The salty, damp sea wind swept in with a mournful howl, battering the coastal cliffs of Baterilla Island.
Portgas D. Allen jerked his eyes open, a savage headache nearly drawing a groan from him. Memories that were not his surged in like a tide, frantically intertwining and colliding with knowledge from another world.
"Pirate King"... Gol D. Roger... Portgas D. Rouge... the Paramount War... Ace's death...
And Portgas D. Allen-the orphaned son of Rouge's younger brother, a name that should have passed its entire life in obscurity on a small island in the South Blue.
He struggled to prop himself up and found himself lying in a crude wooden hut. Sea wind slipped through the gaps between the planks, carrying the chill of late autumn. According to his memories, the old fisherman who had raised him had died of illness three days earlier. Now he was the only one left in the hut.
A ten-year-old child, with no one to rely on in this vast sea.
Allen drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Those tangled memories told him that a full twelve years remained before the Paramount War that would shake the world. And his cousin, whom he had never met-Portgas D. Ace-should have just been entrusted by Garp to Dadan, a mountain bandit in the Goa Kingdom.
"Calm down. I have to calm down," Allen murmured, clenching his fists. His adult soul allowed him to quickly regain his composure after the initial panic.
He walked over to the water vat and studied his current appearance in its reflection: short, dark brown hair, a thin face, and eyes with a steadiness far beyond his years. Most striking was the faint scar beneath the corner of his left eye, supposedly left by an accident when he was a baby.
"First, I have to survive. Then, I have to get stronger."
Over the next few months, Allen lived almost like an ascetic. He rose at dawn, ran along the coastline, and trained his body using the crude tools the old fisherman had left behind. In the afternoons, he ventured into the island's forest, fighting wild beasts to hone the most basic combat skills. At night, he read the few battered books the old fisherman had left by the dim light of an oil lamp, learning this world's writing and common knowledge.
He knew the blood of the D. Clan flowed through his veins, but it brought him no extraordinary power. Everything had to be earned through sweat.
Late one night, while Allen was trying to chop wood deep in the forest, a faint flame suddenly sprang from his fingertips. Startled, he hurriedly shook his hand, but the flame wound around his fingers as if alive, warm without burning him.
This was no ordinary flame. A strange golden light flickered at its center, like condensed radiance.
With a shift of his thoughts, the flame abruptly vanished, replaced by a trace of shadowy energy that curled around his arm. Even the surrounding moonlight seemed to be swallowed by that wisp of darkness.
Light and darkness? Allen's heart jolted as he recalled the legends of the Torch Dragon from before his transmigration-when it opened its eyes, day came; when it closed them, night fell.
The tests that followed confirmed his guess. When he concentrated, his eyes would turn into golden slit pupils in an instant, and his vision became extraordinarily clear. He could even make out the veins of leaves a hundred meters away. When he deliberately reined in his power, the light around him dimmed slightly, as though dusk had arrived early.
Mythical Zoan, Model: Zhulong.
The realization set Allen's heart pounding. But he quickly suppressed his excitement-he was far too weak now. If this power were exposed, it would only bring disaster upon him.
Day after day passed, and Allen gradually grew more adept at controlling the power within his body. He discovered that he could see in darkness as clearly as in daylight, while retaining clear vision under intense light. His physical abilities also improved steadily; his running speed and the strength of his punches far exceeded those of ordinary boys.
But the most welcome surprise was the improvement in his perception. One morning, while training in the forest, he actually "saw" a wild boar silently approaching from behind with his eyes closed. It was not sight, but an all-encompassing perception, as though the entire world appeared in his mind in another form.
The first stirrings of Observation Haki. Allen recognized it at once.
One afternoon a year later, Allen was practicing sword swings by the sea with a crude weapon fashioned from the old fisherman's old blade. Suddenly, he sensed a small boat heading toward the island.
It was no ordinary fishing boat. The person aboard had a powerful presence, bearing the force of someone who had been through blood and fire.
Allen quickly hid behind the rocks. Golden slit pupils silently appeared, allowing him to see the scene aboard the boat across several thousand meters. When he made out the towering figure standing at the bow, his breathing nearly stopped.
A dog-head hat, a rugged face, a Marine Justice Coat draped over his shoulders...
Monkey D. Garp.
Why had the Marine hero come to this remote island in the South Blue? Allen's heartbeat quickened as his mind raced. Then it suddenly clicked-Garp visited Ace regularly, and Baterilla Island lay along his route!
A bold thought rose in Allen's mind.
He hurried back to the hut and dug a small wooden box out from beneath the bed. Inside were two things: a faded Portgas family crest and a yellowed letter-a family letter Rouge had written to her younger brother, and the only physical evidence of Allen's identity.
Allen gripped the crest tightly, his gaze resolute.
When Garp's boat reached shore, this was the sight that greeted him: a slender boy with sharp eyes standing on the beach, seemingly having waited for quite some time. The boy held up a crest, and its design made the Marine Vice Admiral's pupils contract slightly.
"Sir Marine." Allen's voice still had a boy's clear tone, but his manner was unusually composed. "May I discuss a deal with you?"
Garp sized up the boy before him, his gaze piercing. "Kid, do you know who I am?"
"The Marine hero, Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp." Allen met his gaze without flinching. "I also know that you regularly visit the Goa Kingdom to see the grandson you entrusted to a mountain bandit."
Those words rang out like a thunderclap. Garp's presence suddenly turned dangerous, and the pressure in the air nearly left Allen unable to breathe. Yet the boy stood stubbornly in place, not taking even a single step back.
A moment later, Garp suddenly burst into laughter, and the pressure vanished. "Interesting! That bigmouth Dadan, spreading even this sort of thing around?"
Allen knew Garp was testing him, but did not point it out. He simply raised the crest and letter in his hands. "My name is Portgas D. Allen. Rouge was my aunt."
A deathly silence fell over the beach. Garp's expression grew more serious than ever. He took the letter and read it carefully, his gaze moving between the crest and Allen's face.
"Portgas..." the Marine Vice Admiral murmured, a complicated look flashing through his eyes. "So you're that child's..."
"Older cousin," Allen finished. "I hope you can take me to the Goa Kingdom. In exchange..." He took a deep breath. "I'll keep every secret, including yours, and... 'that child's.'"
Garp stared at him for a long time. Just as Allen was beginning to think his plan would fail, the Marine Vice Admiral suddenly swept his great hand through the air. "All right!"
Before Allen could celebrate, Garp added, "But on one condition-you have to take three punches from me first. If you can stay on your feet, I'll agree."
Allen's heart lurched. Three punches from the Marine hero would be a nearly fatal trial for him as he was now. But he did not hesitate, immediately taking a defensive stance. "Please."
A flash of approval crossed Garp's eyes, and he casually threw the first punch. Though it was only an offhand blow, it carried astonishing force. Allen crossed his arms to take it head-on and was driven back several meters, his arms going numb.
"Not bad, kid!" Garp laughed, and the second punch followed, its strength noticeably greater.
Allen gave a low shout, a golden gleam flashing briefly in his eyes as the Torch Dragon's power silently surged through his arms. Fist met arms with a dull thud. He retreated again, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth, but remained standing.
Genuine surprise appeared in Garp's eyes. "A Devil Fruit User? Or..."
For the third punch, the Marine Vice Admiral finally grew a little serious. The pressure of this blow nearly kept Allen from breathing. He knew he absolutely could not reveal his Torch Dragon Model, so he could only pour all his strength into his arms while driving his Observation Haki to its limit, trying to predict the punch's path.
Boom!
Allen flew backward like a kite with its string cut and slammed heavily onto the beach. He felt every bone in his body groaning, but in the end, he struggled to his feet and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "That makes three punches, Vice Admiral Garp."
Garp stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly erupted into earthshaking laughter. "Hahaha! Good! You've got backbone! Just what I'd expect from Portgas blood!"
He swept his great hand through the air. "Pack your things, kid! We leave first thing tomorrow morning!"
As the small boat sailed away from Baterilla Island, Allen stood at the stern, watching the island where he had lived for eleven years gradually recede from view. He gripped the Portgas family crest tightly in his hand.
Ace, wait for me, he silently repeated. This time, I won't let that tragedy happen again.
The sea breeze stirred the loose hair over his forehead, and the boy's gaze was as firm as rock.
The sea route to the East Blue slowly unfolded ahead.