The jungle sky churned with smoke and flame as the battle reached its crescendo. Warships split the sea in the distance, their cannons already echoing like thunder. And in the heart of the chaos stood a boy whose eyes burned not with fear — but hunger.
Teach's gaze shimmered with madness.
Two years had passed since he joined Whitebeard's crew. He hadn't grown taller. His face still bore the softness of youth. But under that skin, his body had been forged — honed through war, scars, and obsession. Kendo and physique: both growing in silent tandem. Yet the real breakthrough, the one that mattered, still eluded him.
And Teach knew what he needed: pressure.Only through the crucible of battle would the door open.
He surged forward like a tempest, twin blades crackling with lightning and fire. Navy eyes locked onto him — this feral boy charging headlong into death.
At the bow of a burning warship stood a seasoned swordsman: a Vice Admiral. His blade gleamed under the smoke-hazed sky. A man of discipline, of control — and of the World Government.
The older man's lip curled. "You coming for me, brat?" he said, voice flat, unimpressed. "You still stink of your father's coattails. You want to die? Fine. Let me bury you here."
Steel rasped as the Vice Admiral drew his blade in one smooth motion.
Teach grinned like a madman. Wind ripped the turban from his head. Black hair whipped behind him like a flag of rebellion. Lightning danced along his blade, mingling with flame.
"Then come kill me, Navy's dog!" Teach roared. "Let's see who dies first."
His voice crackled with power — and something more.Rage. Hunger. Joy.
The two blades clashed.
Sparks exploded. Their duel was immediate and brutal, both fighters aiming to kill. Around them, the other navies backed off, the pressure too intense to interfere.
Vice Admiral Gion stepped forward to assist —But a flash of silver intercepted him.
"I'm afraid this dance is one-on-one," said a calm voice.
Vista stepped into view, his twin blades resting casually at his sides. He wore his gentleman's hat with a tilt, and his mustache twitched in amusement.
"TitcTeach needs this," Vista added. "He's closer than he knows."
The battle around them raged. Ten warships had brought over thirty thousand marines, but the Whitebeard Pirates had come prepared. They were veterans of war. Survivors. Monsters. And today, they held nothing back.
No mercy.
No survivors.
Whitebeard's initial shockwave had shattered all Den Den Mushi. There would be no calls for help. No reinforcements.
The sea ran red with navy blood.
And still, at the heart of it, Titch fought.
Though he was clearly at a disadvantage, pressed back by the superior blade work and the armed Haki of the Vice Admiral, his presence didn't waver. His aura surged. He smiled through bloodied lips.
"You still think I'm weak?" he spat. "Then kill me already."
He was baiting the man — drawing out his full power. Titch needed it. That final push. That pressure. He felt the bottleneck in his chest, clawing to be broken.
"You little…" the Vice Admiral growled. "So that's your plan."
He saw it now. The boy wasn't just reckless — he was deliberate. He was using him.
"Fine," he said, lowering his stance. "You want pressure? You'll drown in it."
"Return of Life!"
His body shifted — muscles tightened, movements sharpened. He had mastered all six techniques of the Rokushiki, but this one… Return of Life was the pinnacle. He controlled his body at the cellular level, channeling every ounce of potential into speed, strength, and lethality.
His body began to burn — not with fire, but with life itself.
His eyes flicked toward Whitebeard in the distance. He knew what this would cost. He knew he wouldn't survive this battle. But he no longer cared.
If he couldn't kill Teach now, this boy would grow into a monster. And the world already had enough monsters.
The onslaught began.
Teach faltered. Each strike from the Vice Admiral came faster than thought, heavier than steel. Cuts bloomed across Teach's chest, arms, legs. He could barely defend. His body screamed in agony — yet something inside him smiled.
This is it. This is the moment.
Teach's bloodied fingers tightened around Thunder Fang.
Then it came.
Not a sound, but a sensation. A rhythm.
The world slowed.
He could hear it — the breath of the trees, the hum of the blade, the silent pulse of his enemy's body. Everything around him breathed. And he… was breathing with it.
"The breath… of all things," Teach whispered, eyes going wide.
In that moment, his blade sang.
Lightning and flame surged through it, no longer chaotic — but in perfect harmony. He stepped forward, cutting with intent. Cutting everything, and nothing.
The Vice Admiral's expression changed. He felt it.
He's broken through.
But he couldn't let him ascend.
At the very instant of Titch's breakthrough, he saw a flicker — a flaw in Titch's defense. He struck.
CLANG!
One of Teach's swords — Purgatory — was knocked skyward, spinning into the air.
The Vice Admiral smiled grimly. "Let's end this."
He poured his life into the blade. Muscles tore. Veins burst. His body collapsed in on itself even as he launched the final blow of his life — the strongest, deadliest strike he had ever made.
"Die!" he roared.
The sword came screaming down, aimed directly for Titch's heart.
Everyone saw it — and no one could stop it.
Even Whitebeard felt a twinge of danger.
Teach's eyes widened. I'm… going to die.
But instinct moved before thought.
He raised Thunder Fang with his left hand — and caught the blade.
Steel met steel.
The enemy's sword drove down, inch by inch, into his chest. Blood exploded from the wound. Teach roared in pain — but he didn't fall.
The Vice Admiral's eyes widened. "Why… how…?"
Then he looked down.
A clawed hand, wreathed in lightning and flame, had pierced through his own chest — crushing his heart in Teach's grasp.
"You... you—!" he choked.
Teach leaned close, breath ragged, blood still pouring."You got a name, old man? I'll remember it. You earned that much."
The Vice Admiral's lips trembled. He was aging before their eyes, life burnt away.
Titch smiled through the blood.
"Remember mine. Marshall D. Teach.Someday, this name will shake the world."
The Vice Admiral collapsed, eyes glazed in disbelief.
He hadn't killed the monster — he had created one.
Silence fell. The pirates stared in awe. Even the newer members, still unsure of the boy, stood stunned.
"What… what just happened?"
"That was… the breath of all things… and—"
"Did he… awaken Conqueror's Haki?!"
Marco, eyes wide, nodded slowly. "He has the qualifications. The King's Will."
He'd been watching Titch for years. The boy had trained in silence. Bled in solitude. And now… he had bloomed in war.
And Whitebeard had seen something even more chilling.
At the moment Teach's Conqueror's Haki erupted — he had controlled it. Precisely. No allies were harmed. No one fainted. No loss of reason.
A sign of mastery.
Whitebeard grinned. "That's my son."
Titch stood tall on the deck of the warship, bloodied, but unbowed. His body screamed in pain. He pulled the Vice Admiral's blade from his chest with a grunt, blood pouring from the wound.
He stumbled.
"Oi! A little help here," he shouted. "I'm bleeding out, y'know!"
That broke the trance.
Pirates rushed toward him.
"You did itTeach!"
"You killed a Vice Admiral!"
"You're only fourteen, and already a swordsman?!"
The tone had changed. Respect was now laced into every word. Not just camaraderie — reverence. They had seen a boy become a legend.
Teach didn't respond. He retrieved Purgatory from the deck, and strapped it back to his waist. He took the Vice Admiral's blade too — a trophy.
When they returned to the Moby Dick, all eyes were on him.
Teach turned to Whitebeard, chin raised. "Pops. I won."
Whitebeard's laugh boomed across the ship. "You did. And you earned it. Go. Get that wound treated. The final battle's mine."
He turned toward the sea, where more ships approached — more enemies.
But behind him, his son stood, now something more than a boy.
A storm.
A king in the making.