"Forgetting is like a wound. The wound may heal, but it has already left a scar." – Luffy
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The morning sun painted the Flower Capital in shades of gold and crimson.
Crowds gathered before the newly constructed hospital—the first of its kind in Wano's history. Citizens pressed against wooden barriers, their voices rising in excited chatter. Banners bearing the family crest of House Mikoto fluttered in the breeze, announcing this momentous occasion.
Arlo stood beside Sachiko on the raised platform, his five-year-old frame dwarfed by her elegant presence. She wore a formal kimono of deep purple with silver crane patterns, her hair arranged in the traditional style of Wano nobility. Her smile was radiant as ever as she addressed the assembled crowd.
"...and so, in honor of our parents' legacy," Sachiko's voice carried across the plaza, warm and genuine, "this hospital will serve all citizens of Wano, regardless of status or wealth. Healthcare is not a privilege—it is a right."
The crowd erupted in cheers. Commoners wept openly, moved by the generosity. This was unprecedented. Nobles didn't build hospitals for common folk. They didn't care about the suffering of those beneath them.
This was a special moment in Wano History
Arlo watched the crowd with his Observation Haki spread across the entire district. Ten kilometers of perfect awareness. Every heartbeat, every presence, every intent mapped in crystalline clarity.
Something felt wrong.
There—in the back of the crowd. A presence that didn't match the others. Nervous energy. Malicious intent. A man wearing common clothes, face wrapped in cloth, hand concealed beneath his sleeve.
Arlo's attention sharpened.
The man moved. Pushed through the crowd with sudden violence. People stumbled aside, confused. He vaulted over the wooden barrier with surprising agility, hand emerging from his sleeve.
A knife.
Long. Curved. Gleaming in the sunlight as it arced toward Sachiko's throat.
Time seemed to slow.
Arlo's body moved on pure instinct. His small hand shot out, grabbing Sachiko's sleeve, yanking her backward with strength that shouldn't exist in a five-year-old frame.
The blade passed where her neck had been a heartbeat before.
But not cleanly.
The edge caught her sleeve. Tore through expensive silk. Bit into flesh beneath.
A thin line of red appeared on Sachiko's arm.
Blood.
Her blood.
Arlo's world stopped.
His eyes locked onto that crimson line. A shallow cut. Barely an inch long. Not deep. Not dangerous. Already clotting.
But it was her blood.
Someone had hurt her.
Something inside him snapped.
Deep within Arlo's core, where the Codex resided—that impossible star of otherworldly light merged with his soul—the red spark that had been growing since his transformation suddenly erupted.
It wasn't controlled.
It was cataclysmic.
It was a Fucking Disaster.
The spark exploded into a crimson sun, blazing with such intensity that reality itself began to warp. And the Codex, that omnipotent device designed to fulfill any desire strong enough, responded to the primal scream of Arlo's will.
SOMEONE HURT HER.
TEAR EVERYTHING APART.
DESTROY THEM ALL.
The air became heavy. Oppressive. Like the atmosphere had suddenly gained physical weight, pressing down on everything, everyone, with crushing force.
Then the sky split.
It was not just clouds separating.
Actually split.
A tear in the space.
Black-red lightning erupted from Arlo's small frame in a hemisphere of annihilation. It wasn't normal Conqueror's Haki—it was Conqueror's Haki filtered through the reality-warping power of the Codex, amplified by the King's Domination trait, given form by a five-year-old's absolute conviction that this would not stand.
The effect was apocalyptic.
The crowd—thousands of people—collapsed instantly. Every single one. Guards, nobles, commoners, merchants, children. Unconscious before they hit the ground, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of will being imposed upon reality.
The wooden barriers disintegrated. Vaporized by the pressure.
The hospital's windows shattered. Every single one, simultaneously, glass exploding outward in glittering cascades.
The stone plaza cracked. Spiderweb fractures spreading from Arlo's position, creating a crater that grew wider with each passing second.
And above...
The sky screamed.
Clouds were torn apart, ripped asunder by the force of Arlo's rage. The blue sky beyond fractured like glass, revealing something beneath. Something that shouldn't be visible.
The void.
Space itself had been damaged. Reality bore a wound, a jagged tear through the fabric of existence where Arlo's Haki—his desire, his will, his absolute conviction amplified by an omnipotent artifact—had exceeded what the world could contain.
It looked like the end of days.
Black-red lightning continued to pour from his small frame, bolts thick as tree trunks, crackling with energy that made the air itself ignite. The silhouette cast by that terrible light wasn't a child.
It was a demon king.
Towering. Overwhelming. Crowned in thorns and wreathed in darkness. Eyes blazing crimson. The Crown of a Conqueror materialized above his head—not translucent this time, but solid, dripping phantom blood, forged from the concept of absolute dominion.
And Sachiko...
She should have been crushed. Should have been rendered unconscious like everyone else. But Arlo's will recognized her even in its rage. His desire for her safety, her wellbeing, overrode everything else.
The Conqueror's Haki that was destroying everything around him healed her instead.
The cut on her arm sealed. Flesh knitting back together, skin smoothing as if the wound had never existed. The torn sleeve mended itself. Even the blood evaporated, leaving no trace of injury.
She collapsed into unconsciousness gently, as if laid down by invisible hands. Safe. Protected. Untouched by the apocalypse raging mere feet away.
Across the Grand Line - Elbaf
King Harald stood in his throne room, speaking with advisors about trade agreements. Mid-sentence, his words died.
His eyes widened.
The Ancient Giant's hand moved to his sword on pure instinct, gripping the hilt so hard the metal groaned. His entire body tensed, muscles coiling, Haki flaring defensively.
"My Lord?" One of his advisors stepped forward, concerned. "What—"
"Silence." Harald's voice was barely a whisper.
He could feel it. Across vast distances, across the chaotic currents of the Grand Line itself, something had just awakened. A presence. A will so potent, so overwhelming, that it registered even here.
Conqueror's Haki. But unlike any he'd ever felt before.
This was wrath.
Pure, distilled, world-ending rage.
"What kind of monster..." Harald breathed, and for the first time in centuries, the King of Giants felt something he'd almost forgotten.
Fear.
Somewhere in the New World - Rocks Pirates' Ship
Rocks D. Xebec was mid-drink when it hit him.
The bottle shattered in his hand.
He shot to his feet, eyes wide, grin frozen on his face. Around him, his crew—future legends all of them—reacted similarly. Whitebeard's hand went to his bisento. Kaido, still young but already monstrous, jumped on defense. Big Mom's homies began screaming.
"Captain?" Whitebeard's voice was steady, but his eyes held questions. "That was—"
"Conqueror's Haki," Rocks finished, his voice unusually quiet. "But not like anything I've ever felt."
He walked to the ship's railing, staring in the direction his instincts told him it came from. Wano. That isolated country in the New World.
The Haki had been brief. A single explosive burst. But the quality of it...
Rocks started laughing. That wild, unrestrained sound that made his crew nervous.
"There's a monster being born," he said, grin returning in full force. "And it's Angry."
Mary Geoise - Between the Flowers
In a garden that existed between dimensions, where the World Government's greatest secret resided, a figure stirred.
Imu's eyes opened.
For the first time in decades, the immortal ruler of the world felt something pierce the careful isolation of this place. A will. Something that had briefly torn through reality itself with such force that even here, in this protected space, the ripples reached.
A small hand reached out. Touched the air where the disturbance had originated.
Wano.
"...Interesting," Imu whispered.
Back in the Flower Capital
The eruption of Haki lasted perhaps ten seconds.
Ten seconds where reality itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then Arlo's rage began to crystallize. Focus. Transform from raw destruction into cold, bolts of lightning.
The black-red lightning receded. The sky's wound began to seal, reality knitting itself back together though clouds remained scattered. The oppressive weight in the air lessened but didn't disappear entirely.
Arlo's eyes—blazing crimson—locked onto the assassin.
The man had been thrown backward by the initial eruption, now lying crumpled against a destroyed barrier. He was unconscious like everyone else, but still Alive.
Not for long.
Arlo walked toward him.
With each step, his body changed. Five years old. Six. Seven. His height increased, frame expanding, until by the time he reached the assassin, he stood at nearly two meters tall—the physique of a young adult, muscles defined, presence overwhelming.
Size Manipulation. An Intrinsic Skill of his species. Ascendant.
He reached down. His hand—no longer small and childlike—closed around the assassin's throat. Lifted the unconscious man with effortless strength.
<
Raphael's voice in his mind was calm. Logical. But even the Ultimate Skill seemed different somehow. More... present.
"Scan him," Arlo said, his voice deeper now, matching his altered physique. "Everything. I want to know who sent him."
<
The assassin's body became transparent to Raphael's perception. Dress, Cells, memories, neural patterns—everything dissected in microseconds.
<
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<
Coordinates flooded Arlo's mind. Perfect spatial awareness of exactly where Orochi was hiding.
"Good."
Arlo's grip tightened on the assassin's throat. The man's eyes fluttered open, consciousness returning just in time to see death approaching.
Ame no Ohabari materialized from shadow.
The long katana appeared in Arlo's free hand, drawn in a single smooth motion. The blade gleamed, eager.
""For the sin of hurting my sister, even the concept of your salvation shall be extinguished. Now, perish into the abyss of nothingness."" Arlo said quietly.
Then he moved.
The katana flashed. Once. Twice. Three times.
Crimson arcs of perfect precision.
The assassin's head separated from his shoulders. His arms fell away at the elbows. His legs severed at the knees. His torso split horizontally at the waist.
The body collapsed in pieces.
Before the blood could stain the ground, Arlo activated Beelzebuth.
His shadow exploded outward. Black tendrils rose like hungry serpents, wrapping around the corpse pieces. They pulled, dragging the remains—body and soul—into the writhing darkness.
The assassin's soul, torn from its destroyed vessel, screamed silently as it was consumed. Devoured. Stored in Imaginary Space where it would remain for eternity, isolated, unable to reincarnate, unable to find peace.
Complete annihilation of existence.
The tendrils receded. The ground where the body had been was clean. No blood. No tissue. No evidence that a man had died there.
<
"Raphael," Arlo said, voice cold as winter. "Maintain surveillance on Sachiko. If anyone approaches her while I'm gone, kill them."
<
"I'm going to visit Orochi."
He didn't wait for response.
Arlo's body blurred.
Not movement. Not running. Simply... transition. One moment standing in the plaza. The next—
Gone.
Northern District - Hidden Estate
Kurozumi Orochi sat in a private room, surrounded by his most trusted conspirators.
They were celebrating.
"By now, the girl should be dead," one man said, raising his cup. "House Mikoto will collapse without her leadership. Their wealth and influence—"
The door exploded inward.
Exploded—reduced to splinters and dust that hung in the air like fog.
Through the destruction walked something that made every man in the room freeze.
A figure. Young adult in appearance. Crimson eyes blazing with cold fury. Presence so overwhelming that breathing became difficult. The air itself seemed to reject their existence in his proximity.
Arlo stepped into the room.
"Kurozumi Orochi," he said quietly.
Orochi's face went pale. He scrambled backward, knocking over furniture. "Who—what—"
"You sent an assassin to kill my sister."
The words were delivered without emotion.
The weight behind them made reality shudder.
One of the conspirators—braver or more foolish than the rest—drew his sword and charged.
Arlo's hand moved.
Faster than the eye could track. His fingers closed around the man's face. Then squeezed.
The skull shattered. Brain matter sprayed. The body crumpled.
Before it hit the ground, shadows consumed it. Beelzebuth activated automatically, devouring the corpse and soul in an instant.
The other conspirators tried to run.
They didn't make it two steps.
Ame no Ohabari flashed.
Seventeen crimson arcs. Seventeen perfect cuts.
Heads separated. Torsos split. Limbs severed. Bodies fell in pieces.
And the shadows consumed them all. Every corpse. Every soul. Dragged into Imaginary Space's isolation, screaming silently, erased from existence.
The entire massacre took three seconds.
Only Orochi remained, backed into a corner, trembling. His eyes were wide with terror, mouth opening and closing without sound.
Arlo walked toward him slowly. Each footstep echoed in the now-silent room.
"Please—" Orochi finally found his voice. "I can explain—I can pay—I have resources—connections—"
"You hurt her."
Arlo's hand shot out. Grabbed Orochi's throat. Lifted him off the ground.
"You made her bleed."
Orochi gasped, hands clawing uselessly at Arlo's grip. His face turned purple.
"For that," Arlo's voice was barely a whisper, "you die slowly."
Ame no Ohabari rose.
The blade positioned itself carefully. Precisely.
Then began to cut.
Not killing blows.
Blows that were designed to maximize pain. To keep the target conscious as long as possible.
Fingers first. One at a time. Then toes. Then strips of flesh from arms and legs. The blade so sharp that each cut was clean, preventing shock-induced unconsciousness.
Orochi screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Until finally, after what felt like an eternity compressed into minutes, Arlo granted mercy.
The final cut severed Orochi's head.
Beelzebuth consumed him. Body and soul. Every piece. Every drop of blood. Every fragment of bone and tissue.
When the shadows receded, the room was pristine.
No bodies. No blood. No evidence that eighteen men had died horrible deaths.
Only Arlo remained, standing in the center of the empty space, breathing slowly.
<
Arlo's body began to shrink. The adult physique receded, reverting to his five-year-old form. His crimson eyes faded back to blue. The overwhelming presence lessened, becoming manageable again.
He stood there, small and innocent-looking, in a room that had just witnessed wholesale slaughter.
Then something hit him.
Regret.
Not for killing Orochi. Not for the massacre. Those men had earned their deaths.
But...
"I couldn't protect her," he whispered. "She got hurt because I wasn't fast enough."
<
"But she still got hurt."
<<...Acknowledged. However, future protection can be enhanced. Recommendation: Acquire defensive capabilities. Specific suggestion: Ultimate Skill Uriel, Lord of Vows.>>
Arlo's eyes widened slightly. "I should be able to do that"
<
"Yes."
He turned his consciousness inward. Felt the Codex, that impossible star merged with his soul, still burning hot from the earlier rage.
I need power to protect her. To protect everyone I care about. Give me Uriel. So I could fulfill my vows.
The Codex pulsed.
It approved.
The fabric of existence opened like a wound, and through it came something fundamental.
An Ultimate Skill.
Uriel, Lord of Vows.
It settled into his being like a missing piece clicking home. Knowledge flooded his mind—the skill's capabilities, its subskills, its true nature.
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Arlo focused on Sachiko's location. His Observation Haki could feel her presence still unconscious in the plaza, but safe, untouched.
"Raphael. Deploy Universal Barrier around Sachiko. Make it permanent. I want her protected at all times."
<
The skill activated.
Forty-seven kilometers away, an invisible barrier materialized around Sachiko's unconscious form. Multilayer construction. Space severed between inside and outside. Automatic defense against any threat, physical or metaphysical.
Nothing would touch her. Nothing would harm her.
<
Arlo nodded slowly. The regret didn't disappear entirely, but it lessened.
He'd failed to prevent the injury. But he'd ensured it would never happen again.
"Take me back to the plaza."
<
Reality folded.
Arlo disappeared from the empty room and reappeared in the Flower Capital plaza, back in his original position beside Sachiko's unconscious form.
The devastation around him was immense. Thousands of people still unconscious. Buildings damaged. The sky still showing faint cracks where reality had been torn.
He knelt beside Sachiko, his small hand taking hers gently.
"I'm sorry, Sachiko-nee," he whispered. "I wasn't fast enough. But I promise... I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
The barrier around her pulsed in silent acknowledgment.
Eternal protection.
Around Wano, people would eventually wake. They would see the destruction. They would tell stories of the sky splitting, of the demon king's wrath, of the day reality itself screamed.
But they would never know the truth.
That a five-year-old boy had awakened Conqueror's Haki with such force that it registered across the entire Grand Line.
That he'd massacred eighteen conspirators in less than five minutes and erased all evidence of their existence.
They would never know that something had been born in Wano that day.
Something that would one day reshape the world.
But for now...
For now, he was just a boy kneeling beside his sister, waiting for her to wake up.
Waiting to apologize for not being strong enough.
Even though he'd just proven himself to be one of the most dangerous beings alive.
End of Chapter 9
Next: The aftermath. Explanations that don't explain. And somewhere far away, legends begin to take notice...