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Seven years passed——
The fires of God Valley faded into myth, its name erased from maps and memory—but not from blood.
The island where Shamrock lived was called Mirano Island.
A quiet place in the West Blue, wrapped in forests and ringed by cliffs where waves broke endlessly. To most, it was nothing special.
He learned its name from the old villagers, from the fishermen who returned at dawn, from the woman who raised him—
Grandma Lisa.
She was the one who found him that day—cradled in her arms by a crying giant child who vanished like a dream. She never asked questions. She never spoke of fate or bloodlines.
She simply raised him.
And Shamrock grew.
From the moment he could walk, it was clear
he was different.
Food disappeared the moment it entered his mouth. Meat, rice, fruit—no matter how much he ate, his body absorbed it instantly, converting it into raw strength. His muscles hardened unnaturally fast, his bones dense, his stamina endless.
"Eat more," Nishima would mutter, watching him devour meals twice his size.
"You're still too thin."
But Shamrock knew.
Every bite made him stronger.
Like his body was designed for war.
Then there were his eyes.
Walls felt transparent. Trees revealed hidden hollows. He could see animals crouched deep beneath foliage, sense the movement of insects underground, watch blood pulse beneath skin.
Later, he realized—
He could see through things.
X-ray vision——that was thing he thought the moment he could see things abnormally.
He knew what X-ray vision was. He knew what it meant to see through matter, to perceive structures beneath surfaces.
And Sometimes, when he focused on people, thoughts surfaced. Emotions sharpened. Intentions screamed.
It wasn't hearing.
It was knowing.
A natural form of Observation Haki—so deep it bordered on mind-reading.
It frightened him.
So he trained———
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Every morning before sunrise, Shamrock picked up a wooden sword.
One swing.
Two.
A hundred.
A thousand.
His arms burned, blistered, bled—but he never stopped.
After that came strength training.
1000 pushups.
1000 squats.
1000 sit-ups.
Then a 10-kilometer run around the island's forest perimeter, barefoot, breath steady, eyes focused.
When his body screamed, he ignored it.
Pain was a teacher.
And Shamrock was a devoted student.
By noon, he entered the jungle.
Not to play.
To hunt.
Beasts larger than men roamed Mirano's deeper woods—fangs, claws, instincts sharpened by survival. Shamrock tracked them patiently, eyes piercing through brush and bark.
He never killed recklessly.
Only what was needed.
By sunset, he returned home with meat on his shoulders and scratches across his skin.
Grandma Lisa scolded him every time.
"You'll get yourself killed one day," she snapped while cleaning his wounds.
Shamrock only smiled faintly.
"Not yet."————
That was when Zoey appeared.
Seven years old. Black hair tied messily. Red Eyes too curious for her own good.
She followed him.
At first quietly.
Then openly.
She watched him train. Copied his swings. Tried his pushups. Ran after him until she collapsed in the dirt.
"Why do you keep following me?" Shamrock asked one day, mid-swing.
Zoey wiped sweat from her face.
"Because you're strong and I want to be strong just like you."
That answer was honest.
So he didn't chase her away.
He taught her.
How to hold a blade.
How to breathe while running.
How to move quietly in the forest.
They hunted together—small game at first. She laughed when she succeeded. Pouted when she failed.
She became his shadow.
And slowly—
His first friend.
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At night, Shamrock lay awake, staring at the wooden ceiling.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't broken.
What troubled him was something else.
Why hadn't Garling come for him?
A man like Garling didn't forget blood.
Didn't overlook loose ends.
Unless—
Fate itself had been touched.
"ROB…" Shamrock whispered.
The one who manipulated stories.
Outcomes.
Paths.
Was it his interference that hid Shamrock from the world?
Or was it Kuma's will that pushed him beyond destiny's reach?
Shamrock closed his eyes.
"If I find a strong Devil Fruit… I'll eat it," he thought calmly.
"But if it's weak—then I won't."
He didn't need shortcuts.
He needed choice.
Outside, the sea whispered endlessly.
Mirano Island slept peacefully.
And the child who should not exist sharpened himself—not to destroy the world
—But to walk it freely.
Thanks For Reading....