Marine Headquarters — Marineford.
A month had passed since the tragedy of Ohara.
When Akainu, Aokiji, and the others returned from their mission, Fleet Admiral Sengoku immediately took Vice Admiral Garp to Ohara to confirm what had happened.
But when they arrived, the island was empty.
Rayleigh, Dragon, Jabba, and the Ohara scholars—all gone.
Only a few civilians remained.
After a brief and symbolic round of questioning, Sengoku didn't trouble them further and led his men back to Marineford.
Upon returning, he called together his old comrades—Vice Admiral Garp and Vice Admiral Tsuru—to discuss how to handle Rayleigh and Jabba.
Their conclusion: issue new global bounties and raise the rewards on both men.
But in truth, it was pointless.
Even if someone could find them, who had the guts—or the strength—to capture them?
Those two weren't ordinary pirates. And bounty hunters weren't suicidal.
Meanwhile, Monkey D. Dragon had quietly relocated the Ohara scholars to a hidden refuge, close to what would soon become the headquarters of his new cause.
After witnessing the World Government's cruelty firsthand, Dragon made his decision—
to form an organization that would oppose the World Government and spread the ideals of freedom and equality across the world.
He believed that his actions would one day bear fruit.
And thus, the first spark of what would later become the Revolutionary Army was born.
Unaware of all this, Mislanda was still focused entirely on his training with Rayleigh.
Four years—neither long nor short.
Luffy trained with Rayleigh for only a year and a half before the old man left.
But Mislanda was confident he could surpass that. Even though he was still a child, he refused to believe he was any weaker than Luffy.
Within a year, he vowed, he would master the basic forms of Haki.
As for Ryuo (Flowing Haki) and Conqueror's Infusion—well, he had four whole years ahead of him.
If he couldn't master them all by then, how could he call himself the strongest?
With the Dark-Dark Fruit and the Dragon Essence, the peak of power wasn't just a dream—it was destiny. Especially with the Dragon Essence strengthening him every day.
Every sparring match with Rayleigh made Mislanda more aware of its power.
Immortal. Indestructible. Eternal.
No matter how serious the wound, his body healed instantly—leaving no scars, no fatigue, no weakness.
And each recovery made him even stronger.
Because of that, Rayleigh's sparring gradually became more intense—
from holding back ninety percent of his strength, to eighty, seventy, then fifty…
one round became two, two became three, then four…
Mislanda lost count of how many times he'd been beaten down, or how many times he'd bled.
But he never gave up.
After one year, he had mastered the basics of all Three Colors of Haki.
His power level rose to Diamond tier.
After two years, he achieved Conqueror's Haki Infusion, and his strength skyrocketed again.
By the end of the fourth year, even Rayleigh couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
He had planned to stay five years, but Mislanda had exceeded every expectation within three.
If that was the case, then it was time for Rayleigh to leave.
From here on, Mislanda's journey would be his own.
Their final day together, the two fought one last battle.
As always, Mislanda lost—but Rayleigh was deeply satisfied.
He could now walk the seas without fear. The boy no longer needed his protection.
After their duel, Rayleigh caught a massive fish and roasted it over the campfire.
The rich scent of grilled meat drifted through the island, drawing the attention of the beasts that lived there—
—but none dared approach.
They had witnessed the strength of these two humans over the years and wanted no part of that firepit.
The next morning, Rayleigh packed his things.
"I'm leaving," he said. "From here on, your path is your own. Keep my life card safe."
Mislanda grinned. "I know. You'd better be careful too, old man. I don't want to have to break into Impel Down to bail you out."
"Hmph! You little brat—can't you wish me something nice for once?"
Rayleigh shook his head, smiling helplessly.
The following dawn, he was gone.
Mislanda stood before the wooden cabin that had been his home for four years.
After a moment of silence, he raised his hand—
Boom!
The cabin exploded into splinters.
"Alright… first stop—let's see the world!" he said with a grin.
The system had once told him that only after he became the strongest in this world would the next world begin.
He wasn't in a rush.
The world was vast and full of wonders. The seas of the Grand Line brimmed with mystery and madness.
How could he not explore it all?
And with that, Mislanda left the island.
Three years later.
Yes—another three years had passed.
Mislanda was now seventeen years old.
Standing atop the peak of Reverse Mountain, he gazed down at the surging upward currents below, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Seven years already… I've traveled across the West Blue, South Blue, and North Blue. Guess I'll skip the East Blue," he said to himself.
Before him lay five routes—leading to the East Blue, West Blue, North Blue, South Blue, and the Grand Line itself.
He turned his eyes toward the path that led to the Grand Line.
"It's time," he murmured. "Time for me to make my entrance."
He glanced once toward the East Blue, then shook his head.
Forget it. No need to go there.
The so-called "main characters" of this world were still just kids right now. What was the point of meeting them early?
With a faint smile, his body dissolved into black mist—and in the blink of an eye, Mislanda vanished from the summit of Reverse Mountain.
Meanwhile, at the base of the Red Line, the starting point of the Grand Line—
A man with a wild, broom-like hairstyle lay in a deck chair, basking lazily in the sun as he read the newspaper.
Not far from him, a gigantic whale with deep scars across its head swam gently in the waves—Laboon.
And the man watching over him was none other than Crocus, the ship doctor of the Roger Pirates.
It was no exaggeration to say that without his medical skill, Gol D. Roger would never have reached the Final Island.
Crocus had spent the years since Roger's death in quiet peace, tending to Laboon and enjoying his solitude.
Until suddenly—
"Crocus," a voice said behind him, calm and familiar. "You've lived quite comfortably since leaving the Roger Pirates, haven't you?"
Crocus froze.
Very few people in the world still knew about his connection to the Pirate King.
To hear someone mention it so casually—it could only mean one thing.
He turned sharply, eyes widening.
Behind him stood a young man—a very familiar young man.
"You are…?"
Crocus could sense no hostility from him, only a warm, nostalgic energy.
The young man didn't answer. He simply walked to the shore and stretched out a hand toward Laboon.
To Crocus's utter shock, the massive whale slowly approached—and gently pressed its head against the young man's hand.
They were… familiar. Even affectionate.
"Uncle Crocus," the youth said with a grin, "see? Laboon still remembers me.
But you… I'm disappointed you didn't recognize me right away."
"Uncle Crocus…?"
Crocus froze for a second—and then it hit him like thunder.
There was only one person who had ever called him that name.
His eyes went wide. "You're… Mislanda!"
"Hahaha! Uncle Crocus, it's been far too long!" Mislanda laughed heartily, sunlight gleaming off the sea behind him.
~~--------------------------
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