Year 1500 of the Sea Circle Calendar, waters off Sabaody Archipelago.
The weather was far from pleasant today, with a storm raging across the sea.
A naval warship cut through the waves.
"Report, Lieutenant Commander Michael! A suspicious vessel has been spotted two kilometers northeast. No merchant or pirate flags, dimensions far exceeding civilian standards, concealed gun ports along the hull—initial assessment suggests a smuggling ship."
Michael lounged lazily on the sofa.
Upon hearing the report, he issued his orders:
"Close the distance at full speed, then demand a boarding inspection. All personnel, load your weapons. If they resist, immediately engage in close-quarters combat with suppressive fire. Under no circumstances are we to use the ship's artillery."
"Aye, Lieutenant Commander Michael!"
The Marine Warrant Officer saluted and left to relay the command.
Michael gazed out the window at the endless expanse of ocean and sighed.
It was both frustrating and dull.
"Why, of all worlds, did I end up in One Piece?"
That's right—Michael was a reincarnator.
Worse yet, one unlucky enough to be reincarnated without a system.
Perhaps due to some alteration caused by his crossing, his strength, speed and even Haki training progressed at an extraordinary rate.
His stamina, in particular, bordered on limitless.
Even so, after losing both parents, Michael endured a far-from-comfortable childhood before finally finding security by enlisting in the Marines.
The four seas were turbulent, the Grand Line shrouded in mystery.
As a reader, as an outsider, he had adored this epic tale.
As a reincarnator, as a pawn in the game, he found this world utterly rotten.
The political system was laughably corrupt, with aristocracy and slavery running rampant.
Pirates pillaged and plundered across the seas, while gangs oppressed the common folk.
Even the Marines were little more than the World Government's enforcers, betraying the ideals emblazoned on their coats.
The author had painted dreams of passion, camaraderie and adventure onto the pages.
Yet the darkness and brutality were tucked away hidden in the shadows.
Like now, during a routine patrol near Sabaody Archipelago, when he'd stumbled upon this smuggling vessel.
The reason he'd forbidden artillery fire was simple: he had no idea whether the cargo aboard was…
Any seasoned reincarnator knew the most profitable trade on Sabaody was human trafficking.
Low cost, low risk, high returns—an investment with limitless gains.
With that in mind, Michael rose from the sofa and stepped onto the deck.
The performance gap between a smuggling ship and a naval warship was vast.
The difference between a wooden sailboat and a steel behemoth represented an entire technological era.
Were it not for the myriad supernatural forces in this world, the Marines would've steamrolled the globe five times over by now.
In just a short while, the warship had closed the distance and pulled alongside the smuggling vessel.
Marine soldiers relayed Michael orders through a loudspeaker.
"Vessel ahead, reduce speed and prepare for boarding. This is a routine Marine inspection. Cooperate immediately."
After several repetitions, the ship showed no signs of fleeing or resisting, instead coming to a compliant stop.
Michael remained wary.
Leaving most of the crew to guard the warship, he led a few dozen soldiers aboard the smuggler vessel.
"Hehehe, honored Marine sir, our ship deals only in legitimate business. We beg your fair judgment."
The short man at the forefront spotted Michael and immediately approached with an eerie chuckle, his face—resembling a car crash—oozing with sycophantic flattery.
Michael narrowed his eyes slightly.
Behind this submissive behaviour, he could detect an undercurrent of brazen confidence.
"Sir, I'm Jerome, delivering supplies for a pet shop."
Delivering for a pet shop?
Michael glanced at the group of menacing thugs behind Jerome and said nothing.
"Legitimacy isn't for you to decide" Michael spoke slowly, pointing at the tightly locked cabin doors.
"Of course, of course! Right this way, sir."
Still wearing that annoying grin and maintaining his submissive posture, Jerome unlocked the cabin.
Amid the storm, a bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the interior in a flash.
The cabin had been converted into a prison, holding hundreds of people segregated by race.
Even the usually unflappable Marine soldiers were stunned speechless and Michael himself couldn't help but widen his eyes.
He had raided slave ships before, but never one so brazenly packed—and utterly unafraid of Marine inspection.
"Jerome, is this what you call a legitimate business? What pet shop takes in this kind of 'merchandise'?"
"Hehehe, sir, what's the difference between slaves and pets?"
Michael didn't answer.
Instead, he raised his hand in a signal, and every soldier aboard raised their guns, training them on the nearby crew.
But Jerome showed no fear at the barrels pointed his way. Instead, he spoke with unnerving calm.
"Sir, I'd advise against rash actions. You'll regret it."
"Regret?" Michael lowered his head. "I'll never regret arresting scum like you."
"Hehehe, don't be so sure." Jerome's sycophantic smile remained, but a mocking glint flickered in his eyes.
"You should know—this shipment was commissioned by the Celestial Dragons."
The moment those three words left Jerome mouth, hesitation flashed across the faces of every soldier present.
"Especially that golden-haired prize we caught. The Celestial Dragons will fight over her—bidding will go sky-high." Jerome tugged at Michael Marine cape, the word "Justice" warping under the strain.
"How about this? Let us go, and I'll give you ten percent of the auction profits."
Michael looked into the cabin.
The darkness couldn't obscure his vision—he saw the slaves' expressions shift from hope to fury, then finally to despair.
"Twenty percent. Final offer." Michael expression twisted before he finally exhaled.
"Hehehe, you're a greedy one. But I like working with greedy men."
"Alright, everyone—back to the ship." Michael waved them off.
Once the soldiers had retreated, he grinned at Jerome.
"Got any drinks? To celebrate our partnership."
"Of course! The finest wine!"
"Then let's have a toast."
Michael slicked back his rain-drenched platinum hair.
Even slicked tight against his scalp, the style did nothing to diminish his striking looks.
He watched silently as the lackeys brought two bottles of clearly expensive liquor. Jerome picked one up without hesitation, yanked out the cork and drank heartily.
Michael, however, merely took a sip before sighing...
His explosive temper flared!
Then he smashed the bottle against Jerome forehead, sending shards flying as a cruel smirk curled his lips.
Fuck the Celestial Dragons, Fuck the World Goverment!
Other marines might be willing to be dogs, but not him!
He! Would! Not! Kneel!
Eighteen years in this world, Michael had originally planned to coast through life as a slacker, just surviving until the end.
But today, he realized how laughable that idea was.
He couldn't turn a blind eye.
His humanity wouldn't allow it.
And his explosive temper certainly wouldn't either!
In that case, it was time to dust off some ancestral skills.
Facing Celestial Dragons whose veins ran with filth and depravity, confronting the corrupt World Government and its allied kingdoms...
What was he waiting for if not to rebel?
Seeing the slave traders around him drop their fawning masks to reveal viciousness in their eyes, Michael smiled in relief.
"The wine tastes terrible. I Michael, Sentence All of you to Die."
A pair of pristine white wings unfurled from his back.
Holy light pierced the heavens, scattering the dark clouds.
Pure white flames spread across the deck like clinging parasites.