The revelation struck Charlotte like a thunderbolt—Sea King meat could forge him into something greater. In this world where strength determined survival, the strongest warriors possessed appetites that matched their power. But therein lay the cruel irony: hunting Sea Kings required the very strength that consuming them would provide.
With his current seventeen-year-old frame, challenging those oceanic titans remained a distant dream. The path forward demanded patience, preparation, and relentless training until he could claim the seas as his hunting ground.
•~•
The island Charlotte called home was little more than a speck of land in the vast ocean—a thousand souls crammed into the flat coastal area around the port, while towering mountains claimed ninety percent of the landmass. Those peaks rose like ancient sentinels, their slopes uninhabited and wild, perfect for the kind of brutal training Charlotte had in mind.
As an orphan who had never known his parents, Charlotte had survived on the mayor's reluctant charity, scraping by on meager handouts that barely sustained life. The original Charlotte's desperate fishing attempt—the one that had nearly claimed his life—spoke volumes about the crushing poverty that had driven him to such reckless desperation.
But this Charlotte was different. This Charlotte had purpose.
Shouldering a weathered machete meant for chopping firewood, he strode from his humble thatched cottage toward the looming mountains without a backward glance. From this moment forward, he would conquer these peaks or die trying.
•~•
One Year Later
The mountains had become Charlotte's kingdom, and he its undisputed ruler.
Those early days had nearly broken him—drinking from crystal-clear mountain springs when thirst clawed at his throat, foraging for wild fruits when hunger gnawed at his belly. More than once, he'd nearly poisoned himself on toxic berries, saved only by an inexplicable sixth sense that screamed danger moments before disaster struck.
Future sight, he'd realized with growing amazement. I can actually sense immediate threats.
This supernatural intuition, combined with his growing wilderness skills, transformed him from a struggling orphan into a mountain predator. He crafted ingenious traps, hunted game with increasing success, and descended to the port only when necessary—trading precious pelts for essential supplies before vanishing back into his domain.
The solitude never bothered him. If anything, it thrilled him. Each dawn brought tangible proof of his growth—muscles that bulged where once only skin and bone existed, reflexes that could match a striking serpent, strength that let him grapple with wild boars and emerge victorious.
Most remarkably, injuries that should have crippled him healed overnight after a good meal. The One Piece world's supernatural recovery rates weren't just legend—they were his new reality.
But conventional training had reached its limits. Push-ups that once left him gasping now felt like gentle stretches. Marathon runs barely elevated his heart rate. His body craved greater challenges, more intense punishment.
It was time to test himself against human opponents.
•~•
Charlotte descended from his mountain fortress, a bundle of premium pelts slung over his shoulder. His year of isolation had transformed him—where once stood a scrawny waif now walked a compact powerhouse, muscles coiled beneath sun-bronzed skin like steel cables ready to snap.
The port market buzzed with its usual chaos until Charlotte appeared. Conversations died mid-sentence as people stared at the 1.5-meter figure effortlessly carrying cargo that dwarfed him. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
"Is that... Charlotte? Didn't he disappear?"
"Look at the size of him now..."
"Where has he been all this time?"
Charlotte ignored the murmurs, claiming a prime spot in the market's heart. He spread his blanket with practiced efficiency, arranged his pristine pelts in an eye-catching display, then settled cross-legged to wait for customers.
The gathering crowd pressed closer, their pointing fingers and hushed commentary grating against his nerves like nails on slate.
"Buy something or get lost!" Charlotte's voice cut through the babble like a blade. "You're scaring away real customers!"
The market fell silent. Every eye fixed on him with expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. An orphan—no matter how much he'd grown—simply didn't speak to adults that way.
The silence stretched until heavy footsteps announced new arrivals.
•~•
"Well, well... looks like we've got ourselves a bold little entrepreneur."
The crowd parted like the Red Sea as five rough-looking men swaggered forward. Their leader wore his authority like armor—gold chains draped his thick neck, a gold tooth gleamed in his leering smile, and violence radiated from him like heat from a forge.
The Wild Wolf Gang, Charlotte realized, watching the townspeople scatter like startled rabbits. Even in a settlement of barely a thousand souls, predators found ways to establish their hunting grounds.
"Kid!" The gang boss's voice boomed across the suddenly-empty market. "You setting up shop without asking permission? That's gonna cost you."
Charlotte remained seated, his expression neutral as he studied the five thugs. The boss was clearly the strongest—scarred knuckles and confident swagger marked him as someone accustomed to violence. His underlings were typical street muscle: all bluster and barely-controlled aggression.
Perfect test subjects.
"These pelts look mighty fine," the boss continued, kneeling to examine Charlotte's wares. He lifted two pristine fox pelts, running calloused fingers across their unblemished surfaces. "No wounds, perfect preservation... quality work."
His smile turned predatory. "Consider these my collection fee."
Charlotte's hand shot out like a striking viper, iron fingers clamping around the gang leader's wrist with crushing force.
"Forty berries," Charlotte said quietly. "Pay up."
The boss tried to jerk free, his face flushing red as his muscles strained against Charlotte's grip. Nothing. The kid's fingers might as well have been forged from steel.
"Give me... money?" The gang leader's shock transformed into wild laughter. "Kid, I've never paid for anything in my life!"
His free hand darted toward the dagger at his belt, but Charlotte moved first. A simple push sent the much larger man sprawling across the cobblestones, limbs tangling as he crashed in an undignified heap.
"Boss!" The remaining four thugs drew their weapons—rusted daggers and nail-studded clubs gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Charlotte stood slowly, his foot settling on the fallen leader's chest with the weight of inevitability. The man bucked and writhed beneath him, but might as well have been trying to move a mountain.
"Dead! You're dead, you little bastard!" Spittle flew from the boss's lips as rage consumed what little dignity he had left.
The watching crowd held its collective breath. Everyone knew what came next—the Wild Wolf Gang would make an example of this upstart child, and another soul would learn the harsh reality of crossing the wrong people.
But as Charlotte's lips curved into a cold smile, something in his eyes suggested that today's lesson would be taught by an entirely different kind of teacher.