Atop a towering bank building in the eastern district of the Island of Coins.
"Never thought this many people would come to join the chaos..."
A young man with a spiky pineapple-blond hairstyle sat at the edge of the rooftop, his sandal-clad feet lazily swinging high above the ground.
With a stalk of wheat clamped between his teeth, Marco gazed into the distance. Pirates poured from their ships one after another, heading toward the central auction tower at the heart of the island. His brows gradually furrowed.
As one of the dominant powers in the New World, the Whitebeard Pirates had, of course, received an invitation to the auction for the More-More Fruit.
At first, they had little interest in it.
Despite its fearsome potential, the More-More Fruit was not something just anyone could wield.
Its "amplification" ability, like all Devil Fruits, consumed stamina. If the multiplier was extreme—say, fiftyfold or a hundredfold—the strain on the user’s body would be immense.
None of the Whitebeard Pirates’ main ship officers had ever been able to master it.
So when the old man received the invitation, he had merely scoffed, unimpressed.
But Marco, the crew’s first division commander, had his own thoughts.
That man, newly aboard and now Whitebeard’s sworn brother, was a monster in both strength and spirit. Yet ever since that battle with the Marine named Rogers Darren, the usually jovial Oden had grown sullen—drowning his frustration in drink.
Marco had been mulling over this for days.
He’d finally realized—the auction might be the perfect opportunity.
If he could seize the More-More Fruit and offer it to Oden as a gift, it might shake him from his gloom, help him bounce back stronger than ever.
And with his monstrous strength, Oden was more than capable of mastering a fruit said to have the power to destroy the world.
That was why Marco had come—alone—to the Island of Coins.
"The Big Mom Pirates... they’ve brought some serious firepower. Even King showed up. Guess this won’t be easy..."
Marco scratched his head, troubled.
The thought of going up against King the Wildfire made him uneasy.
And as for winning the fruit through the "normal" auction process?
Don’t be ridiculous. The Whitebeard Pirates didn’t have that kind of money.
"We’ll have to wait for the right moment. The Charlotte brothers are greedy—they won’t let King take the fruit unopposed... Once things erupt, maybe I can strike in the chaos."
Marco muttered to himself.
Inside a private suite at a hotel in the island’s western district.
A hulking figure stepped slowly from the bathroom—his body scarred and muscular, as solid as stone.
Only a white towel hung around his waist. His wet, golden hair fell wildly around his shoulders—untamed, defiant.
On a nearby rack hung a black military uniform. His polished black boots glinted with lethal sharpness.
His right arm was gone—blasted away by some horrific weapon—leaving behind a grotesque, healed scar.
"Quite the party we’ve got this time..."
The golden-haired man narrowed his eyes, staring through the window at the harbor where countless pirate flags fluttered in the breeze. A wicked smile of bloodlust tugged at his lips.
"Dozens of pirate crews, underworld syndicates... the Big Mom Pirates... and the Beasts Pirates..."
At the mention of the Beasts Pirates, a flash of murderous rage flickered through his gaze.
He raised his remaining left hand and pressed it lightly onto a metallic side table.
No obvious motion followed—but a faint purple shimmer passed across the table’s surface like a ghostly ripple.
Then, the table melted—flowing up his arm like liquid, crawling over his chest, and finally solidifying into a segmented, scaled metal arm on his right shoulder.
He clenched the fist—metal joints grinding together—his face showing clear satisfaction.
"Being cooped up on that ship every day is such a drag..."
Bullet narrowed his eyes.
Ever since he’d joined the Roger Pirates, he’d challenged Gol D. Roger time and time again. Every time he thought he’d trained hard enough, grown strong enough to finally surpass that man...
Roger would respond by showing him yet another unreachable level.
And gradually, Bullet began to grasp just how far the distance truly was between himself—and that man called Gol D. Roger.
He was forever chasing the man’s shadow. Just one step behind—but that step felt endless.
The more he understood this, the deeper his awe for Roger grew.
But so too did his frustration... and despair.
Having a rival to chase was fine—but getting crushed again and again? Anyone would break.
His pride could only take so much.
So when he saw the auction invitation in the ship’s trash bin—
He’d been suppressing himself for far too long.
It was time to unleash.
As for the More-More Fruit? He didn’t give a damn.
Naturally, when he slipped away from the ship, none of the other Roger Pirates stopped him. In fact, they’d just laughed and told him to get it out of his system and come back later.
After all, the Roger Pirates had never been strict about discipline. Their motto was practically "do whatever you want."
"An auction, huh... Don’t let me down, you bastards..."
A sinister grin twisted across Bullet’s lips. Violence shimmered in his eyes.
"This time—I’m going to tear through all of you! KAHAHAHAHA!!"
That day, on the famed Island of Coins in the New World, hidden tides churned beneath the golden facade.
Some walked openly upon this land of luxury and greed, proudly flaunting the power behind them.
Others slipped into the shadows, quietly stalking their prey—each driven by their own dark motives.
Countless forces poured into this gilded city, all waiting—watching—for the moment the fabled "world-destroying" Devil Fruit would emerge.
But none of them knew—
That an invisible net had already closed in around them, vast and silent as the coming dark.
And at its center stood one Marine—
Harboring one mad, impossible idea.
—To take them all down.