-Broadcast-
When fortune abandons you, even drinking water will choke you.
Kozuki Momonosuke had thought his luck was finally turning. He'd escaped Punk Hazard's hell, stowed away on a Marine supply ship, survived on stolen food—each step a minor miracle. But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.
The boy had accidentally stumbled into something far worse than his previous predicament: the aftermath of a duel between monsters. The entire Marine fleet had been carved apart by overwhelming force, its ships reduced to floating wreckage. And now, the defeated combatant had crashed directly into Momonosuke's temporary refuge.
The Sky Screen's camera focused on the warrior rising from the debris with visible difficulty. He was massive—easily over nine feet tall—with a physique that spoke of pure destructive power. His body was a canvas of battle damage: a vicious scar stretched from his left shoulder across half his torso, old wounds reopened by fresh violence. His light golden hair, which had presumably been long, now hung in a ragged short crop—clearly cut by an opponent's blade during combat. Blood still trickled from both ears. His breathing came heavy and labored.
This was a man who'd been pushed to his absolute limits.
Despite his injuries, the warrior's presence remained overwhelming. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of someone who'd stood beside legends and refused to be crushed by their shadows.
"I really should give you the title of 'Devil's Heir,'" he said, apparently addressing someone no longer visible. A bitter smile crossed his scarred face. "Did Roger know you were this powerful when he was alive? Or is this something you achieved after his death?"
[Character Information: Douglas Bullet—Former Member of the Roger Pirates, User of the Gasha Gasha no Mi (Clank-Clank Fruit)]
Momonosuke, still hidden in his trash bin sanctuary, felt his heart leap at the mention of that name. Roger. The Pirate King. Father spoke of him with respect...
Whether this man was Roger's friend or enemy would determine everything. An ally might show mercy. An enemy would likely kill him just for his bloodline connection to Kozuki Oden, who'd sailed with the Roger Pirates.
The boy held his breath, not daring to move.
But hiding from someone of Bullet's caliber was impossible.
In combat between true masters, Kenbunshoku Haki (Observation Haki) remained active at all times—a sixth sense that detected intent, presence, and hostile movement. Any external observer trying to eavesdrop on such warriors would be immediately noticed unless the warrior deliberately allowed their presence.
Douglas Bullet was not the type to be careless.
"I thought everyone on this ship was dead," Bullet mused, his head turning slightly toward where Momonosuke hid. Despite not looking directly at the trash bin, his awareness of the boy's presence was absolute. "But it seems there's one lucky survivor. Stop hiding, little mouse. Your fear is loud enough to hear from here."
The air itself seemed to compress.
Then—BOOM!
Haoshoku Haki (Conqueror's Haki) erupted from Bullet like an invisible explosion. The pressure wave of pure willpower crashed across the debris field with devastating force. The trash bin that had sheltered Momonosuke was blown sideways, its lid flying off as the container tumbled across the deck.
The boy spilled out in an undignified heap, rolling across blood-slicked planks before catching himself. He scrambled to his knees, gasping.
The world had turned blue. Bullet's Conqueror's Haki manifested as a cerulean storm—crackling energy that made the air shimmer and distort. Lesser beings would have been rendered unconscious instantly. The Marine sailors who'd survived the ship's destruction only to witness this clash had likely died from the pressure alone.
But Momonosuke remained conscious.
He shouldn't have. An eight-year-old child, untrained and unprepared, should have been knocked out immediately. Yet somehow, impossibly, he stayed aware. His vision swam. His limbs trembled. Breathing felt like trying to inhale during a hurricane. But his mind remained his own.
Why am I still awake? he thought desperately. What's happening?
Deep within his small frame, something stirred in response to Bullet's overwhelming presence. Another source of willpower—dormant until now—rose instinctively to protect its vessel. Momonosuke's own Conqueror's Haki, still unconscious and untrained, pushed back against the external pressure just enough to keep him from complete collapse.
It wasn't a clash. More like a candle flame refusing to be extinguished by a windstorm. Insignificant in comparison, but stubbornly present.
Bullet's eyes widened fractionally. Interesting.
"A child with Conqueror's Haki..." The Devil's Heir studied Momonosuke with new interest. "And you can't be more than nine or ten years old. They say you can't judge a book by its cover. Perhaps there's more to you than I assumed."
For a brief moment, Momonosuke felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this made him valuable? Maybe the man would spare him?
Then Bullet's expression hardened, and that hope died.
"It's a shame you met me now." The warrior's tone carried genuine regret, as if lamenting the waste of potential. "In another ten years, you might have been worth recruiting. But I have no interest in building a crew. Not anymore."
The surrounding debris began to rattle and shift. Pieces of the destroyed ship—metal beams, broken chains, fragments of artillery—lifted into the air as if pulled by invisible strings. They orbited Bullet's body, drawn by the power of his Gasha Gasha no Mi (Clank-Clank Fruit).
The metal components slammed together with thunderous impacts, fusing and reshaping according to Bullet's will. Within seconds, a massive weapon took form in his right hand—a brutal war hammer constructed from ship parts, easily six feet long and thick as a tree trunk. Its head was composed of compacted artillery shells and anchor chains. Dark, menacing, and absolutely lethal.
"I'll make it quick," Bullet said, almost kindly. "You won't feel pain."
Momonosuke's entire body locked with terror. The monster before him radiated the same overwhelming presence as Kaido—that same sensation of facing something utterly beyond human capability. An apex predator encountering an insect.
Why? his mind screamed. Why do I keep encountering these monsters when I'm so weak? What did I do to deserve this?
The chance of survival was zero. Even if he begged, even if he cried, even if he prostrated himself and offered anything—Bullet was clearly not in a merciful mood. The man had just lost a battle to someone even stronger. His pride was wounded. His body was damaged. Killing a helpless child to vent frustration would barely register as noteworthy.
The weak had no voice in the world of the strong. Whether mercy was granted depended entirely on the powerful individual's whim.
"No... please don't..." Momonosuke's voice cracked as tears and snot ran down his face. He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, dignity forgotten in the face of imminent death. "I don't want to die yet! Please! I'm just a child!"
The pathetic display drew no sympathy from Douglas Bullet. If anything, the weakness disgusted him. In his worldview, strength was the only currency that mattered. Begging and crying were simply proof of worthlessness.
Bullet raised the massive improvised hammer, muscles tensing for the killing blow—
And stopped.
Something had changed. The air pressure shifted dramatically. A new presence had entered the battlefield, and it dwarfed even Bullet's overwhelming aura.
Momonosuke looked up through tear-blurred eyes. A third figure now stood between him and Bullet, silhouetted against the sun. The backlighting made it impossible to see details—just a human-shaped shadow haloed by blinding light.
But the pressure. The sheer, suffocating, absolute presence emanating from this newcomer...
It was like comparing a candle to the sun itself.
BOOM!
Haoshoku Haki erupted again, but this time on a scale that made Bullet's earlier display look like a child's tantrum. The force was several magnitudes greater—a tsunami of willpower that crashed across the debris field with the intensity of a hurricane's direct impact.
The blue storm that was Bullet's Haki was simply overwhelmed. Consumed. Obliterated by this new force that manifested as a golden radiance mixed with crackling black lightning.
Momonosuke screamed soundlessly as the pressure increased beyond anything he could endure. His small hands frantically grabbed onto a piece of twisted railing, his entire body pressed flat against the deck by the sheer force. If he let go, he'd be blown away like a leaf in a typhoon.
Even the sky itself reacted. The few remaining clouds that had drifted into the area were torn apart and dispersed by the atmospheric disturbance. Within seconds, the entire visible sky had been scoured clean—nothing but endless blue extending in all directions.
This was power that altered weather patterns through presence alone.
Douglas Bullet, the Devil's Heir, the man who'd fought beside the Pirate King and survived Impel Down's Level Six, felt something he rarely experienced: genuine intimidation.
Color drained from his vision. His body—battered and exhausted from the previous battle—struggled to withstand this new onslaught. His legs shook as he fought to maintain his stance. Every instinct screamed at him to take a step back, to retreat, to acknowledge the overwhelming superiority of this opponent.
But pride wouldn't allow it.
If I retreat even one step, Bullet thought through gritted teeth, it would be more painful than death itself. I refuse. I REFUSE!
His legs remained planted despite the tremors running through his massive frame. Blood vessels bulged on his forehead from the strain. This was a battle of pure will now—not physical combat, but a contest of dominance that would determine who stood taller.
The newcomer's voice cut through the maelstrom of power like a blade through silk. Surprisingly, the question wasn't directed at Bullet.
It was aimed at Momonosuke.
"Boy." The voice carried absolute authority—not harsh, but impossible to disobey. "What is your relationship to Kozuki Oden? Or perhaps... do you carry the Kozuki bloodline?"
Momonosuke's mind went blank with terror. An invincible monster was asking about his father. About his family. About the very identity he'd been desperately trying to hide since escaping Wano.
His retainers' final instructions echoed in his memory: Never reveal your surname. Never speak of your heritage. Survive in anonymity.
But lies died in the face of this overwhelming presence. Under the crushing weight of that golden Haki, deception became physically impossible. His mouth moved before his brain could form a strategy.
"He... he's my father." The words tumbled out in a rush, bypassing every protective instinct. "I am the son of Kozuki Oden. My name is Kozuki Momonosuke."
The moment the admission left his lips, the boy realized his mistake. Horror flooded through him as he tried desperately to backtrack, to somehow take back the confession—
Too late.
The world blurred.
One instant, the powerful figure stood ten feet away. The next instant, a hand was wrapped around Momonosuke's throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air. The boy's legs kicked uselessly as his toes left the deck.
"Kozuki Oden has been dead for years." The voice came from directly in front of him now, close enough that Momonosuke could feel breath on his face. "Your age doesn't match the timeline. I'll give you one chance to reorganize your words. Choose them carefully."
The hand around his throat tightened—not enough to crush, but enough to make breathing difficult. Stars exploded across Momonosuke's vision. The sensation was horrifically familiar.
This is just like that night, his traumatized mind realized. Just like when Kaido held me in Oden Castle. Just like watching him prepare to kill me before Mother's power activated...
In front of a predator who held absolute power over life and death, lies were impossible. Only truth remained.
"I am..." Momonosuke gasped through his constricted windpipe. "...the only son... of Kozuki Oden. The legitimate heir... to Wano Country. My biological mother... sent me to the future... using her Devil Fruit ability. That's why... I'm still alive... despite my father's death... years ago..."
Silence.
Then, abruptly, the pressure vanished.
The crushing Haki that had been pressing down like the weight of the ocean disappeared as if it had never existed. The hand released Momonosuke's throat, allowing him to drop back to the deck where he collapsed, coughing and gasping.
When his vision cleared enough to see properly, Momonosuke finally got his first clear look at the man who'd nearly killed him.
The figure was tall but not quite as massive as Bullet—perhaps seven feet at most. He wore an immaculate crimson suit that somehow remained pristine despite the battle's aftermath. A long captain's coat draped across his shoulders, its fabric shifting in the sea breeze. But it was the face that captured Momonosuke's complete attention.
The man had a bulbous red nose—not just red, but brilliantly, impossibly red. Like someone had attached a clown's prosthetic to his face. Bright makeup surrounded his eyes and mouth in exaggerated patterns typical of circus performers. His expression carried an arrogant confidence that Momonosuke had only ever seen on one other person.
Whitebeard.
This man looked at the world the same way Whitebeard had—as if everything and everyone existed beneath his notice. Not cruel, necessarily. Just... supremely confident in his own absolute superiority.
The realization crashed over Momonosuke like a bucket of ice water.
This man... this incredibly powerful person... is Buggy the Clown?
He'd heard stories. Buggy the Clown—the pirate who'd somehow become a Shichibukai despite being notoriously weak. A coward who'd sailed with Roger but lacked any real combat ability. Someone the crew had joked about behind closed doors, wondering how such a weakling had survived the Grand Line.
But this...
This was no weakling. This was a titan wearing a clown's face.
"Time travel..." Buggy mused, studying Momonosuke with curiosity rather than hostility. His head tilted slightly, as if examining an interesting specimen. "So Toki-san's ability could do something like that. Fascinating. I'd always wondered about the limits of the Toki Toki no Mi (Time-Time Fruit)."
He crouched down to Momonosuke's eye level, his red nose now mere inches from the boy's face. The casual movement somehow made him seem even more dangerous—like a cat toying with prey.