Roger: The white screen's opening.
Doflamingo: Another world, huh.
Monkey D. Dragon: The leader of the Revolutionary Army from another world… I'm curious to see what kind of person he is.
On the giant white screen above, the image gradually sharpened under everyone's expectant gaze.
[Blood and fire are burning.]
[The sky is black—shrouded by the smoke rising from burning homes of commoners.]
[The earth is crimson—strewn with the corpses of civilians, spread out like jagged paving stones across the land.]
[And in this hellish landscape, only one boy of about seven or eight sat blankly among the bodies.]
[His face was obscured, his entire body soaked in blood and grime.]
[He sat there, dazed, murmuring mechanically to himself, "This shitty world."]
Roger: So this is the Revolutionary Army's leader from another world? What a tragic beginning.
As soon as the image appeared, a heavy silence swept through the chatroom.
Everyone instantly realized that the boy shown must be the "leader of the Revolutionary Army" from that other world—
the orphan of a fallen nation, just as the quiz option had said.
But seeing it with their own eyes was something else entirely.
That "orphan of a fallen nation" wasn't just an empty phrase—
this was a child crawling out of a mountain of corpses.
How could a boy from such despair grow into a man capable of shaking the entire world?
Belo Betty: So… this is the other world's Revolutionary leader?
Emporio Ivankov: Impossible… that child?
Sabo: No way, seriously?
Even the Revolutionaries—who rarely spoke up—couldn't stay silent.
The contrast was too great.
On one side stood Dragon: the son of a Marine hero, raised without want, gifted, and awakened with Conqueror's Haki coating in his twenties—one of the strongest men alive.
On the other—this boy, with nothing.
No power, no family, no background.
Just a blood-soaked child surrounded by death.
If life were a game, this was an instant defeat start.
Whitebeard: This kid… reminds me of myself when I was young.
Whitebeard's voice was tinged with nostalgia.
He, too, had once fled his homeland in a canoe through a night of blood and fire.
That homeland he'd cherished in memory—had been burned to ashes by pirates that same night.
He understood that child's eyes better than most.
Marine Headquarters.
Sengoku's expression tightened. "Could this be… a coincidence?"
The scene—the island, the port—felt disturbingly familiar.
King Riku: This port… why does it look so much like the one in the Kroyaashi Kingdom?
Rocks: Kroyaashi Kingdom? Never heard of it.
Dragon: The Kroyaashi Kingdom? That's impossible… are you sure, King Riku?
King Riku: Maybe I'm mistaken, but it really does look like it. I visited Kroyaashi when I was young—it was a small kingdom with only one port. Even though this one's burned down, the layout… it's almost identical.
King Riku: Perhaps it's just my eyes playing tricks on me. After all, this broadcast should be from another world.
Sengoku quietly exhaled.
Yes—this was footage from another world.
It couldn't possibly be their own Kroyaashi Kingdom.
If it were… that would be a scandal of catastrophic proportions.
[The flames spread; the bodies became fuel for the fire.]
[Thick smoke swallowed the boy—he had no way out.]
[Just as the inferno was about to consume him, a single slash of blade-light tore a path through the flames.]
[At the end of that path stood a tall, broad-shouldered young man, his face lined with grief, his sword held in a reverse grip.]
[With sorrow in his eyes, he strode through the flames, scooping the boy into his arms before cutting open another path. The fire seemed to twist away from his sword's will, clearing the way to safety.]
As those scenes played, the world erupted.
Because everyone recognized that tall, thick-set young man with the distinctive shikomizue blade.
One of the Navy's two recently appointed Admirals—Fujitora.
Though this version was far younger and not yet blind, his heavy features, towering frame, and signature cane-sword made his identity unmistakable.
Fujitora: W–What in the world? That's… me?
The mysterious viewing screen had its own strange power.
Even the blind could see the vision clearly within their minds.
So Fujitora, for the first time in decades, saw an image—with startling clarity—of his younger self.
Fujitora: Impossible… Thirty years ago, when the Kroyaashi Kingdom fell, I did go there—but I arrived too late. There were no survivors left!
Sengoku's face paled. He hadn't expected Fujitora to say that aloud.
But now, the truth was out—and countless people across the world connected the dots.
Dragon: So, this world being shown… it's a parallel world, identical to ours in almost every way.
Sabo: Not completely identical, Chief. There are differences—like the Revolutionary leader being a different person.
Roger: Thirty years ago, huh? Around the same time as the last screen's events. Kroyaashi Kingdom… I've heard of that.
Back then, Roger hadn't yet died—he'd already become a legendary pirate.
The fall of the Kroyaashi Kingdom had been a suppressed story, buried by the World Government,
but to men like Roger, the truth wasn't hard to uncover.
Whitebeard: Hmph. The Five Elders and the Navy are awfully quiet now. Sengoku, Garp—no comments?
Rocks: Judging from your faces, I think I can already guess what happened. Typical of your World Government's "justice."
Nami: So the Kroyaashi Kingdom was destroyed by pirates? That's awful…
Marco: Little miss, there are plenty of vile pirates out there, sure. But this time, that's not who did it.
Diamond Jozu: The Kroyaashi Kingdom was erased—wiped from the map—by a Buster Call from the World Government itself.
Nami: Eh!?