The next morning, brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows gradually roused Daigo from his deep slumber. As consciousness returned, he slowly opened his eyes—only to find Camearra curled against him like a protective cat, sleeping peacefully with the faintest smile gracing her lips. Whatever dreams visited her seemed far sweeter than his own turbulent visions.
"Camearra?" he whispered softly, careful not to disturb her rest.
The memories came flooding back like fragments of a shattered mirror. To prevent their battle from endangering Earth, he'd led her into outer space, but Camearra's power had far exceeded his expectations. Her energy whip had torn through his defenses like paper, and even Tiga's strongest forms couldn't match her raw hatred-fueled strength. The beating had been systematic, almost personal—every strike carrying thirty million years of accumulated resentment.
"The coma... those dreams..." The visions had felt startlingly vivid—more real than memory, more substantial than imagination. The burning ancient city with its Greek-inspired architecture, the desperate battles between titans, and most haunting of all, that peaceful scene beneath the laurel tree. He strained to recall the obscured face of the figure who'd seemed so hauntingly familiar, like looking at himself in a distorted mirror.
"Ahh!" Sudden agony lanced through his skull like white-hot needles, as if something was trying to claw its way out from the depths of his mind.
The sharp cry instantly woke Camearra, whose eyes snapped open with the alertness of someone accustomed to danger. Finding Daigo clutching his head in obvious pain, she abandoned all pretense of sleep and drew him into her protective embrace with surprising gentleness.
"Daigo, I'm here," she whispered against his ear, her voice carrying none of yesterday's rage. "The pain will pass. I'll always be with you, always... just like before."
Her gentle warmth gradually eased the throbbing in his temples, though confusion remained like fog in his thoughts. Why was this woman—who'd been his mortal enemy just yesterday—now showing such tender care? Her touch was familiar in ways that defied explanation, as if his body remembered what his mind had forgotten.
BOOM!
A tremendous explosion outside shattered his contemplation, the shockwave rattling the ship's sturdy windows. Instinctively, his hand moved to the inner pocket where he always kept his Spark Lens—that lifeline to his true power.
"What?" The transformation device was gone, leaving only empty fabric.
"Daigo, are you looking for this?" Camearra produced the familiar artifact from her own clothing, its crystalline surface catching the morning light. She studied it for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before placing it directly in his palm. "Here. I won't take it from you again."
Her behavior made no sense. Why confiscate his greatest weapon only to return it without conditions? What kind of enemy armed their captive? Unless...
"I'm not your enemy, Daigo," she said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "I never was. Not really."
BOOM!
Another detonation rattled the ship's windows, accompanied by the distinctive crack of something very large impacting very hard ground. Daigo clutched the Spark Lens and rushed to look outside, his confusion about Camearra temporarily forgotten in the face of immediate crisis.
On a stretch of beach near the Bamboo Staff, a dark-haired young man was locked in brutal combat with a creature that definitely wasn't human. The thing had a serrated nose like a saw blade, grayish-blue skin that gleamed wetly in the sunlight, and the unmistakable predatory features of a shark-human hybrid. Its movements carried the fluid grace of something born for violence, every motion calculated to kill or maim.
Standing at a safe distance with his arms crossed, Gustave observed the battle like a professor watching a particularly interesting experiment. Luffy and Ace flanked him, cheering enthusiastically despite the obvious danger:
"Come on, Chu Zihang! Beat that ugly fish!"
"Show him how strong humans can be!"
The fishman pirate Arlong had finally arrived—the monster Gustave had been expecting for weeks.
Earlier that morning, Arlong and his crew had made landfall at a remote section of Cocoyasi Village's coastline, their approach masked by morning fog and careful timing. They might have succeeded in establishing their reign of terror, but Nami's panicked sprint to the Bamboo Staff had changed everything.
"Pirates are attacking the village!" she'd screamed, bursting onto the deck with tears streaming down her face. "They're killing everyone! Please, you have to help!"
Gustave's Observation Haki had quickly identified the notorious fishman gang, but instead of immediate intervention, he'd seen an opportunity. Moving with lightning speed, he'd captured all of Arlong's subordinates in a matter of minutes—but left their captain deliberately free for a very specific purpose.
Chu Zihang had been hovering on the threshold of awakening Armament Haki for weeks, his training reaching a plateau that pure practice couldn't overcome. Sometimes, the final breakthrough required genuine mortal peril—and Arlong's considerable strength made him the perfect catalyst for that transformation.
The bargain had been elegantly simple: defeat Chu Zihang in single combat, and both Arlong and his crew would go free to terrorize other islands. Of course, Gustave had also mentioned that any future encounters would end very differently, with no mercy and no second chances. The fishman's limited intelligence had completely missed the trap in those words, focused only on the promise of freedom through victory.
"You think one puny human whelp can defeat the great Arlong?" the fishman had sneered, flexing claws that could rend steel. "I'll tear him apart and use his bones as toothpicks!"
For his part, Chu Zihang had accepted the challenge with grim determination. Since that rainy night when his father had vanished into Odin's schemes, his entire existence had been dedicated to one goal: growing strong enough to find and defeat the King of Sky and Wind. Every brutal training session, every drop of sweat and blood, every moment of agony under Po's guidance—all of it had been building toward confrontations exactly like this.
"I won't lose," he'd said simply, golden eyes already beginning to glow with inner fire. "I can't afford to lose."
When two beings driven by such absolute conviction collided, the result was inevitably spectacular.
Unlike Gustave's battles that could reshape weather patterns and split skies, this was pure, visceral combat—flesh against flesh, will against will. Neither fighter held anything back, their every collision gouging craters in the beach sand and sending shockwaves rippling through the air.
Arlong opened with his signature move, the "Shark On Darts" charge that had pulverized countless opponents. His massive frame rocketed forward like a living torpedo, serrated nose aimed directly at Chu Zihang's heart.
The young mixed-blood barely managed to sidestep, the fishman's nose gouging a furrow in the sand where he'd been standing. Chu Zihang countered with a lightning-fast combination—left jab, right cross, knee strike toward Arlong's solar plexus. Each blow carried the precision Po had drilled into him through months of relentless training.
But Arlong's hide was tougher than reinforced leather, his bones denser than human anatomy allowed. The punches that should have dropped a normal opponent barely staggered the fishman, who responded with a backhand that sent Chu Zihang tumbling across the sand.
"Is that all, little human?" Arlong taunted, spitting blood-tinged saliva. "I've been hit harder by sea cow calves!"
"Are they aliens? Monsters?" Daigo muttered, watching in amazement as their exchange carved trenches in solid ground. In his experience, normal humans simply couldn't generate this level of destruction with their bare hands—even GUTS members at peak physical condition paled beside these combatants.
The battle's rhythm quickly established itself: Chu Zihang's superior technique and speed against Arlong's overwhelming power and durability. The young man danced around his opponent like a matador, landing precise strikes at nerve clusters and joint weaknesses, while the fishman pursued with relentless brutality, every swing capable of shattering bones.
In terms of raw physical power, the combatants were more evenly matched than appearances suggested. Chu Zihang's draconic heritage provided strength that surpassed normal human limits, while his Observation Haki allowed him to predict and counter many of Arlong's attacks. Their determination burned with equal intensity—possibly even favoring Chu Zihang's desperate obsession with revenge.
But when it came to actual combat experience, the mixed-blood was hopelessly outclassed.
Arlong had spent decades walking the razor's edge of violence, surviving countless battles through cunning, ruthlessness, and hard-earned skill. He'd fought rival pirate crews, Marine squadrons, and even sea monsters in the deep ocean trenches. His body carried scars from a hundred encounters, each one a lesson written in pain and blood.
Compared to Chu Zihang—brilliant but largely untested in real bloodshed—the fishman possessed an encyclopedia of lethal knowledge.
That gap became increasingly apparent as their death match progressed. Arlong began reading Chu Zihang's patterns, anticipating his favorite combinations, baiting him into overextending. When the young man committed to a devastating kick combo, the fishman caught his leg and hurled him bodily into a cluster of palm trees.
"Too predictable!" Arlong roared, following up with his "Tooth Gum" attack—firing his own teeth like bullets. Several found their mark, punching bloody holes through Chu Zihang's shirt and drawing pained gasps.
But the young mixed-blood refused to stay down. Rolling to his feet despite the injuries, he wiped blood from his mouth and settled back into his fighting stance. His golden eyes had begun glowing more intensely, pupils contracting to reptilian slits.
"Good!" Arlong laughed approvingly. "I was worried you'd break too easily!"
The fishman's next assault was a masterpiece of calculated violence. He feinted with a high punch, drawing Chu Zihang's guard upward, then pivoted into a devastating knee strike that doubled the young man over. Before Chu Zihang could recover, Arlong's elbow crashed down between his shoulder blades, driving him face-first into the sand.
"Stay down, boy," Arlong advised, genuine respect creeping into his voice. "You've got heart, I'll give you that. But heart alone won't save you from the depths."
Instead of surrender, Chu Zihang spat sand and blood, then slowly pushed himself back to his feet. His body was accumulating wounds at an alarming rate—his clothes shredded and soaked with crimson, his breathing labored, his left arm hanging at an unnatural angle.
Yet something in his expression had changed. The desperate fear was gone, replaced by an almost serene acceptance of what was coming.
"This is bad!" Daigo started toward the door despite his own weakened condition. He barely knew Chu Zihang, but the young man had been the first person he'd encountered in this strange place—the first to show him basic human kindness in a world gone mad. That counted for something.
After two steps, however, his battered body rebelled with searing pain. The cosmic beating Camearra had delivered left him barely able to stand, let alone fight.
"Daigo, what are you doing?" Camearra caught his arm, her voice sharp with alarm and something that might have been panic.
"I have to help him!" Daigo gasped, struggling against her surprisingly strong grip. "That young man is going to die!"
"Can't you see his friends are watching?" she snapped, pointing toward Gustave's calm observation. "If there was real danger, they'd intervene! That chef isn't the type to let his people die for entertainment!"
"But—"
"Daigo, look again!" Her voice carried an edge of command that made him pause. "Really look this time."
Reluctantly, he returned to the window for a clearer view. The sight made his breath catch in his throat.
Chu Zihang now sported a massive gash across his chest where Arlong's claws had found their mark, blood streaming down his torso in crimson rivers. His left shoulder sat at an obviously wrong angle, and his breathing came in short, painful gasps. He looked like something from a nightmare, barely standing through sheer willpower and stubborn pride.
Yet something extraordinary was happening. Despite his ghastly appearance—or perhaps because of it—Chu Zihang seemed to be undergoing a fundamental transformation.
The pain was stripping away everything nonessential, burning through layers of doubt and hesitation like fire through paper. His breathing steadied, his stance subtly shifted, and most remarkably, his injuries seemed to matter less with each passing second.
"Time to end this charade," Arlong declared, gathering himself for a final, killing blow. "You fought well, boy. I'll make sure your death is quick."
The fishman launched himself forward in his ultimate technique—the "Kiribachi" spinning attack that combined his natural speed with the cutting power of his sawlike nose. It was an assault that had never failed to kill, turning opponents into red mist and scattered bone fragments.
But this time was different.
First, the impact of preparation knocked away Chu Zihang's colored contact lenses, revealing the brilliant golden pupils that marked his draconic heritage in their full, terrifying glory. They blazed like twin suns, ancient and predatory, carrying genetic memories of beings that had ruled the sky when humanity still cowered in caves.
The moment their gazes met, Arlong's charge faltered. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to submit, to grovel before this superior apex predator. The sensation was so overwhelming that he stumbled mid-attack, his perfect technique crumbling into clumsy desperation.
Then Chu Zihang's hands began turning black.
It started at his fingertips—a dark, metallic sheen that seemed to absorb light itself. The color spread up his arms like living ink, hardening into something that resembled polished obsidian but felt infinitely more dangerous. The air around his fists began to shimmer with barely contained power.
At the very brink of death, pushed beyond every limit he'd thought possible, Chu Zihang had finally awakened his Armament Haki.
The transformation was more than physical. His entire presence changed, becoming something predators instinctively recognized as death incarnate. When he moved, it was with the fluid grace of someone who'd found perfect harmony between mind, body, and will.
"What the hell—!" Arlong roared, forcing down his terror as he committed to his charge. Pride and desperation drove him forward even as every fiber of his being screamed warnings.
But this attack was different from all the rest. With his enhanced perception and newly awakened power, Chu Zihang could see every flaw in Arlong's technique, every micro-expression that telegraphed intent, every opening in his assault. Time seemed to slow as he analyzed the perfect counter.
His Haki-coated fist met the fishman's jaw with surgical precision, striking at the exact angle needed to transmit maximum force through bone and into the brain beyond. The impact produced a sound like a gunshot, echoing across the beach with finality that made even the seabirds fall silent.
Arlong's eyes rolled back as his body went limp, unconscious before momentum carried him past Chu Zihang to crash into the sand like a felled titan. He lay motionless save for the shallow breathing that confirmed he still lived—barely.
The battle was over.
For a long moment, Chu Zihang simply stood there, staring at his blackened hands with something approaching wonder. The Armament Haki slowly faded, leaving his skin normal but somehow fundamentally changed, as if he'd crossed an invisible threshold that could never be recrossed.