Gojo had gleaned fragmented knowledge about this world—particularly its power system—but how reliable was such information? Since his arrival, his keen eyes had yet to observe anyone wielding esoteric abilities, nor had he caught whispers of such phenomena in the murmurs of the populace.
How best to articulate it? Unbeknownst to him, Devil Fruits constituted the established power framework, yet Haki transcended it entirely, operating on a superior stratum.
A Devil Fruit's power could indeed be negated or even reversed by an opponent's Haki—though such a feat demanded mastery of an extraordinarily advanced caliber.
He had theorized that this world harbored an auxiliary power system, one specifically devised to counter Devil Fruit users, particularly those of the elusive Logia classification.
The pivotal question loomed: Would he consume a Devil Fruit, augmenting his Cursed Technique and Limitless at the cost of his ability to swim? Or would he instead dedicate himself to mastering Haki in tandem with his innate abilities?
No… sacrificing his capacity to navigate the seas seemed an unthinkable trade. Yet, the vulnerability imposed by seawater—an Achilles' heel for every Devil Fruit user—was nothing short of terrifying.
Moreover, humanity had refined this weakness into a tangible weapon: Seastone, or its prison-forged counterpart, the Seaprism. The Marines of the Grand Line wielded these tools with ruthless efficiency, ensnaring Devil Fruit users and delivering them to the infamous penitentiary from which no soul had ever emerged—Impel Down.
Here in the East Blue, Foosha Village exuded rustic simplicity—weathered wooden cottages, creaking docks, and the occasional windmill standing sentinel over the landscape. Situated east of the Goa Kingdom's opulent capital, the village was seldom troubled by Devil Fruit wielders. Instead, the surrounding mountains teemed with mountain bandits and third-rate pirates, their sporadic raids punctuating the otherwise placid rhythm of coastal life.
But now was not the time for idle contemplation. The hour of training had arrived.
Gojo had resolved to pursue his ambitions without hesitation—to carve his path across the waves and seize adventures grander than any he had known in his former world.
After hours of relentless sprinting, sweat slicked his brow, tracing rivulets down his jawline. A hundred sit-ups and push-ups lay behind him before he folded himself into a cross-legged stance upon the earth.
With a measured exhale, he shed his shirt, leaving only his trousers. Eyes sliding shut, he plunged into deep meditation, attuning his senses to the faintest whisper of Cursed Energy threading through his veins.
The ceaseless chorus of birdsong gnawed at his focus, summoning twin veins of irritation along his temples as his teeth ground together.
"I wish I could slaughter every last one of these damned birds."
He shook his head sharply—focus was paramount; there was no room for distraction. Time was a finite resource in this world, and preparation could not wait.
Drawing a slow, deliberate breath, he exhaled, his eyelids fluttering closed as he honed his senses into razor-edged clarity, banishing all external interference.
He sealed his ears against the avian cacophony, diving inward to harness the elusive currents of Cursed Energy. It pulsed around him, a phantom tide, and he willed it to suffuse every fiber of his being.
Failure came relentlessly, yet he refused to surrender. Again and again, he repeated the ritual—until, at last, comprehension dawned.
Finally…
He concentrated the cursed energy coursing through his veins, directing it toward his hands before they became wreathed in azure flames. A faint smirk played across his lips as his eyes flickered open, surveying the pulsating energy enveloping his clenched fist.
"Welcome home." He addressed himself with quiet amusement, observing the swirling power. The cursed energy proved more than sufficient as he unleashed a relentless barrage of punches into the empty air.
Maintaining the flow of cursed energy around both fists came effortlessly—he knew his reserves were inexhaustible.
With sudden acceleration, he lunged toward a boulder and drove his right fist forward. Upon impact, the rock exploded into a shower of fragmented debris.
Undeterred, he pivoted toward the surrounding trees, demolishing them one after another with fists sheathed in cerulean fire. Then, clasping his hands together, he triggered an eruption—the cursed energy around his fists flared violently before cascading outward, engulfing his entire form in a blazing aura.
The energy encased his body completely, hardening his flesh into an impervious barrier capable of repelling any assault.
Gojo's ears twitched as a distant roar shattered the silence. "Don't tell me it's what I think it is..."
His fingers tightened into a fist just as the sound intensified. The earth trembled; trees toppled like dominos as an enraged bear barreled toward him with terrifying momentum.
Letting out a sharp whistle, Gojo appraised the beast now standing before him. "Perfect." His smirk widened as he intensified the cursed energy cloaking his body.
The bear, incensed by his defiance, reared back and slashed horizontally with claws capable of bisecting a man. Yet, as the deadly arc descended toward him, Gojo's grin only grew.
He didn't flinch.
The claws connected—and shattered against the blue inferno surrounding him.
Holding back slightly, Gojo retaliated with a single punch to the bear's stomach, sending the massive creature hurtling through the forest, obliterating everything in its path.
Dropping his arms, Gojo closed his eyes, his body still radiating with cursed energy as he focused 90% of his reserves into his right fist.
The energy swirling around his knuckles began to shift—its hue darkening, its density warping space itself. The distortion amplified the destructive potential exponentially, magnifying its force by a factor of 2.5.
The blue flames transmuted into crimson, crackling with unstable bursts of raw power.
As the bear staggered upright and charged once more, Gojo's eyelids lifted slowly.
"BLACK FLASH!!!"
His fist—now sheathed in scarlet annihilation—collided with the beast. The impact detonated in a cataclysmic burst, reducing the bear to a mist of gore and splintered bone. The shockwave ripped through the landscape, leveling trees and carving a trench into the earth behind the vaporized creature.
Gojo studied his fist, the familiar thrill of wielding cursed energy surging through him once more. His mind flashed back to his final battle—to the moment this very technique had sent Ryomen Sukuna spiraling into unconsciousness.
The memory of his supremacy in the jujutsu world reignited his pride, propelling him forward.
Now, it was time to ascend further.
Limitless and Cursed Techniques.
But that was enough for one day. He collapsed face-first onto the ground, his chest heaving with labored breaths as exhaustion seeped into every fiber of his being. His muscles screamed in protest, the accumulated fatigue of weeks of relentless training finally taking its toll.
He had pushed himself to the limit—training day and night for weeks—and only today had he finally achieved complete mastery over his cursed energy. Now, his body refused to cooperate further.
The sun dipped below the horizon, twilight painting the sky in hues of amber and violet. He had been so absorbed in his training that time had slipped away unnoticed.
Glancing down at his bloodstained clothes—the remnants of his earlier encounter with the bear—he realized he needed to cleanse himself before venturing into town.
Lately, Gojo had caught wind of numerous rumors about a particular bar in the eastern district, renowned for serving the finest liquor in the region. With a weary grumble, he forced himself upright, dusting off his clothes as he steadied his breathing.
…
After meandering through the streets and inquiring for directions, Gojo eventually found himself on the right path to the famed establishment.
"What was the name again?" He paused, tapping his chin in thought. "Ah, right—'Party's Bar.'" He couldn't help but wonder what kind of place it would be.
Dressed in a crisp sky-blue shirt and tailored black trousers, he completed his ensemble with sleek dark sunglasses and a black cap pulled low over his head—giving off the air of a wealthy, unapproachable elite.
He stopped at the entrance, taking in the bar's exterior. The structure was impressive: two verdant flower pots flanked the doorway, the polished wooden walls exuded rustic charm, and above the entrance, the name "Party's Bar" was elegantly carved into a vibrant orange signboard.
Stepping inside, he was met with an unexpected sight—the bar was completely empty.
"Welcome, sir," a melodious voice greeted him. A young, strikingly beautiful woman stood behind the counter, meticulously polishing a glass with a white cloth. "I don't believe I've seen you here before. What can I get for you?" Makino's warm smile sent an unexpected flutter through Gojo's chest, leaving him momentarily flustered.
Clearing his throat, he regained his composure. "Give me your best liquor."
"Right away, sir." Makino returned moments later with a premium bottle and a plate of freshly prepared food. Gojo wasted no time digging in.
"This is insanely good," he mumbled through a mouthful, washing it down with a swig of the exquisite liquor. The rich, smooth flavor confirmed the rumors—this place truly served the best.
As he chatted amiably with Makino, savoring both the meal and the conversation, the tranquility was abruptly shattered.
BANG!
The door flew open with violent force as five rough-looking men barged in, armed to the teeth with firearms and cutlasses.
Gojo barely glanced their way, his attention remaining fixed on his drink. Whatever trouble they brought, it was none of his concern—at least, not until he finished his meal.
"Well well, what do we have here?"
One of the thugs snorted derisively as they swaggered toward Gojo, who remained focused on his meal, utterly unfazed by their presence.
"Owner! We'll be taking every last bottle you've got—right now." The ringleader threatened, running his tongue across yellowed teeth in a grotesque display of anticipation.
Makino had been preparing to close for the evening—the dimming light outside signaling the end of business—when Gojo arrived, purchasing her final remaining bottle of liquor.
"I-I'm terribly sorry," she stammered, bowing deeply. "That gentleman just bought our last bottle."
Huh?
Before Gojo could react, one of the brutes slammed a meaty palm onto his shoulder and violently smashed his face into the table, shattering the plate beneath him.
"Hand over your valuables, rich boy," the gang sneered, leveling their firearms at Gojo as he slowly rose from the floor, wiping food remnants from his lips.
"Ma'am... please forgive me for this," Gojo murmured—an instant before seizing the nearest attacker by his collar and driving a devastating headbutt straight into his nose. The man crumpled like a sack of grain, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"You bastard!" The remaining men barely had time to squeeze their triggers before Gojo became a blur of motion—his fists a whirlwind of precise, non-lethal strikes that left the entire group groaning in broken heaps.
Makino could only stare, wide-eyed, as the seemingly unassuming young man dismantled the mountain bandits with terrifying efficiency.
A slow, measured clap suddenly cut through the tension.
A new group filed into the bar—battle-hardened pirates armed to the teeth, led by a grinning red-haired figure who sauntered toward Makino with easy confidence.
"What an impressive performance." The man chuckled, his single arm resting casually on his sword's hilt.
"Shanks?!" Makino gasped.
The legendary pirate captain settled onto a stool, his keen gaze locked onto Gojo. "Thanks for looking after Makino here."
Gojo's shattered sunglasses slipped from his face, revealing piercing blue eyes that met Shanks' stare without flinching. "Don't mention it. Just handling trash." He tossed payment onto the counter and moved to leave, shoulders tense as he passed the Red Hair Pirates—their collective aura pressing against his senses like a physical weight. 'These guys... they're monsters.'
As the door swung shut behind Gojo, Benn Beckman exhaled a plume of smoke, tapping ash from his cigarette. "Captain... you felt that, right?"
Shanks' smile faded slightly. "Yeah... that energy was unlike anything I've encountered. Just who the hell was that guy?"