-Real World, Across the Grand Line-
For most pirates whose minds contained little beyond violence and treasure, the revelation that future Admiral Kizaru could interfere with timelines barely registered as significant. They watched the Sky Screen footage with mild interest before returning to their drinks and brawls.
But for the few individuals across the seas who possessed genuine scientific literacy, the implications were horrifying.
Time travel wasn't just some fantastical power—it represented the complete breakdown of causality itself. If the future could reach back and alter the past, then nothing was certain. History could be rewritten. Decisions unmade. Lives erased or restored on a whim.
The very foundation of reality became negotiable.
-Egghead Island, Vegapunk's Laboratory-
The genius scientist sat hunched over his workstation, a half-eaten apple perched atop his grotesquely enlarged cranium. Multiple holographic displays floated around him, each showing different datasets related to Admiral Borsalino's physiological capabilities.
"No... no, that's still not right." Vegapunk muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled up another file. "This simply cannot happen. What variable am I missing?"
As the man who had successfully replicated Admiral Kizaru's offensive capabilities for the Pacifista project, Vegapunk possessed more data on Borsalino's Devil Fruit powers than anyone else alive. The Pika Pika no Mi (Glint-Glint Fruit) had been thoroughly analyzed, measured, and documented.
Which was precisely why the Sky Screen footage made no sense whatsoever.
"Admiral Kizaru's signature phrase asks if his opponents have been 'kicked at the speed of light,'" Vegapunk said aloud, organizing his thoughts. "According to my experimental data, his maximum velocity can indeed touch the threshold of light speed. With sufficient training, he might even exceed it."
He pulled up a three-dimensional model of spacetime, manipulating it with practiced gestures. "But traveling through the time-space channel? Interfering with past events from the future? That would require..." He trailed off, shaking his head emphatically. "No. No, it's impossible."
The Sky Screen was either lying, or there was something fundamentally wrong with Vegapunk's understanding of physics itself.
Edison, Vegapunk's satellite embodiment of thought and logic, hovered nearby in his mechanical form. The robot's processors whirred at maximum capacity, running calculations and simulations in parallel.
"Even if I dedicate every circuit in my brain to this problem," Edison admitted, "I cannot determine how Borsalino achieves temporal manipulation. The speed of light, theoretically, allows only forward time travel. Backwards causality violates every principle of physics we understand."
"Exactly!" Vegapunk gestured emphatically at the holographic displays. "It's not scientific at all!"
The statement hung in the air with unintentional irony. Here they were, in a world where people could transform into living fire, where fruits granted the power to create earthquakes and manipulate souls, where islands floated in the sky and sea creatures the size of mountains roamed the ocean depths—and Vegapunk was insisting something wasn't scientific.
Yet despite the supernatural nature of Devil Fruits, certain physical laws had always held constant. Vegapunk had built his entire career on the assumption that even Devil Fruit powers operated according to underlying principles that could be studied, measured, and replicated.
The footage from the Sky Screen challenged that assumption at its core.
"Let me review the experimental data again," Vegapunk muttered, pulling up files marked with high-security clearances.
-Flashback Broadcast: The Light Speed Experiments-
Several years ago, Vegapunk had conducted a series of experiments specifically designed to test the temporal effects of Borsalino's maximum velocity.
The setup had been elegant in its simplicity: a specialized treadmill capable of withstanding Admiral Kizaru's speed, multiple synchronized atomic clocks—some attached to Borsalino's body, others positioned as a control group outside the testing area—and measurement equipment sensitive enough to detect even nanosecond variations in temporal flow.
"Run at your maximum sustainable speed," Vegapunk had instructed. "Don't hold back."
Borsalino had obliged with his usual lazy grace, transforming into golden light and moving so fast the human eye couldn't track him. The treadmill beneath him had glowed white-hot from friction despite its advanced cooling systems.
When the Admiral finally stopped, the results were undeniable.
The clocks that had been attached to Borsalino's body showed less elapsed time than the control group—not by much, mere fractions of a second, but the difference was measurable and consistent across multiple trials.
Time had moved slower for Borsalino while traveling at light speed.
"This confirms Einstein's theory of time dilation," Vegapunk had concluded, his excitement palpable. "Approach the speed of light, and your personal time slows relative to the rest of the universe. If someone could exceed light speed—which should be impossible, but Devil Fruits don't always respect those limitations—they could theoretically travel forward through time, experiencing only moments while years passed around them."
The implications had been staggering. Borsalino could potentially visit the distant future by simply running fast enough for long enough.
But backwards time travel? That had never manifested in any experiment. Not once.
The phenomenon of light-speed backwards causality simply did not occur. Time moved forward, always forward, regardless of velocity.
-Real World KPresent Day-
Vegapunk stared at the sky screen.
"Could the Pika Pika no Mi possess some hidden ability we never discovered?" He drummed his fingers against the desk. "Some aspect that only manifests under specific conditions?"
The thought was deeply unsettling. Vegapunk prided himself on understanding Devil Fruits better than anyone alive. He'd successfully extracted their essence into inanimate objects, created artificial versions, and even developed technology to grant their powers to machinery. If Borsalino's fruit contained capabilities he'd completely missed...
"Or perhaps that lazy Admiral has been holding out on us this entire time," Edison suggested, his mechanical voice tinged with something resembling annoyance. "Concealing abilities we never thought to test for."
"Possible, but unlikely." Vegapunk shook his head. "Borsalino's personality doesn't lend itself to long-term deception requiring active effort. He's too lazy for elaborate schemes."
Which left only more troubling possibilities.
Vegapunk pulled up the Pacifista schematics—his attempt to weaponize the Pika Pika no Mi's offensive capabilities through technology. The laser beams worked perfectly. They could devastate pirate crews and fortifications with ease.
But he'd only replicated the combat applications. The movement abilities, the pure speed, the potential for temporal manipulation—none of that had been successfully transferred to artificial vessels.
"Such a waste," Vegapunk muttered bitterly. "I took one of the most versatile Devil Fruits in existence and reduced it to a simple laser weapon. No exploration of its full potential, no investigation of advanced applications..."
"Perhaps we were too focused on archaeology and ancient texts to properly develop what we already possessed," Edison observed neutrally.
The comment struck closer to home than Vegapunk wanted to admit.
Ever since his fateful visit to Elbaf, ever since gaining access to the forbidden knowledge preserved by the giants and the scholars of Ohara, Vegapunk had poured himself into understanding the past. The mysteries of the Great Kingdom. The truth of the Void Century. The legend of Joy Boy and the ancient weapon Pluton.
And most tantalizing of all: the promise of permanent, infinite energy that supposedly powered the ancient civilization.
"Perpetual motion..." Vegapunk whispered, pulling up another set of files—ancient diagrams and texts salvaged from Ohara's ruins. "An eternal engine that violates the law of conservation of energy. It shouldn't be possible, yet the evidence suggests it existed."
The contradiction gnawed at him. As a scientist, he knew perpetual motion was impossible. Yet as an archaeologist of lost technology, he'd seen too many hints that the ancients had achieved exactly that.
Perhaps he'd become so obsessed with understanding the past that he'd neglected the present. Perhaps if he'd devoted more time to studying Borsalino's abilities, he would have discovered the temporal manipulation potential before the Sky Screen revealed it.
[The scientist who had unlocked so many of the world's secrets found himself confronted by knowledge he'd failed to pursue—and the cost of that failure might be measured in futures unmade and timelines rewritten.]
A notification chimed, interrupting his brooding. Another message from Marine Headquarters—the fifteenth this week.
Vegapunk opened it with a resigned sigh.
FROM: FLEET ADMIRAL SAKAZUKI
RE: PACIFISTA PRODUCTION SCHEDULE
The Marine requires additional Pacifista units immediately. Current production rate is unacceptable. Increase output or provide detailed explanation for delays.
"Unacceptable," Vegapunk repeated flatly. "The cost of a single Pacifista is equivalent to a fully outfitted Marine warship, and they want me to mass-produce them."
The Marine was hardly a landlord with surplus grain. Their budget strained under the demands of maintaining order across all four Blues and the Grand Line. Funding for Vegapunk's research had already been cut twice this year.
To date, only one fully functional Pacifista had been delivered for active deployment. The prototype weapon had performed admirably in field tests, but scaling production to meaningful numbers would bankrupt the Marine's scientific division.
Another notification—this one from above even the Marines.
FROM: THE FIVE ELDERS
RE: SERAPH PROJECT STATUS - URGENT
Vegapunk didn't need to open it. He already knew what it said. The World Government's highest authorities had been contacting him constantly—sometimes a dozen calls in a single day—demanding updates on the Seraph project.
The Celestial Dragons wanted their angel warriors. They wanted beings like Homelander—unstoppable, loyal, perfect—and they wanted them now.
"They don't understand," Vegapunk muttered, deleting the message without reading it. "We haven't even figured out the basic principles that allow Homelander to exist. His biology defies everything we know about human limitations. Replicating him isn't just difficult—it might be impossible."
Even if the World Government increased his funding by a factor of a thousand, even if they gave him a hundred years and unlimited resources, Vegapunk wasn't certain he could create a true equivalent to Homelander.
The pressure from above was becoming unbearable. If he failed to satisfy the Five Elders soon, they would send CP0 to "supervise" his work—which really meant threaten, intimidate, and potentially eliminate anyone they deemed insufficiently productive.
"Perhaps we should reconsider our priorities," a new voice interjected.
Vegapunk turned to find Lilith, his satellite embodiment of evil and greed, standing in the laboratory doorway. Unlike the other satellites who often assisted with research, Lilith primarily managed the financial aspects of their operations.
Which meant she saw exactly how much money they were wasting on projects that would never generate returns.
"What do you mean?" Vegapunk asked, though he suspected where this conversation was heading.
"I mean we should abandon research into the Great Kingdom." Lilith's tone was blunt, almost challenging. "Joy Boy is no longer valuable. If he ever was."
The statement landed like a bomb in the laboratory. Even Edison's mechanical form seemed to freeze in shock.
"You can't be serious," Vegapunk said slowly.
"I'm completely serious." Lilith stepped forward, her expression hard. "All scientific research funding passes through my hands. I see exactly how much we're spending on these meaningless pursuits. Studying the documents of a vanished kingdom will only bring disaster down on our heads."
She gestured emphatically. "We're scientists who love research! Going against our sponsors—the World Government, the Marines, the Celestial Dragons—is the stupidest possible decision! Don't we have other research directions we could pursue?"
"The truth of history—"
"Might be a lie," Lilith interrupted. "Have you considered that? Maybe Joy Boy really is what the Sky Screen suggested—a legend that's been so deified over centuries that it's lost all connection to whatever originally inspired it. Maybe these 'Liberation Warriors' never existed in the first place. Maybe we're chasing ghosts."
The words articulated a fear Vegapunk had been nursing but never voiced: historical nihilism. The possibility that even if they uncovered the truth of the Void Century, it would prove meaningless. That the blank one hundred years contained no grand revelation, just more human conflict and suffering.
"And even if we do uncover that history," Lilith pressed, "what changes? Will publishing the truth suddenly transform the world? Reality is material. It operates on concrete forces—economic, military, political. In the end, everything comes down to who has the bigger fist. One violence defeats another violence, that's all."
Since Vegapunk had created his satellite bodies—each embodying a different aspect of his personality—they'd operated in general harmony. Each had independent thoughts, but they'd shared common goals.
This was the first time one of them had openly opposed the original.
Lilith had memorized everything shown on the Sky Screen. She'd seen the warnings. She knew what happened to those who pursued forbidden knowledge.
And she had decided their survival mattered more than the truth.
"I can't abandon this research." Vegapunk's voice was quiet but firm. "I won't let Kuma down. Joy Boy is what he's always dreamed of understanding."
The mention of Bartholomew Kuma hung heavy in the air.
The massive man known as Tyrant Kuma—former Revolutionary Army commander, former Warlord of the Sea, member of the near-extinct Buccaneer race—had become Vegapunk's experimental subject. Soon, he would lose his self-awareness entirely, transformed into nothing more than a living weapon at the World Government's disposal.
Vegapunk carried that guilt like a stone in his chest.
When studying Kuma's unique biology, the scientist had become fascinated by the legends of the Buccaneers. This ancient race, persecuted and nearly exterminated by the World Government, had worshipped Joy Boy as their deliverer. They'd preserved stories and prayers passed down through generations, waiting for the day their savior would return.
Kuma had shared those stories with Vegapunk during the early, voluntary phases of their research partnership. The Revolutionary's eyes had shone with such hope, such absolute faith that Joy Boy would come and free all oppressed peoples.
That hope had moved Vegapunk deeply. It had reignited his own desire to uncover the truth—to understand what Joy Boy truly represented and whether that ancient promise of liberation could be fulfilled.
Now Kuma was nearly gone. His mind had been systematically erased, his body converted into an obedient machine. All because the laboratory was monitored by the Five Elders. All because Vegapunk had been too negligent, too focused on his research to notice how his work was being twisted.
Some might say he and Saint Saturn had conspired together to destroy Kuma. The evidence certainly suggested as much.
The Pacifista project had been named specifically because it carried Kuma's hope for world peace. The tyrant who bore that title had dreamed of a world without war, and Vegapunk had promised the weapons he built would serve that dream.
Bitter irony, given what the Pacifistas were actually used for.
"Weapons are weapons," Lilith said, as if reading his thoughts. "They're developed to kill people. Sometimes they kill pirates. Sometimes they kill Marines. Sometimes they kill innocent civilians. World peace is just wishful thinking—a fantasy that appeals to those too naive to accept reality."
She moved closer, her expression softening slightly. "As long as humans exist, there will be disputes. Conflict is our nature. You can't science your way out of that fundamental truth."
Vegapunk wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that knowledge and understanding could overcome humanity's worst impulses.
But looking at what he'd done to Kuma—looking at the weapons he'd built, the technology he'd sold to tyrants—the words died in his throat.
"The Sky Screen is targeting us deliberately," Vegapunk said instead. "Why? What does thing gain by revealing these things? Is it really so difficult to study archaeology and science in secret? Why must we be remembered, exposed, put at risk?"
The questions had no good answers.
Edison hovered closer, his mechanical voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps the creator wants us to change course. Perhaps this is a warning."
"Or perhaps he just wants to watch us squirm," Lilith countered. "Entertainment for the masses, watching the great Vegapunk fail to replicate Homelander or satisfy the Celestial Dragons."
Vegapunk rubbed his temples, the enormous brain atop his head throbbing with tension.
Creating a Seraph like Homelander was impossible with current technology. He'd examined the footage frame by frame, analyzed every visible feat of strength and durability, and concluded that the being defied known biological limits.
Even if he was given a thousand times his current funding, even if granted ten thousand years to research—Vegapunk wasn't certain he could produce a true equivalent.
Yet the Celestial Dragons didn't care about impossibility. They wanted their angels. They wanted proof that humanity could be perfected, elevated beyond its limitations.
And if Vegapunk failed to deliver, someone would pay the price. Maybe him. Maybe his satellites. Maybe Sentomaru or the other assistants he'd come to care for.
"We're trapped," Vegapunk admitted quietly. "Trapped between the truth we're pursuing and the masters we serve. Between what we know is right and what we're being forced to do."
Lilith's expression softened completely—perhaps the first genuine emotion she'd shown since entering the laboratory.
"Then maybe," she said gently, "it's time to stop pursuing truth and start pursuing survival. We can't save the world if we're dead."
The laboratory fell silent except for the hum of machinery and the distant sound of waves against Egghead's shore.
Vegapunk stared at his screens—at the data about Borsalino's impossible time travel, at the budget reports showing their dwindling funds, at the schematics for weapons he'd never wanted to build.
Somewhere in the distance, the Sky Screen continued broadcasting futures that hadn't yet come to pass and pasts that might be rewritten.
And the greatest scientist alive wondered if perhaps ignorance had been a blessing after all.
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