was lying nearby, holding it like a club. He knew he couldn't face the blade head-on.
Mihawk almost seemed to sigh. "A piece of driftwood is a poor defense." He moved forward, his steps unhurried, Yoru held ready.
Before he could close the distance, a blue whirlwind intervened. Jinbe landed between Luffy and Mihawk, his arms spread wide. "Hawk Eyes! I will be your opponent!"
Mihawk didn't even break stride. "Get out of my way, Knight of the Sea. I am not here for you." He swung Yoru, and Jinbe was sent flying, crashing into a wall with a pained grunt, defeated not by a named attack, but by a casual dismissal.
Luffy was on his own again. He was panting, sweating, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. Mihawk was before him, Yoru raised for another strike.
Suddenly, a new voice cut in, smooth and confident. "Well now, that's not a very fair fight, is it? Attacking a young sapling with such a mighty blade."
Between Luffy and Mihawk, a figure appeared, a whirlwind of rose petals and flashing steel. Two elegant sabers intercepted Yoru's descent with a high-pitched shriek of protesting metal.
"Flower Sword" Vista, the commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' 5th Division, stood his ground, a relaxed smile on his face, though his arms trembled slightly from the sheer force of Mihawk's blade. "It's been a while, Hawk Eyes. I believe you and I have a dance to finish."
Mihawk's golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of genuine interest in them. "You would dare stand in my way, Vista?"
"My apologies," Vista replied, pushing back. "But Captain's orders were to protect that boy. And I am a loyal son."
The two greatest swordsmen on the battlefield were now locked in combat. It was not a brawl; it was an art form. Every parry, every thrust, every slash was executed with a level of skill that was almost incomprehensible. The air sang with the music of their blades, a deadly duet that cleared a space around them as lesser fighters scrambled to get away.
Ace watched, his newfound singular mind absorbing every detail. Vista is buying him time. Good. But it's not enough. Mihawk is just playing. The moment he gets serious, Vista falls. Luffy needs a different path.
His eyes scanned the battlefield, his brain, now armed with Kenji's meta-knowledge, processing variables at an incredible rate. The Pacifistas are still a problem, tying up the other commanders. The vice-admirals are holding the line. And the three Admirals... they haven't moved. They're the real gatekeepers. As long as they sit on those chairs, we can't win. We can't even get close.
The thought was a cold, hard fact. But it was followed by another, a whisper of an idea born from Kenji's memory of the story. But they can be baited. They can be distracted.
As the duel between Vista and Mihawk continued, a flash of yellow light streaked across the sky. Admiral Kizaru, who had been watching with detached amusement, had finally decided to act. He appeared in a flicker of light not far from Luffy, who was trying to circle around the swordsmen's duel.
"Ooh, you're quite popular, Straw Hat," Kizaru drawled, his voice dripping with lazy menace. He raised a finger, a brilliant point of light gathering at its tip. "It's a bit too bright for a rookie to be shining so much, don't you think? It might be time to... extinguish you."
The laser was about to fire. There was no one close enough to intercept it. Jinbe was down. Vista was occupied. The other commanders were too far away.
Luffy was a dead man.
Ace's heart stopped. His will, now unified and absolute, surged against the Sea-Prism Stone. The cuffs drained his strength, they negated his Devil Fruit, but they couldn't negate him. A low, almost sub-audible hum vibrated from the execution platform, a wave of pure, condensed pressure that was felt only by the man made of light.
Kizaru paused. The light on his finger flickered. He glanced up at the platform, his lazy expression tightening for an infinitesimal second. He felt it again. The contempt. The killing intent. It was like a needle pressing against his very soul.
In that single, split-second of hesitation, a blur of blue flame intercepted his path.
Marco the Phoenix, in his full hybrid form, slammed a talon-clad foot into Kizaru's head, sending the Admiral crashing into the ground below.
"Don't go killing the main attraction just yet, Kizaru," Marco said, hovering in the air, his body wreathed in the cool, healing fire of the phoenix.
Ace exhaled, a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Marco... thank you. He looked back down at Luffy, who was now being shielded by the 1st and 5th Division commanders of the Whitebeard Pirates. He had allies. He had a chance.
Mihawk, seeing his path now thoroughly blocked, lowered Yoru. He gave Vista a nod of professional respect. "We will postpone this," he said, before turning and walking away, his part in this small drama concluded. He had his measurement.
The immediate crisis was over. But the war was not. Luffy was still a thousand miles from the platform, and the path was still guarded by monsters.
And from his throne, Sengoku watched it all, his face grim. He had seen enough. The boy was too dangerous, too charismatic. He was a lightning rod for chaos.
He lifted the Den Den Mushi to his mouth, his voice cold and final. "The plan has been compromised by unforeseen elements. The chaos is spreading. We can wait no longer. Move up the execution."