Three days later.
Bullet, who had already exhausted most of his energy recovering from his wounds, was now running on fumes.
He licked his dry, cracked lips, sitting motionless in a shadowed corner. Then, slowly, he moved.
Grabbing his tools, he started walking toward the distant White Sea.
He couldn't die yet.
He needed food—only then could he continue training.
Only then could he kill Doflamingo.
Only then could he escape this damned Sky Island.
Only then would the world know who truly was the strongest.
...
"Loser-man?"
"Forget it, Law. They're all just people who got wrecked by Lord Doflamingo anyway."
"Today's the painting class with Aunt Jora—it only happens once a month!"
Just thinking about what they'd seen before made Tiko jump up and down excitedly, grabbing Law's shoulders, eyes sparkling.
"You're gonna be shocked!"
Law scratched his head and gave a half-hearted reply.
"Sure… sounds beautiful."
Off in the distance, children whispered and murmured in their transport cart.
Bullet gripped his tools and walked faster, vanishing from sight.
His figure was haggard, almost pitiful.
...
Donquixote Immigrant District Elementary School No. 1
"Once upon a time, there was a band of thieves called the Forty Thieves..."
As Jora narrated, a mist of translucent smoke unfurled from her left palm.
Row upon row of hulking musclemen emerged, standing shoulder to shoulder.
Their muscles bulged—solid and hard, like slabs of granite.
From her right hand, she summoned their enemies.
The brawny figures launched into a wrestling frenzy.
"So cool!"
"They're alive!"
The little students' eyes lit up with awe as they cheered and circled around Jora.
You call this painting?
Law's eyebrow twitched.
Even though he was just five years old, he knew this wasn't art. This was a Devil Fruit power.
"BOOM!!"
Law's gaze snapped to a distant rumble.
It came from the restricted zone they'd passed earlier on the school bus.
Thanks to the elevation of the school building, Law had a clear view from the window.
And he saw them—several familiar figures.
Buffalo, spinning like a helicopter, launched out from the smoke and rocketed toward the center of the battlefield.
At its heart—
Yamato's massive club came crashing down on Weevil's oversized blade. She roared with fury.
"Give me back first place! I want to go play outside!!"
"Nope!"
With a casual swing, Weevil knocked her aside effortlessly.
He grinned wide, unfazed.
"Godfather will be mad if I don't finish you. Then I won't get enough to eat."
"You damn Weevil!!!"
Yamato charged him again, their weapons clashing with a thunderous boom.
Seizing the moment—
Buffalo, having built up enough momentum, shot toward Weevil's massive head.
BOOM!
Weevil's head jerked to the side from the force of the impact.
Law stared, utterly entranced.
Tiko, sitting beside him, mistook Law's intense gaze for fear. He gave Law a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. Those people won't hurt us. That's the Family's Combat Academy—they're all future family warriors. They're here to protect us."
Something stirred in Law's heart.
He turned to Tiko and asked softly:
"Can we join the Combat Academy?"
"Huh?" Tiko circled around Law, examining him closely.
"Are you okay? I mean, technically you can, but…"
"Law, the death and dropout rate in the Combat Academy is super high. People like us—with high IQs—are better off sticking to science. That's what my grandpa says..."
Tiko kept talking.
But Law could no longer hear him.
He could only see it all again.
Neighbors being shot dead, one after another.
His parents, bruised and bleeding, crushed underfoot.
He and Lami, choking as someone squeezed their throats—
Those memories burned into his mind, haunting him.
Refusing to fade.
Law looked up, his voice firm.
"Tiko… we need power."
Tiko: "Huh?"
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