-Real World-
The powerful figures scattered across the seas weren't fools—not all of them, anyway.
If the Sky Screen had broadcast nothing but fabrications, the world's elite would have dismissed it immediately. But therein lay the insidious brilliance: the broadcasts wove truth and fiction so seamlessly that even the paranoid found themselves believing.
Many secrets existed known only to heaven, earth, and the participants themselves. Yet somehow, the Sky Screen exposed them with surgical precision. Take Donquixote Doflamingo's organization—every sordid detail of his operations had been laid bare, from his underground dealings to his connection with Kaido. For the Donquixote Family, this exposure proved catastrophic. The Marines had effectively been given a complete intelligence dossier without lifting a finger.
The successful capture of Vergo—a deep-cover spy who'd infiltrated the Marines for fifteen years—had been the turning point. Overnight, skepticism within Marine ranks evaporated. If the Sky Screen could identify a mole this deeply embedded, what else might it reveal?
Now Fleet Admiral Sengoku desperately wanted to know the identities of the future twelve Admirals. Getting in contact with them early could secure the Marines' dominance for generations. But simultaneously, he feared that broadcasting those names would paint targets on their backs—every pirate crew and Revolutionary Army cell would hunt them down before they could reach their potential.
Through constant exposure, most of the world's population had gradually accepted the Sky Screen's predictions as truth. The weak and desperate went further, elevating it to divine prophecy—a warning from God to prepare the suffering masses for coming tribulations.
And with Eren's Rumbling now confirmed as reality, doomsday preachers had emerged across every island. Bards carried tales of the end times from port to port, their songs spreading faster than any newspaper.
Of course, the Yonko and the Five Elders scoffed at such superstition.
Their working theory: someone with an extraordinarily powerful Devil Fruit—perhaps a Paramecia-type that granted eavesdropping or precognition—was orchestrating these broadcasts. Strange fruits appeared constantly in the Grand Line. One more oddity wouldn't break the pattern.
East Blue - Fukumitsu Island
Kaito leaned back, observing the world's reactions through his World Observer interface. A smirk played across his lips.
"Honestly, people give these 'powerful figures' way too much credit," he muttered to himself. "Sure, the Sky Screen lowered everyone's apparent IQ, but let's be real—half of them weren't working with much to begin with."
His mind drifted through the canon events he remembered, cataloging the sheer absurdity that passed for decision-making in this world.
Garp, the man who ate crackers during critical moments and let his emotions override tactical sense at every turn. Coby the Deserter King, who'd literally collapsed crying during a war and begged for it to stop. Jack, who thought attacking Zunisha itself was a good idea. Kuma, who'd somehow thought the World Government would honor their promises. Vegapunk and his moral kidnapping speeches about inherited will. The "heroic" Kozuki Oden, who'd danced for five years instead of, you know, actually doing something. And Dragon—Sweat King extraordinaire—whose biggest contribution to any scene was dramatic perspiration.
"No wonder they believed the Sky Screen immediately," Kaito chuckled darkly.
He pulled up data on Kaido's eventual defeat, and his smirk turned into a full grin.
"And poor Teacher Kaido. Oda really did him dirty." Kaito shook his head in mock sympathy. "When Luffy first used Gear Fifth against him, it was the full-power version—complete resurrection ability, no drawbacks, just pure cartoon god mode. But then when Egghead happened? Suddenly Gear Fifth turns Luffy into a geriatric patient after thirty seconds. He's lying on the ground begging for food like a dying puppy."
He pulled up his notes on power scaling, something that had always annoyed him in his previous life as a fan.
"Kaido became the scapegoat for Oda's inconsistent writing. His defeat supposedly 'proved' the Yonko weren't all equal in strength, that Big Mom and Kaido were somehow the weak links. Absolute nonsense. The real lesson? Yonko Kaido's strength definitely doesn't equal Admiral Kizaru's, because Oda needed to nerf Gear Fifth for plot convenience."
The Grand Tale System pinged softly:
[Current Infamy Points: 1,000,000,000. Broadcast engagement at 94% global saturation.]
"Well, at least my version makes more sense," Kaito mused. "Give Luffy a clear limitation—he needs injections to activate Domain Expansion. No more random power-ups whenever the plot demands it. Actual consequences for using ultimate techniques."
His fingers drummed against his knee as he monitored reactions across the world.
"Though I have to admit, watching everyone theorize about Domain Expansion is hilarious. They think everyone can develop one if they train hard enough. Reality's going to hit them hard when they realize how rare it actually is."
Whole Cake Island
Charlotte Katakuri sat in his private chamber, rice mochi flowing from his hands in absent patterns as his mind wandered.
"Domain Expansion..." he murmured, the words tasting foreign on his tongue.
The concept had first emerged from Buggy the Clown's teachings—the revelation that Devil Fruits possessed a third stage of mastery beyond Awakening and Liberation. Initially, Katakuri had dismissed it as exaggeration. The seas were full of academic fraudsters peddling impossible theories for a quick profit. Crocodile himself had probably been duped by such a charlatan when he'd gone searching for Pluton in Arabasta, wasting years chasing shadows and spending a fortune on fake intelligence.
But then Eren Yeager had demonstrated Domain Expansion on the Sky Screen.
An alien space that forcibly transformed anyone who entered into mindless Pure Titans, regardless of their Haki proficiency. Even Conqueror's coating couldn't resist the conversion. The technique had rewritten the rules of combat entirely.
And now, Monkey D. Luffy had revealed his own Domain: Gomu Gomu no Shūen Dansei (Rubber-Rubber: Elasticity at the End of All Things).
Katakuri's lips quirked upward beneath his scarf. "Only that simple-minded fool would create a technique limited to one-on-one combat," he muttered with grudging respect. But the strategic implications were staggering—Luffy could absorb enemy attributes during battle, growing stronger by cannibalizing his opponent's core values.
Doflamingo's fate was already sealed. The arrogant former Celestial Dragon would be drained dry, reduced to an empty husk.
"The broadcast is ending soon," Katakuri realized, and a strange melancholy settled over him. He'd grown accustomed to these glimpses of the future, these windows into what might be.
His hands stilled, the mochi ceasing its flow. "What would my Domain look like?" The question hung in the air unanswered. Based on his Mochi Mochi no Mi's properties—a special Paramecia with Logia characteristics—he firmly believed his Domain would rival Luffy's in power.
One day, they would face each other. One day, he would test that belief.
Katakuri found himself looking forward to it.
In the main hall of Whole Cake Château, a very different scene was unfolding.
Charlotte Linlin hadn't experienced a food craving episode in three days—a near-miracle by recent standards. The Sky Screen had captivated her attention so completely that even her legendary appetite had taken second priority. She ate, she slept, and she watched the broadcasts. Everything else had faded into irrelevance.
But Big Mom wasn't fixating on Domain Expansion like her son. The combat applications held little interest for a woman who'd been a monster since birth, whose natural durability exceeded most Devil Fruit users' Awakened states.
No, Charlotte Linlin was searching for something else in those broadcasts.
Something far more precious.
"Mother Carmel..." she whispered, clutching a faded photograph to her chest. "Where did you go? Why did everyone leave me?"
The question had haunted her for decades. One moment, Mother Carmel and all her orphanage siblings had been celebrating Linlin's birthday. The next, they were gone—vanished without explanation, without goodbye. She'd searched for years, following every lead, interrogating every informant.
Nothing.
"Sky Screen," she murmured, tears streaming down her massive face. "If you know everything—if you can show the future—then show me the past. Please. I need to know what happened that day."
The photograph trembled in her hands. Mother Carmel's smile looked back at her, frozen in time, forever kind.
Around the hall, Big Mom's children exchanged nervous glances. When Mama got emotional like this, episodes often followed. The Whole Cake Island territory had suffered three major rampages this year alone, each triggered by emotional distress combined with food cravings.
As Big Mom aged, the frequency of her breakdowns increased exponentially. The children had developed emergency protocols—evacuate Whole Cake Château, secure the Poneglyph, and pray she calmed down before the damage spread beyond the central island.
The affiliated territories had it easier. As long as they paid their lifespan tribute—two months every six months—they could live in relative luxury under a Yonko's protection. For civilians with no combat abilities or supernatural talents, Big Mom's rule represented the best possible life in a brutal world.
The average lifespan in pirate-controlled waters rarely exceeded fifty years. Sacrificing four months per year in exchange for food security, infrastructure, and protection from rival crews? The math favored compliance.
Perospero cleared his throat carefully. "Mama, would you like some more cake? The chefs prepared—"
"I don't want cake," Linlin interrupted softly, her voice small and childlike. "I want my family back."
The children said nothing. There was nothing they could say.
Marine Headquarters, Marineford
Monkey D. Garp couldn't stop grinning.
The expression had been plastered across his face for the past hour, so wide his cheeks ached. Every time someone walked past his position in the observation room, they did a double-take at the Hero of the Marines' unrestrained joy.
"That's my grandson!" Garp wanted to shout. "Developing Domain Expansion at twenty-two years old! Beat that, you stiffs!"
Of course, he couldn't actually say that. Luffy was still a pirate, and publicly celebrating a pirate's achievements while wearing Marine whites would cause problems even his reputation couldn't smooth over.
But privately? Privately, Garp was bursting with pride.
Across the room, Fleet Admiral Sakazuki watched the same broadcast with very different emotions roiling in his chest.
Regret. Bitter, acidic regret.
"If I'd been more persistent in Loguetown," Sakazuki muttered to himself, "the Straw Hat Pirates would have ended before they began."
But no—Monkey D. Dragon had personally intervened, abandoning the Revolutionary Army headquarters to save his son. The hypocrite preached about overthrowing corrupt systems while using his position to protect family. Disgusting.
Sakazuki's gaze drifted across the room to where Garp sat. Their eyes met.
The Hero of the Marines' expression transformed instantly. His smile vanished, replaced by naked hostility. His eyes narrowed to slits, pupils burning with hatred that made his Haki flicker visibly around his frame.
Garp was still blaming him for Ace's future death.
Never mind that the execution hadn't happened yet—that Fire Fist Ace currently sailed with Whitebeard, alive and well. The grudge had already taken root in the old man's heart, fed by the Sky Screen's visions of what was to come.
Sakazuki met that hateful stare without flinching.
Let him glare. A Vice Admiral—even one with the honorary title of Hero—couldn't challenge a Fleet Admiral's authority. And if Sakazuki got the opportunity, he wouldn't just execute Garp's adopted son. He'd kill the biological grandson too.
Monkey D. Luffy had demonstrated Domain Expansion with chemical assistance. If allowed to mature naturally, he would become a threat that surpassed even Whitebeard. The Marines couldn't afford to let him reach that potential.
Some threats had to be strangled in the cradle, no matter whose grandson they were.
Absolute Justice allowed for no exceptions—not even for family.