Bravoc shot into the sky.
Originally, he planned to grab something on this tiny island to eat. But it turned out the place was barely larger than a small village—just some twisted trees, bare rocks, and a whole lot of nothing.
Left with no other option, he decided to dive into the sea to catch some fish.
Stripping off his battle armor and placing it carefully on a nearby rock, Bravoc revealed the sleek, form-fitting suit typical of Frieza's army. Durable, highly flexible, and capable of withstanding massive pressure changes, it was the perfect uniform for a Saiyan warrior.
Ever since arriving in this world, Bravoc had avoided using his scouter—he knew the damn things had surveillance built in. But the battle armor? That was safe. If he could, he'd wear five layers of it.
Too bad low-class soldiers like him didn't get spares.
After a few minutes of diving, he emerged holding some bizarre-looking fish.
"If I'd known I'd end up in the One Piece world, I'd have kept the damn scouter," he muttered.
So what if it had a tracker? What were they going to do—spy on him from another universe?
The real reason he missed it was simple: fishing by eye underwater sucked.
The scouter could've helped him detect nearby lifeforms, gauge threat levels—maybe even save his ass from an ambush. It was more than just a radar. It was a survival tool.
Now, with fish in hand, he focused his ki and pointed at a pile of dry sticks.
BOOM!
Ashes. And a crater.
Bravoc blinked. "...Right."
He tried again.
BOOM.
Another crater.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
By the time the twelfth crater appeared, he gave up.
His ki could vaporize wood, sure. But ignite it gently? Nope.
"Wait, Gohan grilled meat using ki blasts in Dragon Ball. It should be doable..."
Determined, Bravoc pointed at one of the fish and tried again.
First fish: incinerated.
Second: blackened beyond recognition.
Third, fourth... well, you get the idea.
Eventually, he held up the sole survivor—a lump of charred fish.
"Seriously?" he groaned.
"Would it have killed the universe to let me study with the Yardrats or even just train on Earth before this?"
Saiyan education wasn't exactly subtle. It was all brute force, minimal technique. Most races in Dragon Ball didn't bother mastering finesse—they simply had too much raw power to care.
Take the Saiyans. They were divided by battle power at birth. If your reading was under 100, you were labeled "low-class."
In Dragon Ball terms?
Goku had a battle power of 10 when he met Bulma.
He hit 100 only after grueling training before the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai.
That level made him one of Earth's strongest fighters—and still classified as "trash" back on Planet Vegeta.
So yeah, with that much ki to burn, most races never learned how to conserve or control it precisely. Earthlings had to. Their ki reserves were tiny, so they got creative.
"Screw it."
Bravoc chomped into the charcoal-black fish.
He had wanted to do something cool—like Gohan grilling meat midair. Instead, he was chewing on misery.
And worse—he was still starving.
Ever since becoming a Saiyan, his appetite had become monstrous. One fish wasn't even a snack.
He looked down at the remaining pile of ruined fish and sighed.
"Nope. I need a proper island. Or at least a pirate ship with food."
Fed up, Bravoc grabbed his battle suit and the stack of wanted posters nearby. He launched into the air, soaring away from the barren rock.
"I think the bird pointed me this way…"
He flew for a while, zigzagging over the ocean like a lost drone. Eventually, he stopped mid-air, confused.
Nothing but endless blue.
"Damn it. Should've 'borrowed' a Log Pose. Or at least asked if this was East Blue, the Grand Line, or the New World…"
The worst part? The geography.
Oda once said in an interview that the One Piece world has incredibly uneven land distribution. The islands didn't line up. They were scattered like someone spilled marbles across a map.
If Bravoc flew between two islands without hitting either, he might be flying forever.
"Wait… Red Line."
That massive wall of land pierced the sky—10,000 meters high. It crossed with the Grand Line, splitting the world into four seas and separating them with Calm Belts.
If he could spot the Red Line or the windless Calm Belts, he could at least get his bearings.
"Ugh. Should've kept that bird."
Bravoc clutched his growling stomach. Starvation was not something a Saiyan handled well.
Maybe I'll just dive back down and grab another—
But just as he glanced toward the water, his peripheral vision caught a blur of movement in the sky.
Someone was flying.
No—gliding. A man dressed in a flamboyant pink feather coat, with slick blond hair and red-lensed sunglasses. He extended his hand, firing almost-invisible threads that latched onto clouds, pulling him through the sky like a human marionette.
"No way..." Bravoc's eyes widened.
He looked like someone who had just spotted a steak buffet in the middle of the desert.
That outfit. That ability.
Anyone who'd even glanced at the New World arc in One Piece would recognize him:
Donquixote Doflamingo. Heavenly Demon. Former Warlord of the Sea. Villain of the Dressrosa arc.
"Hmm?"
Doflamingo noticed him too, hovering midair like it was nothing.
"Fufufufu~ Not a Marine, not a pirate… Floating in the sky without Devil Fruit tricks. Don't tell me…"
"You ate the Float-Float Fruit from the Golden Lion?"