Trafalgar Law rested his nearly man-tall cursed blade, Kikoku, against the wall. He removed his spotted dome-shaped hat, set it aside, then sat down on the bed’s edge, both hands on his knees clad in tattered jeans.

The candlelight filled the room, holding back the darkness pressing in from outside the window.

The heavy circles under his eyes already marked him as perpetually weary, but with his indifferent stare now, he looked utterly exhausted.

Yet, Law’s mind remained perfectly clear.

The workings of the human body no longer shook him. But those tentacles… they carried a strange power, unsettling him in ways that ordinary anatomy never could.

“I know…” he muttered, clasping his hands together before his mouth, as if deep in meditation. “The captain, this ship, the Terror Ghost… they’re strange. And it was because of that strangeness that I trusted them to help me get my revenge, wasn’t it?”

“I knew this would happen sooner or later…”

In the future, he’d face countless patients, countless surgeries. Stitching wounds with catgut would become routine. As for other… peculiar “assistants,” he’d have to adapt quickly.

Law believed in himself—he would manage.

Then suddenly, he sensed something off.

As the Ope Ope no Mi’s user, hypersensitive to shifts in space, he felt the ripple of disturbance behind him—like a pebble cast into still water.

This was wrong.

Frowning, he realized he was under attack by another Devil Fruit user.

Casually, he lowered his hands. One slid toward Kikoku at his side. The other retrieved his hat, slowly setting it back on his head.

But the assailant had already lost patience.

The wall behind him silently unfolded into a door. From it leaned the upper body of a man with bull-horn-like hair: Blueno. Both of his index fingers thrust forward.

Zhoo—!

A Shigan, aimed straight for Law’s temple.

But Law had anticipated this. He ducked low, hand grasping Kikoku, blade drawn with a metallic clang!

Blueno, equally quick, lunged fully out of his air door. His left fist hardened with Tekkai, swung at Law’s face.

CLANG!

Kikoku met the iron fist. Both men jolted back, withdrawing to reset their distance.

Kikoku had lost a clean fragment from its edge, while Blueno’s left hand had been neatly severed.

Law stooped, picked up the fallen shard of his blade, pressed it back against Kikoku, and with a wipe of his hand, the weapon was whole again.

Coincidentally, Blueno retrieved his severed hand, reattached it seamlessly, as if nothing had happened.

Of course—Blueno, the user of the Paramecia “Doa Doa no Mi,” like Law, could alter space itself. They were similar kinds of ability users.

And when two powers were alike… how could one outplay the other?

“…Didn’t think Davy Jones’ crew had another spatial Devil Fruit user.” Blueno’s voice rumbled low. “You weren’t listed in any of the intelligence files… but anyone aboard this ship is a pirate. And a target.”

He raised his other hand, opened another door into the wall, and retreated through it, sealing the frame behind him.

Law’s eyes narrowed. Enemy confirmed.

He knew Blueno hadn’t “left.” No—he was still nearby. Watching. Waiting.

He had to stay sharp.

With a flick, his semicircular ROOM expanded, enveloping the entire chamber. Kikoku slashed down, effortlessly slicing everything inside the ROOM into hovering, weightless fragments.

They floated in the air, motionless.

…Had he misread Blueno’s position?

Even so, Law never lowered Kikoku. His guard held firm.

And sure enough—a door silently opened at his back. A Shigan darted through!

There!

Law had already mapped Blueno’s trajectory. With a twist of his fingers, he swapped the attacker’s space with another.

The result: Blueno, once behind him, now appeared directly in front—completely exposed.

Shhht—

Blueno’s right arm fell away, severed clean, slapping lifelessly onto the floor.

“Tch.” Blueno grimaced, retreating again into a door.

Shifting through interspace, he opened another portal beneath his severed arm, reaching to reclaim it.

But Law had seen through it from the start.

He ignored the arm deliberately—using it as bait. And Blueno had taken it.

Shhht—

Another slash. His left arm gone too.

With a snap of Law’s fingers, both severed arms swapped with two nearby potted plants. Law held the arms now. The plants appeared in front of Blueno instead.

“Your power… it only activates by touching things with both hands, doesn’t it?”

From beneath his brim, Law’s eyes sharpened, a smirk curling his lips.

Blueno’s face faltered—his secret exposed.

And in that moment, Law’s earlier unease evaporated. The pleasure of victory—the satisfaction of dissecting his foe—was enough to lift him.

He lunged.

“Tekkai!” Blueno braced, desperate.

But armless, his Doa Doa was useless.

The ROOM had become Law’s slaughterhouse.

Someone once said: “The difference between precision and butchery is surgery.” Blueno’s body was now mercilessly butchered.

Among the floating pieces, Law reached out and plucked Blueno’s heart—sheathed in a strange gelatinous membrane.

He squeezed. Even scattered in fragments, Blueno screamed in agony.

Law pushed open the window. Outside, the rain fell in torrents. He extended the hand gripping Blueno’s heart.

Just then, the second wave of the Aqua Gods struck, lifting the Terror Ghost and drowning an entire district beneath the sea.

“No—!”

Blueno realized what was coming, his terrified cry swallowed by the storm.

Law let go.

The heart dropped into the surging tide with a soft plunk, vanishing into the flood.

With that, Law released his ROOM.

Blueno’s dismembered parts collapsed to the floor. He was still alive, eyes wide, utterly lost.

Only after a long, dreadful silence did he understand the truth:

His state… was a fate worse than death.

“Rankyaku — Lone Wolf!”

In his “Inu Inu no Mi, Model: Wolf” form, Jabra’s kick unleashed not the usual crescent Rankyaku, but a rippling, bouncing slash that tore toward Captain Kuro.

Kuro evaded with Soru, though his body was drenched in blood.

He and this CP9 operative had been locked in life-or-death struggle for several minutes already.

Kuro’s Ten-Blade Claws had scored bloody furrows across Jabra’s chest and back.

But Jabra’s deceptive, vicious Tekkai Kenpō had inflicted wound after wound in return.

“…Interesting, interesting.” Jabra planted his clawed hands at his waist, baring his hairy wolf torso proudly. “To think you’ve mastered Soru on your own. You’ve got a gift for Rokushiki, kid. How about this: surrender, and I’ll recommend you for CP9. Your future would be limitless.”

But Kuro knew the wolf was lying. Every word was a ploy to shake him, to make him falter. Even a flicker of hesitation in battle would be enough for Jabra’s wolf nose to sniff out and exploit.

“Heh… so you won’t take the bait, huh.”

Seeing the unwavering look in Kuro’s eyes, Jabra realized words would fail.

He clasped his hands together in the shape of a wolf’s jaws, fingers the fangs.

His “Shigan — Rokushiki.” Kuro had already tasted it once—his abdomen still bled from it. He remembered too well.

Zhoo—

Jabra launched with Soru, flickering through afterimages to confuse him, before finally striking.

But Kuro sensed the wolf’s assault. He leapt skyward—yet instead of falling, he sprinted across the air itself.

Jabra blinked. “…You’ve got Geppō too? You’re really piquing my interest.”

He pursued with Geppō, the two clashing midair in a blur of Tekkai Kenpō against Ten-Blade Claws.

Blue Rankyaku blades cut the air—but this time, they weren’t Jabra’s. They were Kuro’s.

Had Jabra not been utterly focused, he might have been struck down.

“…Why don’t you just join CP9 already? You’ve got Rankyaku too, self-taught no less. You’re far stronger than that idiot Nero.”

But even as he spoke, he seized an opening—”Tekkai Kenpō: Jūbōrō”—a crushing wolf strike. His fist hammered Kuro, blasting him through a wall.

Kuro dragged himself up.

Jabra landed, merciless, charging in.

No choice left.

Kuro invoked the Terror Ghost, drawing on his contract. His bleeding slowed, his wounds began to knit, his body lightened—yet his limbs thrummed with explosive power.

Jabra sniffed the change—but his Rokushiki was already in motion, too late to stop.

Then his eyes widened.

Kuro mirrored his stance. With his Ten-Blade Claws, he unleashed the same technique.

Twenty fangs clashed. Jabra fell behind. Several of his own fingers were severed!

He flipped back, retreating.

Impossible!

He’d learned Shigan too? And even Rokushiki—a move Jabra himself had barely used? He’d copied it in the middle of battle?!

And his body—suddenly stronger, sharper. Like he’d become a different man entirely.

Lightning cracked outside, white light filling the room. In its glare, Jabra glimpsed something dreadful: Kuro’s human shadow, distorted—sprouting countless writhing tentacles.

This man… was a monster.

The light faded. In that instant, Kuro vanished with Soru, reappearing before him.

“Tch.” Jabra, fingers mangled, still swung his Tekkai Kenpō fists, hoping to drive him back.

But Kuro slipped through with Kami-e, effortless. His claws thrust upward, straight for Jabra’s gut.

“Tekkai!”

Unable to dodge, Jabra hardened his body.

But the claws drew back at the last second. Instead, Kuro’s right leg shot up like an unsheathed blade, driving into Jabra’s chest.

Blood spewed. Jabra was hurled back, staggering upright for a moment before dropping to one knee.

He’d pierced… my Tekkai?!

His chest caved inward, his breath ragged. His confidence—shattered.

After a moment, he glanced at Kuro’s leg. Then, blood trickling from his mouth, he grinned faintly.

“…I see. You’ve surpassed me. You’re using Armament Haki now, aren’t you? Hah… terrifying progress. What did you pay for it?”

“…Everything I have.”

Kuro stepped forward. With one final strike, he finished Jabra’s life.

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