A lot had changed ever since Laffitte officially joined the crew. Both Aramaki and B quickly noticed the difference, even if they didn't talk about it openly. With Laffitte acting as their navigator, they no longer had to recklessly sail through unpredictable storms and dangerous currents.
In the past, the Wicked Wench would simply brace itself against whatever weather was thrown its way, relying on Jack's instincts and luck to pull them through. It wasn't exactly a problem, since they had managed so far, but it was still a constant burden that drained time and energy.
Now, however, storms were often avoided altogether, leaving them with smoother journeys and fewer sudden interruptions.
This change meant that Aramaki had more free time to focus entirely on his personal development, sharpening his control over both his Devil Fruit and his haki. B, meanwhile, continued to pour his time into his own hobbies and routines, often rapping or experimenting with his abilities whenever boredom struck.
As for Jack, the shift was more complicated. With less chaos around them, he found himself with even more time to sit in meditation. He had been stuck on the same stage of the Hercules Method for over two years now, making no visible breakthrough despite his endless effort. Physical training no longer gave him progress—it only maintained his body. What he needed was something deeper.
Now that he had eaten the Devil Fruit, his meditation was no longer just about aligning mind, body, and soul. It was also about trying to reach out to the power inside him, to understand and control it.
But the more time Jack spent in silence, the more he realized that the anger brewing inside him was not disappearing. It didn't matter if he tried to suppress it, ignore it, or channel it—it always remained, constantly lurking beneath the surface. It was something he couldn't escape.
He began to think of figures from his memories, those who lived with rage as a source of strength. The first one that came to his mind was Kratos, the man who burned Olympus to the ground, fueled only by his endless anger toward the gods.
"I think I'm supposed to accept this anger, but not lose to it," Jack muttered to himself during one meditation session. With that thought, he began to merge with the storm that existed inside his mind.
But this time, instead of finding himself in a familiar place with a raging storm, he arrived somewhere different. It wasn't just a storm—it was THE storm, overwhelming in scale. Thunder cracked constantly, bolts of lightning struck him from every direction, and winds roared violently, pressing against his body as though trying to crush him into nothing.
It felt like the pure embodiment of his anger, magnified by the will of the Devil Fruit itself. The more Jack had suppressed it over time, the stronger and more stubborn it had become, waiting for the chance to burst free. The storm wasn't just testing him—it was trying to control him, to bend his will and devour his identity.
But Jack wasn't someone who would be controlled. He was, above all else, the master of himself. Instead of resisting blindly, he accepted the storm. He allowed the power and fury to flow through his body, neither rejecting it nor letting it dictate his actions. He welcomed the storm as part of himself, but did nothing to let it overtake his core.
The fruit will push back, trying to erase Jack's personality and replace it with raw instinct and rage. It failed, but even in failure, it continued pressing against him. The longer he resisted, the more subtle the changes became—shaping his body, changing his appearance, and influencing his spirit in ways that weren't immediately obvious.
Every day, Jack spent more than five hours in meditation, working through the same process. He would allow the storm of rage to pass through him, feeling it course through his veins, but he never acted upon it. His crew couldn't ignore the changes they were seeing. Day by day, Jack's hair, once completely black, began to shift. Strands of white slowly appeared, spreading across his head little by little as though the storm inside was leaving its mark on the outside.
"What do you think is happening to Captain?" Laffitte eventually asked one afternoon, breaking the silence that hung in the air as he watched Jack sit cross-legged on the deck. Laffitte had only joined recently and didn't have the same context as the others.
"Oh, he ate a Devil Fruit before, and ever since then, he's been like this," Aramaki replied casually, his tone carrying no worry. To him, Jack's behavior wasn't unusual—it was just another challenge. He wasn't concerned about Jack's well-being because, in his eyes, Jack always pulled through.
B gave no long explanation either, only a nod, showing the same confidence.
Laffitte tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "The Devil Fruit's will is trying to consume his original personality. It's actually common with Zoan fruits, especially Mythical ones. The stronger the fruit, the stronger its will. No wonder he's changing slowly. But aren't you the least bit worried about him?"
"Not really," Aramaki replied with a faint grin. "He's always been this way. Jack isn't someone who gets defeated by another's will. He'll push through, like he always does."
Hearing this, Laffitte felt a strange sense of reassurance. He had already grown loyal to Jack, even in the short time since joining the crew, but this only solidified it further. Laffitte believed deeply in fate, and if Jack was a companion chosen by fate, then there was no need for doubt. A man like that wasn't meant to be broken.
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Meanwhile, inside Jack's mind space, he was standing alone when the storm around him suddenly shifted. The endless thunderclouds began to swirl into one point, and from that chaos a figure emerged—its entire body cloaked in lightning.
Unlike the storm he had faced before, this one had taken a solid form. The figure had four arms, each sparking with violent energy. It was not the same being he had seen clashing with Nika, but a completely separate presence, distinct and alien in its aura.
The lightning-clad figure lifted all four of its arms at once, releasing a deafening roar that shook the entire mindscape. Lightning erupted from Jack's body in response, striking outward uncontrollably, but Jack only narrowed his eyes and looked at the being with confidence.
'Is this what awakening looks like? I've only had this Devil Fruit for less than a year, and I'm already stepping into awakening? But if that's true, then why is this figure so different from the one I saw before? Could this be a guardian, or maybe a representation of the fruit itself? Why does this Devil Fruit feel so much stranger compared to others?' Jack thought, his mind racing even as the figure took its first step forward.
The creature didn't wait. It let out a sharp, piercing screech that rattled through Jack's skull, then hurled a massive spear forged entirely out of lightning straight at him. Jack clenched his fists and readied himself, feeling the storm within him surge in response.
The two of them clashed immediately. Their fight was not one of words but of fists, pure instinct guiding them both. Each strike carried not just physical force but willpower, as though they were testing who would dominate the storm. Jack engaged head-on, his confidence pushing him forward even though this battle was taking place within his own mind.
The figure swung with its two left arms in a crushing strike, and Jack intercepted with both hands, absorbing the momentum before redirecting it. He twisted into a counter, aiming a blow at the torso of the figure. Yet the creature wasn't unprepared—it blocked with its two remaining arms, sparks flaring where their fists met. In the same instant, it unleashed a point-blank blast of lightning directly into Jack's face.
Jack didn't flinch. Instead of dodging, he let the lightning burn into him, his entire body lit up in blinding white. At the very same moment, he threw a full-powered punch into the creature's jaw.
When the light finally faded, both were still standing, though heavily damaged. Jack's skin was charred black from the lightning blast, smoke rising from his body. The figure, meanwhile, was missing its head completely, its neck seared off by Jack's strike. For a moment it seemed as though they had destroyed each other. But slowly, inevitably, both of them began to regenerate. Jack's charred flesh peeled away as new skin reformed, and the figure's missing head gradually rebuilt itself out of crackling lightning.
The cycle of destruction and recovery left Jack with a sinking realization—this battle wasn't something that could be ended quickly. Yet before he could reengage, his consciousness was suddenly pulled away.
Jack's eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying in his cabin aboard the Wicked Wench. He sat up, breathing heavily, scanning his surroundings. The storm was gone; the world was normal again. But when he instinctively tried to transform into his beast form, he froze.
This time, his body had changed. Instead of two arms, he now had four—each one covered in glimmering gold, faint sparks running along his skin. He raised them in front of his eyes, shocked, yet also intrigued.
'That figure… was it me?' Jack thought, the question echoing endlessly in his mind as he slowly shifted back into his human form.