"But we've done nothing wrong!" Robin's voice was thin, frayed with disbelief. Tears welled in her wide eyes, threatening to spill. "We only studied the Blank Century! How is that a threat to anyone? We are scholars! We were just doing what scholars are meant to do!"
"And that," Saul said, his voice a low, mournful rumble, "is exactly why they will destroy this place." He knelt, bringing his enormous face level with hers. His expression was one of profound sorrow. "They will kill every last scholar on this island to bury that knowledge forever. You must never, ever tell anyone that you are one of them. Do you understand me, Robin?"
"You're lying!" she cried, shaking her head frantically. "It's a horrible lie!"
Riven placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The trembling he felt there was a tremor from the breaking of her world. "Robin," he said, his own voice quiet but firm, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Saul is telling the truth. The 'Justice' the World Government follows is a narrower, crueler thing than you can imagine. For them, seeking the truth of the Void Century is a crime worthy of only one punishment."
He didn't need to be a transmigrator to know this truth, but his foreknowledge gave it a terrifying certainty. In the grand, bloody tapestry of the One Piece world, the World Government and the Marines were not always heroes. More often than not, they were the arbiters of a brutal, suffocating peace, one maintained by erasing any history that challenged their authority. Ohara was the ultimate challenge.
"He's right, Robin! I'm not lying to you!" Saul insisted, his desperation making his voice raw. "If you don't believe me, go! Go back to the town! See for yourself! Robin… your mother… she might already be here! She might have come back!"
The words struck Robin like a lightning bolt. "Mother?" The single word was a universe of longing. All the years of waiting, of hoping, coalesced into a single, desperate need. The fear was forgotten, replaced by a fierce, burning hope. She spun on her heel and ran, her small legs pumping furiously, kicking up sand as she sprinted toward the heart of the island, toward the colossal silhouette of the Tree of Knowledge.
Riven gave Saul a single, grim nod—a promise to keep her safe—and took off after her. He pushed his own small body to its limits, his lungs burning as he fought to keep pace. As he ran, a faint, rhythmic pulse of cool white light emanated from the simple watch on his wrist, a detail lost in the chaos of the moment. He didn't feel the strange hum against his skin, nor did he see the ghostly, near-invisible text flickering across its blank face.
System… Reboot… Complete.
He had no time for phantoms. The real monsters had just arrived.
At that very moment, at the main port of Ohara, the World Government ship had docked. Its flag, the emblem of the five great elders, snapped arrogantly in the sea breeze, casting a long, dark shadow over the quaint harbor town. A ramp slammed down, and from the ship's belly spilled a tide of black suits and unsmiling faces—the cold, efficient agents of Cipher Pol. They moved with a chilling synchronicity, shadows given human form, their eyes scanning the peaceful island with the predatory emptiness of sharks.
The man at their head was tall and thin, with a cruel twist to his lips. His gaze swept over the town, filled with a bored, almost casual malevolence. This was their commander, the man sent to pass judgment on Ohara: Spandine.
"Report to headquarters," he ordered, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. "We've made landfall."
"Move! Move! Form ranks!" an agent barked.
Another one muttered to his compatriot, a flicker of ambition in his dead eyes. "What a pain. But a job like this should come with a promotion, don't you think?"
Spandine ignored the chatter. "You," he said, pointing to a squad of agents. "Secure the perimeter. The rest of you, begin the roundup. I want every last scholar on this island under guard. Now."
The black tide washed over Ohara. They moved through the streets like a plague, their polished shoes silent on the cobblestones. Panic erupted. Doors were slammed, windows shuttered. The agents began grabbing people, their methods brutal and efficient.
"Wait! Please, we're just merchants!" a man cried, his wares scattering across the street as he was shoved against a wall.
"I'm not a scholar! I swear it!" another woman shrieked in terror.
One man, held aloft by his collar, pointed a trembling finger toward the center of the island. "I'm just a citizen! I have nothing to do with them! The scholars… they're all in the library! In the great tree! All of them!"
In the face of absolute, terrifying power, the bonds of community evaporated. Fear was a more potent master than loyalty.
Spandine allowed a thin, cruel smile. "So they've gathered themselves for us. How convenient." He waved a dismissive hand. "All units, converge on the Tree of Knowledge."
Meanwhile, Robin ran, fueled by a hope so fierce it bordered on delusion. Riven stayed right behind her, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. As a transmigrator, he was cursed with omniscience. He knew this tragedy was a fixed point in history, an event as immovable as a mountain. He knew that every person on this island, save one, was already dead. He knew that even the poor souls who boarded the evacuation ship were doomed, their lives to be extinguished by the 'Absolute Justice' of a then-Vice Admiral, Sakazuki.
No.
The thought was a rebellion. A spark in the crushing darkness of his despair.
I have to do something. Even if I can't stop the storm, even if I can't save this island… I have to save them.
In this strange, new, terrifying world, two people had become his anchor. A girl with eyes full of forbidden curiosity and a giant with a laugh like a landslide. Robin and Saul. They were his family. The quiet days spent in their company were the only real peace he had ever known here.
The reality of the situation was a lit fuse sizzling closer to a bomb, threatening to obliterate everything he held dear. He could feel the heat, see the sparks.
But as he ran, a new feeling began to burn alongside the fear. It was a cold, hard resolve. He might be a child. He might be powerless. But he was not a spectator. Not anymore. He would not stand by and simply watch his world burn a second time. He would save them. Or he would die trying.