"Marco! Marco! Are you alright?"
Zack, Vice-Captain of the Whitebeard Pirates' First Division, called out anxiously as he rushed in.
Marco exhaled, fatigue evident in his voice. "I'm fine. Just felt a bit dizzy earlier, that's all."
Zack studied him closely, unease still etched across his face. "We're about to go to war with the Marines. You absolutely cannot collapse at a moment like this."
"Relax," Marco replied, forcing a faint smile. "Give me a short rest and I'll be good as new."
Zack hesitated, then finally nodded. "Alright. Make sure you rest properly. We still have a long way to go before Marineford."
With that, he turned and left the room.
Silence settled in once more.
Marco stood alone, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him appeared to be in his thirties—golden, spiky hair radiating rebelliousness, the Whitebeard Pirates' tattoo boldly etched across his chest. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, yet beneath it lay a strength forged by countless battles.
Then, as if the strength drained from him all at once, Marco slumped into a chair.
The image of his own death flashed violently through his mind.
His fists clenched, knuckles whitening, as a hoarse whisper escaped his lips.
"In this world… it's damn hard to be a good person. That cursed bitch. I shouldn't have saved her. I should've let her be…"
Only now did Marco fully accept the truth—he had transmigrated. Even after crossing into the world of pirates and Marines, the hatred he carried from his previous life remained, burning just as fiercely.
Back then, he had been nothing more than an ordinary office worker.
On a routine morning commute, he'd seen a woman leap into a river in an attempt to end her life. Without hesitation, he dove in after her.
But she didn't want to be saved.
Perhaps she truly despised the world—or perhaps she simply wanted to die. When she realized someone was trying to rescue her, she turned on him, forcing his head underwater and dragging him down as if he were her sworn enemy.
They struggled in the river for thirty agonizing minutes.
Exhaustion claimed him first.
He drowned.
The woman, however, was pulled out shortly afterward by a passerby.
After his soul left his body, he bore witness to what came next.
In court, the woman wept bitterly, her face twisted with grief—nothing like the person who had so desperately sought death that day. With practiced confidence, she spun an outrageous lie. She claimed he had molested her, insulted her, and threatened her. Terrified, she said she had taken out her phone to call the police.
According to her story, he flew into a rage and shoved her into the river, intending to kill her. In self-defense, she grabbed him, causing them both to fall in.
Her testimony was riddled with contradictions—but she delivered the final blow with a single sentence:
"No woman would risk her life and innocence just to frame someone."
That statement alone was enough.
In a society eager to believe it, the court accepted her words as truth. With no surveillance footage, no eyewitnesses, and the accused already dead, the case was hastily concluded.
And so, the man who had jumped into the river to save a stranger was posthumously branded a criminal—charged with attempted rape, sexual assault, attempted murder, and violent intimidation. His name was nailed to the cross of shame.
The woman lived.
He died twice.
Even in death, resentment bound his soul, refusing to let it rest. Perhaps the truth might surface someday—years later, or decades—but far more likely, it would remain buried forever.
After all, who would expend effort to overturn a case for a powerless, nameless citizen? Even if they suspected he had died trying to save someone. Even if they knew the woman was the true murderer.
In the end, public opinion mattered more than truth.
And so, the truth was silenced—destined never to see the light of day.
Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Marco lowered his voice and muttered in disbelief,
"So… I actually transmigrated and became Marco?"
He paused, then added dryly, "And to think—this guy's already over forty and still a bachelor."
Come to think of it, that wasn't unique to Marco. Most of the Whitebeard Pirates were single as well.
Now—he, or rather Marco—had fully merged with the original's memories. The situation was painfully clear. The Marineford War was imminent. Ace's execution was only hours away.
Even now, the Whitebeard Pirates were silently advancing beneath the sea, their ships coated and hidden, preparing to surface directly beneath Marineford and launch a full-scale assault.
"…I just transmigrated, and I'm being thrown straight into the Marineford War?" Marco felt a wave of despair crash over him. "How the hell are we supposed to fight this?"
The power gap was horrifying.
On the pirate side, the only truly top-tier combatant was Whitebeard himself. Marineford, on the other hand, boasted five fighters at Admiral level—and six if Hawkeye was counted. This wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter waiting to happen.
What made it worse was the timing. He had only just arrived in this world. Even though he possessed Marco's memories, whether he could fully wield Marco's strength was still an unanswered question.
Clinging to a shred of hope, Marco called out softly in his mind,
"System… Are you there?"
After all, transmigration protagonists always had some kind of cheat.
"…I am here."
A calm, almost mechanical voice—like a high-end smart assistant—echoed within his consciousness.
"The Attribute System is currently loading…"
"Attribute System?" Marco's heart skipped a beat. Surprise surged through him, immediately followed by elation. I actually have a System?!
"Loading complete."
"The System has been successfully activated for the Host. Please review your current Attribute Panel."
A translucent screen materialized before his eyes:
Name: Marco
Age: 43
Devil Fruit: Zoan Type – Phoenix Form (Unawakened)
Haki: Armament Haki (Advanced), Observation Haki (Advanced)
Strength: 3500
Speed: 4400
Defense: 8500
Recovery: 45000
Stamina: 8000
Mentality: 4600
System Combat Assessment: Yonko Commander Level
Marco stared at the panel, eyes widening. After a moment, he asked,
"System… can you explain what all of this means?"
The system responded at once. A hexagonal diagram appeared, neatly outlining six core attributes—Strength, Speed, Defense, Recovery, Stamina, and Mentality. Among them, Recovery shone almost absurdly bright.
"This is the Attribute System," the voice explained.
"These six attributes form the foundation of all living beings. For reference, an ordinary human typically possesses attribute values around ten."
"Host, you may obtain attribute points by completing missions issued by the System. These points can then be freely allocated to enhance any attribute."
Realization struck Marco like lightning.
"Missions?" he asked immediately. "Do I have any beginner missions available right now?"
The interface shifted, transitioning smoothly to the mission log.
There was only one entry.
Mission: Rescue Ace.
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AN : I'm here with a good One piece fanfic. This is going to be fast paced. So tighten you reading belts!!!