Haiyuan Calendar, Year 1494 – New WorldIsland of Asuka – Deep in the Mountains
A low growl rumbled through the misty forest.
In the dim underbrush, the hulking shadow of a massive tiger—eight meters from nose to tail—crept silently over the mossy ground. Its fiery golden eyes locked onto the lone figure ahead. A thin, dark-haired youth stood at the center of a blood-slicked clearing, beside the mangled corpse of a violent bear, steam still rising from its wounds.
The scent of blood pulled the beast here, but it hesitated. Something about the boy—something in his stillness—scratch at the primal instincts of the predator. There was danger there. Faint, but undeniable.
Still… the tiger's hunger outweighed its wariness.
Muscles rippling beneath striped fur, it stalked closer, pacing slowly in a half-circle around the youth. The boy didn't move. Not a twitch. Not even a breath. It looked as though exhaustion had rooted him to the earth.
Good. Easier prey.
The tiger's instincts overrode caution. It moved forward—once, twice—bringing it within striking distance.
It lowered its massive head, claws sliding out with a shing, and let out a savage snarl:
"HRAAAAAAGH!"
The trees trembled from the force of its roar as it lunged.
But the boy's eyes snapped open—alight with a mad, gleaming fire.
"HAHA! Finally!"
With a thunderous stomp, he exploded from the ground, wind blasting out in every direction. The forest floor beneath his feet cratered, flinging rock and soil as he leapt straight into the tiger's charge.
Startled, the tiger's pupils contracted.
But it was too late.
The boy's arms twisted back, muscles ballooning, fingers curled like claws. Ten flashes of silvery light slashed across the air—ten claw-like shadows, moving faster than thought.
He dropped from the sky like a hammer.
The tiger's body slammed into the ground behind him with a deafening crash. It twitched once. Then went still.
The boy landed on one knee. Blood soaked both his arms, and thick crimson drops ran down his fingers, splattering onto the soil.
Across the tiger's belly: ten vicious gashes, deep and precise. The same wound pattern mirrored on the dead bear behind him.
Later that night, a fire crackled in a clearing beneath the trees.
Fat sizzled over the flames. A massive bear paw roasted on a makeshift spit, filling the air with the scent of seared meat.
The boy sat cross-legged, eyes reflecting the firelight, face calm but pensive.
He stared into the dancing flames.
"Twelve," he muttered softly. "Should be soon."
He looked up at the starlit sky.
He hadn't been born into this world. He'd simply… woken up in it. There was no death, no bolt of lightning, no system guiding him. One moment, he was asleep. The next, he had opened his eyes as Marshall D. Teach—Blackbeard. A child. Just six years old.
The world of One Piece.
And he knew exactly who he would become.
In the anime, Teach had joined Whitebeard's crew at twelve. Back then, he was a scrawny, forgettable fisherman. No ambition. No strength.
Not this time.
When he had woken in this body, his consciousness had merged with the original Teach's memories—and in doing so, he'd unlocked the full truth of his terrifying, monstrous constitution.
He was born with abnormal vitality, unnatural strength, and… a curse.
He couldn't sleep. Ever.
But unlike in his previous life, insomnia wasn't a burden here—it was a gift. While others rested, he trained. Constantly. Tirelessly. For six straight years.
He'd started with pure physical conditioning. He didn't know how to train Haki—yet—but he understood that this world was merciless. Power was everything.
Alongside that, he'd stolen a swordsmanship manual from a run-down dojo on the island. Its last master had passed away without a worthy successor. The dojo was crumbling, and no one noticed when a boy slipped in and took the most valuable item left behind.
It was a complete volume on the Thunder Current Sword Style—a legendary school of swordsmanship.
Lightning and flame slashes. Devastating cuts imbued with elemental force.
Its core secret? A unique breathing technique known as Thunder Breathing—an esoteric method to generate internal current, enhancing muscle control and explosive strength. The side effects were cellular damage, overheating, and burnout.
For ordinary men, it was suicidal.
For Teach, it was perfect.
With his body's monstrous vitality, he could withstand the backlash. He utilized the Thunder Breathing technique to strengthen his internal organs, integrate it with his swordsmanship, and incorporate it into his physical training.
He also trained at another dojo on the island, one that specialized in Flame Flow Swordsmanship—a more foundational style of swordsmanship. Its master, Hare, had recognized Teach's freakish talent early and taken him in.
Under his guidance, Teach became a swordsman in two years.
Now, as the firelight danced on his bare chest, his body was cloaked in arcs of electricity. The air around him shimmered. Heat rose in visible waves. The forest was still, silent—watching.
He pressed his hands into the flames.
Pain surged through his nerves like molten steel—but he didn't flinch.
Lightning and heat intertwined, forging his flesh like metal in a smith's furnace.
No sword? No problem. He trained until his hands could cut like blades. His claws could tear through beasts like paper. His physicality was his sword.
If strength were the currency of this world, then he would be its richest man.
----
Town of Asuka – The Next MorningModi's Clinic
"TEACH! How many times have I told you to stop getting yourself hurt?!"
Monica scowled, tightening the bandage on Teach's scorched forearm. Her fingers worked with practiced speed, but her expression was pure fury.
"Haha, sorry!" Teach grinned, wincing slightly. "I was cooking bear meat and accidentally lit the tree on fire. Took half an hour to put it out. If I hadn't, we'd be short one mountain!"
"Idiot!" Monica growled, pressing down hard.
"Ahh—lighten up!" he yelped. "Monica, be gentle!"
She held his ear between two fingers and twisted. "That'll teach you to joke while I'm treating you."
Despite the pain, Teach chuckled. His wicked grin returned. "Thanks, Monica. If not for you, I'd have lost my hands. Then how would I sail the seas? Or become a great pirate?"
He stood and looked out the window. The sea sparkled in the distance, blue as the sky.
He spread his arms wide and roared:
"A MAN'S DREAM… WILL NEVER END!"
Monica froze. His broad back filled the frame, shoulders powerful, hair tousled but neat. He wasn't the boy she used to scold anymore.
Her cheeks flushed. Her heart beat faster. When had he changed so much?
She turned away, flustered. "Don't move! You'll tear your bandage!"
But it was too late. With a sharp grimace, Teach clutched his ribs and slumped back into the chair. "Ow. Damn it."
"Idiot," Monica sighed, gently pulling him back upright.
Teach looked up at her with a soft smile. "Medicine's expensive these days. I'm racking up debt with every visit."
Monica smiled faintly. "You're not getting charged."
He leaned forward slightly, smirking. "Guess I'll have to sell myself to pay you back. Handsome guy like me, I'd fetch a decent price."
Monica turned crimson.
Before she could respond—
"YOU BASTARD TEACH—GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!!"
The bellow came before the man did. The sound of boots thundered down the stairs.
Teach's instincts kicked in. He turned just as Modi, Monica's father, came flying across the clinic like a cannonball.
"Shit—"
BAM!
A white coat, short blond hair, square glasses. A blur of motion. Modi's fist curved around Teach's crossed arms and slammed straight into his chest.
"GUHHH!"
Teach flew backward like a ragdoll, smashing through the clinic door and into the courtyard wall with a bone-jarring CRACK. Dust exploded outward. Cracks webbed across the stone.
"DAD!!" Monica screamed. "He's injured! What are you doing?!"
"Hmph!" Modi adjusted his glasses with a growl. "You think I don't know this brat's limits? That punk's tougher than he looks. And if he lays a hand on my daughter again…"
Monica ran past him, rushing to Teachs side.
Teach groaned, dazed. "Haha… worth it…"