I've done something in this chapter.
Remember how a narrator (Tengen) glazes everyone in Jujutsu Kaisen.
Yeah, I've done the same in this chapter too.
It might be little bit corny, but bear it with me, for I am going to do this type of things more in future chapters.
(Only rarely or when needed)
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I'll add pics of the characters between the chapter.
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Thought of the day:
"Before you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, you must first become the light within the tunnel."
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Attendance Please:
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PARADISE (GRANDLINE)—
A lone striker cut through the rough waters like a blade through silk, a waterproof yellow skiff shaped like a half crescent, its rear engine spitting a constant stream of fire that hissed against the salt spray. The vessel left a trail of steam behind it.
On its black sail, stretched taut against a modest mast, the Jolly Roger of Edward Newgate billowed with quiet arrogance. The world recognized that symbol. The world feared it. Whitebeard, the Strongest Man Alive. This tiny skiff, racing through waters that had swallowed entire fleets, bore that name like a challenge.
The man in the striker's single seat appeared far too relaxed for someone crossing the most dangerous stretch of ocean.
He was tall and lean, all muscle, with jaw-length curly black hair whipping wildly in the wind. Freckles dotted the skin just beneath his eyes, a boyish detail that seemed almost out of place on a body built like his. He sat completely shirtless, the sea spray glistening on his well-defined muscles.
On his back, the Whitebeard Pirates' Jolly Roger stretched across his shoulder blades. On his upper left arm, a tattoo spelled out 'ASCE' vertically, though the 'S' was crossed out with a flat horizontal line.
A red beaded necklace clicked softly against his collarbone with every jolt of the striker. His orange hat, with two blue smiley faces, one frowning and one smiling, and a string of red beads above the rim, sat firmly on his head despite the wind's best efforts. Two long orange side straps hung down, meeting at a large medallion shaped like a bull's skull, with orange tassels that danced like flames.
At that moment, he was grinning at a crumpled bounty poster.
"So, you've finally set sail, huh?"
His voice was warm, tinged with something like pride. He traced the face on the poster with his thumb, a face he had known since it was covered in snot and stubborn determination.
"And it looks like you even broke my record for the first bounty." His grin widened, sharp and delighted. "You absolute menace."
Then his dark eyes shifted to the second poster he held in his hand.
"Vice-captain, huh?"
He studied the face on the paper closely.
"Well then," he murmured, "it's time to see what kind of man you are to be my little brother's first mate."
Narrator: This young man is none other than Portgas D Ace, known across the seas as Fire Fist Ace, a world-famous pirate with a bounty of 853 million berries. He is the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates and the sworn older brother of Monkey D Luffy.
But there is a secret he carries like a stone in his chest.
He is the only son of the late Pirate King, Gol D. Roger. Only a few who stand closest to him know this truth, and his younger brother Luffy is one of them.
Yet here is where this world's story diverges from what might have been.
Ace never hated being the son of a man the world despised. He never wasted his breath cursing a ghost. But he didn't care about his late father either. The man was a stranger who left behind nothing but a legacy of blood and chaos. That is why Ace carries his mother's name.
But the most important thing, the quality that distinguishes this Ace from any other version of himself, is that he is fully and terrifyingly aware of the power burning in his veins.
When he became a pirate three years ago, he did not drift aimlessly, waiting for purpose to find him. Instead, he sought out Whitebeard himself, having heard the hidden rumors, whispers that his father and the World's Strongest Man were once rivals who clashed with such force that they split the sky.
Whitebeard glanced at Ace just once.
And he saw a young Roger staring back at him.
So, as a former rival of Roger, and perhaps for reasons even the old man himself doesn't fully understand, Whitebeard took Ace under his wing. Under the guidance of the Strongest Man Alive, Ace's potential was fully realized.
Now, Fire Fist Ace is renowned worldwide as one of the strongest pirates of the new generation.
And he is very, very interested in meeting the man sailing alongside his little brother.
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ON A CERTAIN ISLAND IN THE GRANDLINE—
The island did not belong to them.
That was the whole point, of course.
"AARGH!! HAWKEYE!! NO!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?"
The shout came from somewhere within the cluster of rough-looking men, who parted like waves before a predator.
Dracule Mihawk walked through the gap they had made without so much as glancing at them. His coat barely stirred despite the ocean breeze, and his eyes remained fixed on a single spot.
"Camping on an island in another Emperor's territory," Mihawk said flatly and dryly. "Truly, you never cease to surprise me, Red Hair."
He stopped in front of a beach chair that looked far more comfortable than it had any right to be.
The man stretched out in it was the picture of laziness. His nape-length red hair was slicked back, with a few stray strands falling across his forehead. He wore a simple white shirt, untucked and half-buttoned, revealing the middle of his chest and the upper lines of his stomach. His red baggy pants, adorned with a green-yellow floral pattern, were cut below the knees and bunched halfway up his shins.
Two details stood out, even to those who already knew what to expect.
First, his left sleeve was rolled up to the bicep, revealing nothing but air where his arm should have been.
Second, three parallel scars ran at an angle over his untouched left eye.
Narrator: This unique, lazy-looking man, who has the audacity to camp on an island in Emperor Big Mom's territory as if it were a public park, is none other than Red-Haired Shanks, another Emperor of the Sea.
Shanks opened his eyes and looked at Mihawk with a grin that had both charmed and annoyed people in equal measure for decades.
"Hehehe... you know me, buddy. I love messing with these old monsters."
"I am not your buddy."
Mihawk spoke the words with the same expression one might use when commenting on the weather.
"Oof!" Shanks grabbed his chest with his remaining hand; his face contorted in exaggerated agony. "You wound my heart with those words!"
His crewmates chuckled at their captain's antics. They had seen this show before, and it never got old.
Mihawk did not react; even a statue would have shown more expression.
Shanks pouted. A grown man of thirty-seven years, an Emperor of the Sea who could split the heavens with his Conqueror's Haki, pouted like a child denied candy.
"Stop it." Mihawk's tone could cut glass. "You look like an even bigger fool than you already are."
Shanks sighed and leaned back in his beach chair, appearing as carefree as a man could be.
"So, what brings you here?" he asked, waving his hand vaguely. "If you want to spar, you'll have to wait. I'm quite drunk right now."
A moment of silence.
"I have no interest in sparring with you."
Mihawk's words fell like stones into still water.
"You are nothing but half the man I once knew," he said flatly. "I would rather go and spar with your friend instead."
"Hey, now..."
Shanks's voice had gone quiet.
"...are you underestimating me, Dracule Mihawk?"
The pressure descended like an invisible fist.
"I can still take you on."
The pressure intensified.
"...with one hand tied behind my back..."
The pause lengthened. And then—
"...HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter burst from Shanks like a dam breaking, loud, genuine, and ridiculous. The tension vanished as if it had never existed. After a moment of stunned silence, his crew erupted into their own laughter at their captain's absolutely terrible dad joke.
Mihawk observed the scene before him.
His expression suggested that he was reconsidering several life choices that had led to this moment.
"If you are done with your ridiculous jokes," he said, his words somehow remaining flat despite the laughter surrounding him, "I have something for you."
His hand disappeared into his trench coat and emerged holding two rolled-up papers.
Benn Beckman stepped forward. He took the papers without a word, unrolled the first one, and blinked in surprise.
Then he blinked again.
"Oi, Benn. What is it?" Shanks' impatience was almost childish, almost endearing, if you didn't know what that impatience could lead to when directed at enemies.
Benn chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "I think you're going to like this one."
He handed over the paper. Shanks took it and glanced down.
His eyes widened.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
This laugh was different, louder and brighter, the laugh of someone who had just received the best news in years.
"BOYS, LOOK WHAT I GOT HERE!"
They gathered around him, craning their necks like children around a campfire.
One by one, their expressions changed.
"No way!"
"Is that real?!"
"This kid... he actually did it!"
"So, he finally set sail!"
"Hahaha... look at his face! He looks so incredibly happy!"
Luffy's bounty poster. Their little anchor boy, the kid who had declared he would become Pirate King, was now officially a wanted man.
Shanks stared at the poster, and for a brief moment, his grin softened into something gentler.
Ten years. Had it really been ten years since that day in Foosha Village? Since a rubber-brained kid had shouted his dream to the sky? Since Shanks had traded an arm for a future he believed in more than anything else?
"Time sure flies," he muttered.
Then his eye caught Benn, who had gone very still. The first mate was staring at the second poster with an expression Shanks couldn't quite decipher.
"Who's that, Benn?"
Benn showed it to him.
Shanks looked at the face on the poster, pink hair and eyes that seemed somehow familiar.
"Holy shit."
He recognized that face, not personally, as he had never met the boy. But the hair color, the shape of the jaw, and most of all, those eyes. Those eyes belonged to a man who once kept even the late Pirate King on his toes.
The Demon of the Marines: Admiral Itadori Wasuke.
"Is he really who I think he is?" Shanks asked, his voice shedding all traces of drunken laziness.
Mihawk nodded once. "That is correct. He is the grandson of the late Itadori Wasuke."
"Late?"
The word caught Shanks off guard. The Demon of the Marines was gone, another legend from the old era, now faded into memory. For a moment, sadness crossed Shanks' face. The world was changing.
Then he started laughing.
"HAHAHAHAHA... This is pure GOLD. Luffy is the grandson of the Hero of the Marines, and this Yuji boy is the grandson of the Demon of the Marines! And now BOTH of them are pirates! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
He slapped his knee hard enough to make the beach chair creak in protest.
"This is a massive slap in the face to the Navy and the World Government! Oh man, this is the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life!"
Benn cracked. The unshakable first mate started laughing, and the rest of the crew, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Limejuice, all of them, joined in until the beach rang with the sound of pure, undiluted glee at someone else's misfortune.
To them, seeing these two boys, blood descendants of two of the most famous and powerful Marines to ever serve, flying pirate flags was like giving the World Government a huge middle finger. No, it was more than that. It was like giving them two enormous middle fingers, carved in stone and mounted on their front lawn.
"HAHAHAHAHA... COME ON, BOYS!" Shanks was already getting up from his chair, clutching the bounty posters tightly in his hand like precious treasure. "LET'S CELEBRATE! FOR LUFFY FINALLY BECOMING A PIRATE! AND FOR THE WORLD GOVERNMENT TAKING THE BIGGEST L IN HISTORY!"
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THE WORLD ACADEMY OF RAYA LUCARIA (THE ISLAND OF LIURNIA—GRANDLINE)—
TRAINING GROUND—
The training grounds of Raya Lucaria had witnessed centuries of combat. Many prodigies had risen there. Its stones were worn smooth by countless footsteps, and the air was always charged with the lingering energy of techniques perfected, discarded, and perfected anew.
Today, it witnessed something that would have made lesser fighters weep with envy.
Clash.
The clash of training swords echoed across the grounds.
Clash. Clash. Clash.
Two figures moved across the training ground in a dance that was both beautiful and terrifying.
The first was a tall man, built like a blade given human form. He wore a crisp white poet shirt with a deep V-neck collar and billowy sleeves that caught the wind with every movement, paired with high-waisted black Victorian trousers. His silver-white hair framed sharp blue eyes that seemed to see through the world itself.
The second was younger but dressed identically. Silver-white hair, blue eyes, and the same impossible handsomeness that bordered on the supernatural. A mirror image, separated by years yet united by blood.
The younger man lunged forward.
One moment, he was still and balanced. The next, he became a blur of motion, closing the gap with a speed that would have left afterimages in the eyes of ordinary onlookers. His training sword swept upward in an arc designed to cut a man in two.
But the older man easily blocked it.
A flick of the wrist deflected the strike, and without pausing, he twisted the blade and struck his opponent's left hip.
The younger man reacted instantly. His training sword met the strike, and the impact sent him sliding backward several steps, his boots carving grooves into the ancient stone.
The older man hummed in approval.
Then, he moved.
One step, that was all it took. One step, and he was there, inside the younger man's guard, as if he had appeared out of nowhere.
His training sword came down.
The space surrounding the blade appeared to bend.
The younger man raised his blade above his head.
Then the impact occurred.
The ground shattered. Cracks radiated outward from the point of impact like a spider web. A shockwave of displaced air burst in all directions, sending dust and debris spiraling upward in a brief, violent whirlwind. The sound alone would have been enough to make lesser fighters cover their ears and pray.
When the chaos subsided, the older man glanced at his training sword.
It was broken, splintered down the middle from the force of his own strike. It was completely useless as a weapon now.
Then he looked at the younger man's sword, intact and unbroken. If you knew what to look for, you could see it was coated in a thin layer of shimmering, invisible energy: Advanced Armament Haki.
"You've improved again," the older man said evenly, though there was warmth beneath his voice. "Good."
The younger man allowed himself a small smile. Praise from this man was rarer than treasure and far more valuable.
The moment was shattered by the sound of running footsteps.
"PAPA! BIG BROTHER! DIANA IS FINALLY FREE!"
They turned as one.
A little girl came sprinting toward them, filled with the wild excitement that only children possess. She threw herself at the older man, completely trusting that he would catch her.
The older man dropped the broken training sword without hesitation and caught her effortlessly.
The girl rubbed her face against his chest, snuggling into him like a cat seeking the warmest spot in the house.
The older man sighed and gently patted her on the head.
The younger man chuckled at the sight. "Looks like you're done with today's lessons, eh, Diana?"
The little girl, Diana, nodded vigorously, still pressed against her father's chest. "Yup! Diana is finally free from Mama's boring lectures."
"Now now, my little snowflake..."
The musical voice drifted across the training ground like honey poured over ice. Diana stiffened, like a child who had just realized their words had been overheard.
"...whose lectures are boring?"
A woman approached, and the world seemed to hold its breath in her presence. Tall and beautiful, she possessed an elegance that transcended mere appearance, entering the realm of the otherworldly. Her skin was flawless, pale as moonlight, and her glossy black hair fell with a perfection that could make poets weep. Draped in deep blue and red robes trimmed with gold, she moved like a queen, which, of course, she was.
Beside her walked a young woman of medium height, with bright purple eyes that held a spark of something wild and wonderful. Her hair was a marvel, white on the left side and red on the right, perfectly split down the middle as if the universe itself had decided to create art on her head. Two long ponytails ended in circular braids, and more braids crowned the top of her head. A short white dress with a frilly neckline and a black bow completed the outfit.
"Good morning, Mom. Good morning, Uta," the young man said warmly and easily.
The woman smiled gently at her son. "Good morning, sweetheart."
Uta, the world-famous diva, waved with cheerful energy. "Good morning, Nero!" She then turned to the older man, and her wave became slightly more respectful, but no less warm. "Good morning to you too, Uncle."
The older man nodded at Uta, then his blue eyes shifted to the woman who had stolen his heart decades earlier.
"Rennala."
"Dear," his wife replied with a loving smile. "It looks like you two are done with your training."
The older man hummed in agreement and gently set Diana down.
The little girl immediately rushed to her brother's side. Uta also approached Nero, holding what appeared to be a rolled-up poster and speaking with enthusiasm.
The older man watched them, his son, daughter, and niece, clustered together, their voices overlapping with excitement.
"What is that?" he asked, curiosity evident in his tone.
The woman, Rennala, took his hand in hers. The gesture was automatic and natural, the muscle memory of decades of marriage. "That, my love, is the bounty of the same boy your niece Uta can't stop talking about."
"Oh." Understanding dawned. "So Shanks's boy has finally set sail."
His eyes remained fixed on the three young people as they talked, Uta gesturing wildly at the bounty poster, Nero nodding with growing interest, and Diana bouncing on her heels because her siblings were excited, which meant she should be excited too.
'Let's see if your bet was right or not, Shanks,' the man thought to himself, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Narrator: So, you must be wondering, "Who exactly is this impossibly handsome man?"
Well, get ready because I'm about to glaze him up like crazy.
He is the most handsome man in the world, possessing a charm that is almost devilish in its effect. In his youth, he was a member of the Roger Pirates, yes, those Roger Pirates. He is the childhood friend of Red-Haired Shanks and the great Buggy D Clown. If Monkey D Dragon is known as the Most Wanted Man in the World, then this man is the Most Dangerous Man in the World, the one whom the entire Navy and World Government genuinely and deeply fear.
He is so dangerous that his bounty poster does not even list a monetary reward. The only words on it are: "FLEE ON SIGHT. ENGAGE AT YOUR OWN RISK."
He is the man whom Dracule Mihawk himself considers the true Greatest Swordsman in the World.
This man. This legend. This walking disaster in a poet's shirt. He possesses such sheer, overwhelming AURA, that the world itself bestowed upon him a title so powerful it can freeze lesser beings merely by being whispered.
He is none other than Vergil Sparda, Lord of the World Academy of Raya Lucaria, husband of Queen Rennala of the Full Moon, father of Nero Sparda and Diana Sparda, and uncle of the world-famous diva Uta.
He is the STORM.
He is the ANGEL OF DEATH.
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Ooooooo, BOIII!
Our boy Yuji has absolutely NO IDEA what kind of utterly catastrophic, messed-up world he has been born into. The curse of the real Itadori Yuji has somehow crossed space-time itself and now latched onto this poor, unsuspecting transmigrator like a cosmic practical joke.
He is COOKED.
He is MICHELIN-STAR COOKED.
He is so thoroughly and completely cooked that the heat death of the universe will occur before he has any hope of recovery.
And the worst part?
He doesn't even know it yet.
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Ace:
Shanks:
Vergil:
Nero:
Diana:
Rennala:
Uta:
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Note: I forgot to mention this, But the Academy of Raya Lucaria in this world was established way before the Void Century. After the formation of the World Government, they took over the Academy and forced it to teach only the Nobles or the Celestial Dragons. That was until after the Roger pirates disbanded, then Shanks and Vergil came to Raya Lucaria and shit happened, and now the Academy is freed, and Vergil is its new lord by marrying Rennala, who was next in line for the throne of the Laya Lucaria. And if you know the Elden Ring's lore, the whole of Laya Lucaria only follows the matriarchic rule, that is why Radagon was more of a general than a ruler.
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Like the chapter, then please share your powerstones with me.
See you in next chapter.
Peace out....