Moments after Lucian Vale vanished into the night, the door to Iceburg's office opened with a gentle click.
A tall woman in a fitted black suit and pencil skirt entered, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing against the marble floor. She carried a neat stack of documents, her blonde hair coiled elegantly, her glasses glinting in the light.
Iceburg's hand, still trembling faintly from the encounter moments ago, stilled the instant she walked in. His pupils tightened. A flicker of suspicion flashed through his calm eyes—only for it to disappear the next second beneath a polite smile.
"Mayor, please don't look at me like that," the woman said playfully, pushing her glasses up with one finger. Her tone carried that teasing lilt of mock offense. "That counts as workplace harassment."
Iceburg nearly choked.
He forced a cough and steadied his tone. "Kalifa… is something the matter?"
If she weren't what he suspected she was—a spy of the World Government—he might have been flattered by her presence. Perhaps even interested.
But now?
He'd like to live to see another sunrise.
Kalifa smiled faintly. "It's regarding Dock No. 1, Mayor. There's a situation that needs your direct attention."
"…I see. I was heading there anyway."
Iceburg stood immediately, stacking his papers with deliberate calm before striding toward the door.
Kalifa followed gracefully behind him, her every step measured and confident. The sharp rhythm of her heels on the wooden floor almost drowned out the pounding of his heart.
He didn't need to turn to know she was watching him closely.
Always watching.
…
Water Seven – Central District
The evening sun dipped beneath the skyline of cranes and shipyards. Within the bustling heart of the city, one tavern thrived louder than the rest—its wooden walls trembling with laughter and the clatter of mugs.
Sailors sang, carpenters brawled, and merchants cheered as waves of ale spilled across the tables.
Behind the counter, an unassuming bartender polished glasses with practiced ease, his posture relaxed, expression simple and mild.
But this "bartender" wasn't just anyone.
He was Bruno, wielder of the Door-Door Fruit—an agent of CP9, the World Government's most secretive assassination unit.
He'd blended into Water Seven perfectly for five years, unnoticed, unquestioned.
Until now.
A faint gust rippled through the tavern as the door opened.
A tall man in a black kimono walked inside, his steps light, silent, but commanding. He approached the counter and sat down, the atmosphere subtly shifting as if the air itself was holding its breath.
"Boss," the man said casually, "something strong."
Bruno turned, automatically reaching for a bottle behind him. "Coming right up."
He poured the drink smoothly, but when he turned back—
His hand froze midair.
The glass trembled between his fingers.
That face. Those eyes.
Impossible.
The man lifted his cup and smiled faintly. "Something wrong? Or does the owner have a complaint about me?"
Bruno's throat tightened.
Lucian Vale.
The pirate who had destroyed Impel Down. The one who humiliated the Admirals and vanished into the wind like a ghost.
And he was sitting right here.
"Incredible," Lucian said, swirling the drink lazily. "Five years of patience. The Government really does love its secrets."
He took a sip and exhaled in satisfaction. "Not bad."
Bruno's fingers twitched. "N-No problem, sir… please enjoy."
Lucian's calm gaze lingered on him, unblinking.
"The World Government spent years hiding agents in Water Seven," Lucian murmured. "All because of a single possibility… that Pluton's blueprints might still exist."
Bruno's breath hitched.
That word—Pluton.
He forced his tone steady. "Sir, I don't know what you mean—"
"Don't waste my time."
Lucian's eyes sharpened, glacial and absolute.
"Tell me where Nico Robin is."
Just that name made Bruno's blood run cold.
He froze completely, trying to think, to lie, to breathe—anything.
But then, suddenly—
The pressure changed.
It wasn't air. It wasn't energy. It was weight.
The kind of presence that crushed the body without movement.
Bruno's knees buckled as the air around him thickened. His ribs screamed. His lungs refused to expand. He could feel his bones creaking.
"Second chance."
Lucian's voice was quiet, but the sound scraped across his nerves like a blade.
The pressure vanished.
Bruno collapsed against the counter, gasping for breath, sweat streaming down his temples.
"I'll give you ten seconds," Lucian said softly, tapping his cup against the bar.
"After that—well, you can imagine."
Bruno's mind raced. He had no choice.
He needed to escape.
"…Y-Yes, sir. I'll tell you—"
But as he spoke, his right hand began to glow faintly.
Behind the counter, a dark rectangle of swirling energy formed beneath his feet—his Door-Door Fruit in action.
If he could just drop through it—
A hand shot out faster than lightning and clamped around his throat.
Lucian didn't even glance at him.
"You really thought that would work?"
The sound of Bruno's struggle was wet, desperate, and brief.
"Since you don't want to talk…" Lucian's tone didn't change.
"…you don't need to keep breathing."
Crack.
The tavern fell silent.
Lucian let the limp body drop to the floor, his gaze already drifting elsewhere—toward something glinting faintly near the corpse.
On the floor lay a fruit.
Swirling patterns carved across its skin—unnatural, mesmerizing.
"…The Door-Door Fruit."
He knelt down, eyes narrowing.
So it was true.
When a Devil Fruit user dies, a new fruit is instantly reborn nearby.
Lucian picked it up.
But then—something strange happened.
The markings began to fade.
The glow dimmed.
And within seconds, the fruit looked… ordinary.
Lucian raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting."
He took a bite.
The taste was sweet—almost unnervingly pleasant. Not the foul flavor Devil Fruits were infamous for.
And beneath that sweetness—
The Hōgyoku pulsed.
Power stirred deep inside his chest, radiating warmth and hunger.
It was absorbing the Devil Fruit.
Lucian froze in awe for a moment—then slowly began to smile.
"…So that's it."
The Hōgyoku was evolving.
In Aizen's world, it had stopped growing—its progress limited by the wielder's doubts.
But Lucian's heart wavered for nothing.
He had just found a way to push it farther.
To force evolution.
Devour Devil Fruits.
Feed their essence to the Hōgyoku.
Unlock higher fusion states—
Sixth.
Seventh.
Eighth.
Power beyond even what Aizen had dreamed of.
His pulse quickened with excitement.
"If I can secure Robin," he murmured, "her network could lead me to every Devil Fruit on this sea."
The plan was forming.
The path was clear.
Lucian rose from the shattered counter, stepping through the ruins of the bar without so much as a backward glance.
By the time the tavern keeper's terrified screams reached the street, he was already gone—
leaving behind nothing but silence, broken glass,
and the faint shimmer of blue light that marked where he'd stood.
The hunter had arrived in Water Seven.
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