Renji was seven years old, running barefoot through streets he'd known his whole life.
His mother was calling him for dinner...
His father was mending nets by the dock...
His little sister was chasing butterflies in the garden...
Their family hovered just above the poverty line. Not drowning, but never quite learning to swim either. Two meals a day. Sometimes. Three if Father's catch was good, if the merchants paid fair, if Mother could make the rice stretch one more day.
The house had holes in the roof they plugged with canvas. Renji's clothes were his father's old shirts, cut down and re-stitched. His sister's doll was made from fishing net and cork.
But they had each other.
Father worked dawn to dusk and sometimes beyond. He never complained. He'd come home smelling like salt and fish, ruffle Renji's hair, and tell him that "A man's authority comes from what he can provide." Then he'd sit at their table and pretend he wasn't hungry so the children could have seconds.
Mother stretched every coin until it screamed. She could make soup from fish bones and hope. She taught Renji to read using charcoal on driftwood because paper was expensive. She sang while she worked, old songs about ancient kings and their eternal kingdoms, and somehow made their poverty feel like a temporary inconvenience rather than a life sentence.
Renji's job was to help. Carry water from the well. Collect firewood. Watch his sister. He took it seriously, this responsibility. At seven years old, he already understood that his family survived because everyone contributed.
The village was full of fishermen and farmers mostly. Good people. Poor people. The kind the World Government forgot about unless it was time to collect taxes.
Nothing special ever happened here.
Nothing bad had ever happened here.
Nothing bad could happen here.
That's where the story ended in his mind, he couldn't remember what happened after that... nothing.
Tiny visions flashed in his mind though.
Renji dropped to his knees beside his mother. Shook her shoulder. "Mama, please. Please wake up. Please-"
His sister was still crying, trying to crawl out from under Mother's body. "Renji, I'm scared! Where's Papa? Where's-"
A fruit.
Spiraling patterns. Unnatural colors. It was in the ground, partially uncovered.
Devil Fruit.
Even at seven, Renji knew what that meant. He'd heard the stories. One bite and you'd gain power beyond imagining. One bite and you'd never be able to swim again.
His sister coughed. Weakly. Her eyes were closing.
"No no no no-" Renji looked around wildly. No one was coming. Everyone was dead or running. The warships were still firing. The village was gone. His family was gone.
"This isn't happening," he whispered. "This isn't real."
He grabbed the fruit with shaking hands. Bit into it. The taste was so horrible he nearly vomited, but he forced it down, forced himself to swallow, forced himself to believe that if he had this power, maybe he could stop whatever happened there.
"This isn't happening," Renji commanded. "None of this is real. This is pretend."
The world shuddered.
For a moment, the flames froze. The screaming stopped.
And in that moment, seven-year-old Renji's mind did what it had to do to survive.
It broke.
The ruins didn't smell like anything anymore.
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Renji stood in what used to be the village square, twenty years old now, one hand resting on his sword. The buildings were scorched. The dock was splinters and ash. The garden was a crater filled with stagnant rainwater.
He'd been standing here for an hour.
"This never happened," he said quietly. "This isn't real."
The air shimmered. A flicker of what it was appeared for a split second.
Then they flickered out.
"You will obey me," he said to the empty ruins. "I command you to be whole. I command you to exist."
Nothing changed.
But it would. Eventually. Once he was strong enough, once his authority was absolute enough, he'd be able to command even the past itself. He was certain of it.
He'd done this ritual seven times now. Once a year, every year, since he'd been strong enough to sail back here alone. Each time he failed, but each time he understood his power better. Each time he got closer.
I just need more authority. More power. More control.
This island was abandoned now, erased off the map. No one knew it existed except him.
"Next year," he promised the empty air. "Next year I'll be stronger. Next year you'll have to listen."
He looked at the ruined docks, where he tied up his dinghy, and then at the sun. Maybe it was getting late...
He walked back to the docks and untied his dinghy, and prepared to sail again. He placed his sword in a storage compartment below. It was a simple, mediocre sword that he commanded an amateur blacksmith to make. He named it grandly though, the King's Blade.
He had a condition with his mind... he'd come to realize about it on his own, far too late. His mind had a habit of imagining things that are not real.
The doctors called it psychosis. Delusions. Schizophrenia, maybe. They'd used a lot of words that meant the same thing: you can't trust your own mind.
It worked in his favour though.
The Command-Command Fruit only worked if you truly believed you had the authority to give commands. A sane person would doubt. Would question. Would hesitate.
Renji never hesitated.
When he commanded a door to open, it opened because in that moment, he genuinely believed doors had no choice but to obey him. When he told a weak-willed bandit to sleep, the man collapsed because Renji's conviction was absolute.
His schizophrenia wasn't a weakness. It was the prerequisite.
The dinghy bumped against the dock of the nearest island. Renji stood, grabbed the King's Blade, and stepped onto solid ground.
"Rope, hold fast," he commanded casually.
The line went tight, securing itself on its own.
Renji was already a notorious pirate in the Grand Line, with a bounty of 125 million berries, but in the eyes of the public, he was still widely unknown.
Dust swirled around his feet, floating a bit as he walked. He knew this place, it was Alabasta, the kingdom with a lot of deserts as per him.
"Rain, fall," he muttered, looking at the cloudless sky.
Nothing happened. His authority didn't extend to weather. Not yet, anyway.
Renji shook his head and kept walking through the port town of Nanohana. His passive aura was working overtime here, people strayed away from his path unconsciously, leaving a straight path for him to walk.
He was here for one reason: information. Crocodile was making moves in this country as per reports in the underground networks. He'd paid high coin to get any information relating to this.
There are some links related to him being a leader of a certain organization of bounty hunters but that was far too unbelievable for him to, well, believe.
So, he just came here to check things out.
He walked forward, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at the nearby cafe owner. The owner rushed to him with a chair, and placed it on the ground, wiping off the dust.
"Water. One glass."
The cafe owner moved, pouring without question. Renji took it, didn't pay. The man wouldn't remember to ask.
He sat, sipping water that tasted like dust, watching the street. The sun was too bright. Made everything look washed out, unreal.
Is this real?
He blinked. The street was still there. The people were still there.
But were they there a second ago? Or did I command them to be there?
"Stop it," he muttered to himself. "Not now."
A woman walked past. Black hair. White hat. She was asking questions to a fruit merchant. Normal. Casual.
Renji's hand went to his sword.
Is she real? Or am I seeing things again?
He watched her for another moment. She was still there. Still talking to the merchant. Still real.
Probably real.
Maybe real.
He looked down at his water glass. The liquid rippled slightly, though there was no wind.
"Mind if I sit?"
Renji's head snapped up. The woman was there. At his table. When did she- had she walked over? He'd been watching her, but somehow he'd missed the moment she'd moved.
"You've been staring," she said, already sitting down.
Had he been staring? He couldn't remember. Time skipped forward without control sometimes.
"You're being followed," Renji said.
She tilted her head. "I know."
How does she know? Can she see them? Or is she lying? Or am I imagining this entire conversation?
Renji forced a crooked smile. "So, uh. Nice weather we're having. Very... sandy. Desert-like, even."
The woman blinked at him.
"Uh... you're looking really distracting."
"I see." She didn't look disturbed. Just... interested. "You're Renji. The King, as per your title."
"And you are...?"
"Nico Robin."
"Nice to meet you, Nico Robin. What've you come here to meet me for?"
She smiled, as she rested her jaw on her left arm, looking right into Renji's soul.
Renji looked around, "You came here real fast, I just stepped into town." he said.
"I was in town."