The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, a canvas of shifting blues and grays beneath a sky thick with clouds. The raft moved in silence, guided by no map, driven by the steady pulse of a man with no destination — only a growing hunger for power.
Days passed.
The sun rose, the sun fell. Waves came and went. Seabirds circled, cautious, keeping their distance.
He spent the time refining his control over smoke, shaping tendrils into jagged weapons and defensive walls. The Template System pulsed quietly in the back of his mind, each skill honed sharper by practice. The cloak he wore fluttered in the wind, its surface absorbing the light, a constant reminder of what he carried now.
The world beyond the island was larger than expected. More cruel, more alive. Whispers on the wind spoke of battles, pirates, and the rising chaos in the Grand Line.
He felt nothing.
No excitement, no fear.
Just purpose.
On the third day at sea, a merchant ship appeared on the horizon. He approached, unseen in the early mist. The vessel was poorly armed, a scattering of hired blades and desperate sailors clinging to weak lives.
He left no witnesses.
Weapons were gathered. A proper cloak, dark and tattered, replaced his worn clothes. A small map was found in the captain's quarters — crude, incomplete, but enough to give him direction. A name was carved into the mast before he left, an idle thought made real.
Kairo.
Simple.
Clean.
A word with weight.
He spoke it aloud for the first time as the ship burned behind him, the name settling into his bones.
Not a hero's name.
Not a title for a man meant to save anyone.
It would do.
Kairo drifted toward the Grand Line, passing forgotten islands and wrecked ships. He encountered pirates occasionally — small crews of scavengers and cowards. Most tried to flee. A few fought. None survived.
He didn't bother claiming their flags.
The sea wasn't his to rule yet.
The Gacha System granted another pull after each skirmish. A mix of minor abilities and weapons, some discarded, others absorbed. Nothing legendary, but useful tools added to his growing arsenal.
Enhanced Recovery.
Iron Blood Combat Instinct.
Echo Blade (Minor Artifact).
Each merged seamlessly with his body, his strength sharpening by degrees.
The days of chaos in the world grew louder. The Rocks Pirates were rumored to be gathering in secret places, their captains seeking war and fortune. Garp's name surfaced too — young, reckless, and already chasing pirates across the seas. Sengoku and Zephyr rising through the ranks alongside him.
Kairo made no move to join them.
He watched from a distance, learning how the world moved, how power shifted. How kings fell and monsters rose. No need for reckless noise yet.
In quiet coves, he trained.
In nameless towns, he gathered whispers.
Smoke and blood followed his path, a trail of burned ships and abandoned islands.
His power simmered beneath the surface. No grand declarations. No banners raised. Just steady, patient growth.
Kairo wasn't in a hurry.
The world would come to him in time.
And when it did, it wouldn't know peace again.