"Die."
Lorne uttered those words, his voice carrying a coldness that chilled the marrow.
At the critical instant before his boot crushed Saint Charlos's skull, a slender, dazzlingly brilliant streak of golden light shot toward him.
"Speed is weight."
A languid voice rang out in the air.
"Light-Speed Kick!"
The golden beam instantly coalesced beside Lorne into a foot blazing with blinding light, kicking viciously at the side of his calf with a movement that bordered on teleportation.
Boom!
The kick shifted Lorne's stomp slightly off course. The lethal blow aimed at Saint Charlos's head grazed the edge of his fat face and slammed into the Red Line stone bricks.
The ground shattered instantly.
Centered on where his foot landed, the stone bricks for more than ten meters around were instantly pulverized as though struck by a meteor.
Dense, web-like cracks spread wildly in every direction, shattering several heavy stone pillars nearby.
The terrifying shock wave sent Saint Charlos flying. He rolled more than a dozen times before finally collapsing like a heap of sludge beside the fountain pool.
Golden light particles rapidly reassembled before Lorne, forming that tall figure in a yellow-and-white striped suit.
Kizaru, Borsalino.
His usual sleazy, nonchalant smile was gone, and his wrinkled face was utterly solemn.
"Oh my, that was close."
Kizaru kept both hands in his pockets, his eyes behind his sunglasses fixed firmly on Lorne.
"Young Lorne, if that stomp of yours had actually landed, I really wouldn't have been able to answer to the higher-ups today."
Lorne slowly withdrew his right foot and planted it at the edge of the crater that had become a field of rubble. Golden flames of Grit flickered constantly around him, rumbling like the low growls of a beast.
"Admiral Kizaru."
Lorne turned his head, his golden