'Where… am I?' In a traditional Japanese room, a purple-haired little girl murmured to the wall.
'Replying Host: you are currently in the Type-Moon World,' a synthetic electronic voice answered.
The purple-haired girl showed no surprise at the sudden voice; her adorable face remained expressionless.
'System, open my status,' she said, and a light screen appeared before her.
Host: Asagami Fujino
Strength: 1
Constitution: 1
Spirit: 762 (3200)
Abilities: The Demon Eye of Distortion (sealed), Magic Circuits (sealed), top-tier Observation Haki, top-tier Armament Haki, Rokushiki.
'As expected…'
The current Asagami Fujino was not the original; a transmigrator had taken over her body.
The transmigrator had long forgotten his original name. Once an ordinary man, he had followed the standard path—school, university, job, marry a passable woman, live out his days.
But one day everything changed: he crossed worlds. It wasn't because he spilled water on his PC, electrocuted himself, or got sucked down a toilet-turned-black-hole, nor was it from saving a Little Loli darting into traffic—he'd never be the fool who dives in front of a truck for a kid; at most he'd offer a casual prayer afterward.
He just… crossed. That day, briefcase in hand, he was walking to work when, the instant he reached the company gate, the familiar building became a small island. A huge, half-naked brute swung a blade at him. Panicking, he raised his left arm to block; the sword severed it clean. Agony exploded through him—his first taste of such pain—blood from the stump spraying his face, the stench of iron flooding his nose.
The shock crashed his mind. When awareness returned, he was drenched in blood; the brute lay dead beside him. His left arm was gone—truly gone, lying a short distance away. The smell and the throbbing stump screamed that this was no dream.
Then the System appeared, confirmed it was all real, and explained that while he'd blacked out it had seized his body to kill the attacker—his so-called newbie gift. It restored his wound, returning his left arm… only as far as the shoulder; the limb itself was still missing. After assigning a task line filled with question marks, the System vanished.
Trembling, freezing, the peace-raised man had never seen such horror. The abrupt transmigration, the lost arm—everything crushed him. He screamed at the sky, begging the System to send him back, but no answer came.
Exhausted, he collapsed onto the blood-soaked sand.
He awoke aboard a ship; Marines had found and rescued him.
He didn't speak, lying catatonic for days. The sailors thought him a simpleton and planned to drop him at the next port.
As the ship neared its destination, he stepped out under their stunned gazes, walked up to Vice-Admiral Garp, knelt, and begged to enlist. He understood: he had to survive—no matter what.
He expected refusal—at twenty he was too old, untrained, one-armed, weaker than a child in this world. But to everyone's shock Garp agreed and took him as personal disciple.
He didn't ask why; he only clung to survival. That night Garp began: five-hundred push-ups. He collapsed at thirty. Garp hauled him up and forced him onward. Again and again he passed out, was punched awake. By the time he finished it was noon the next day; his right arm felt destroyed.
He refused to quit. Linking with the System, he borrowed 100,000 points on credit to restore the ruined arm and future training injuries—debt: 200,000 points, due in ten years.
When he asked Garp to continue, the old man simply studied him, said nothing of the miraculously healed arm, and told him to rest until they reached the next island.
That destination was Windmill Village.
He realized where the timeline stood: he met the future Straw-Hat Luffy and Fire-Fist Ace.
He didn't befriend them; to live he needed strength—power was truth in any world, merely shifting from open slaughter to covert games.
Training began. Garp kept him separate; training beside Luffy now would be suicide.
One year later his body could match an average Marine recruit. Points dwindled to eighty-thousand; limbs had been mangled and restored countless times, yet it was worth it—even as cannon-fodder he was growing stronger.
In the second year Garp visited rarely, each time leaving ever-tougher regimens.
By early year three only fifteen-thousand points remained, but his strength reached Marine Lieutenant level—though without real combat experience he couldn't beat one.
Near year's end Garp returned, inducted him officially, and dumped him on a small island to slaughter blood-stained pirates. He still remembered how his hand shook the first time he ended a life.
That was when he learned how points were earned: killing—the stronger the prey, the richer the reward. His mission in this world was clear: grow stronger.
Early in the fourth year Garp stationed him in a remote town plagued by weak but numerous pirates—strongest only near Petty-Officer level. Garp's parting gifts: the blade he'd first killed with, paper on Rokushiki's Iron Body technique… and a smile.
Three months later, he left the remote little town—three months to slaughter every pirate there, at the cost of one eye, and he hadn't the points left to restore it.
Two years after that, Garp had posted him to the pirate-teeming West Blue, serving as a common soldier in a coastal town. He killed many pirates—strong and weak—took wounds that nearly killed him more than once, and still owed the system about 160,000 points.
Back on Garp's ship once more, his strength had solidly reached commander and was pushing toward rear admiral.
Five years passed. He followed Garp back to Windmill Village to learn Haki and the Rokushiki. Two years later he had Observation and Armament Haki at entry level; of the Rokushiki, only Iron Body was truly mastered, the rest merely familiar. The body's talent was too poor—previous point upgrades had strengthened physique, not aptitude.
For the next three years he carried a blade, sailing the four Blues (save East Blue) under Garp's orders, hunting pirates without pause. Only two years remained to repay the debt; though he'd kept killing while training Haki, he still owed roughly 130,000 points.
After another year of relentless slaughter he finally cleared the debt, gained full command of both Haki, and noticeably improved the Rokushiki.
But the constant killing put a target on his back: an ambush cost him his right leg, though he escaped and in doing so grasped the realm of "iron-cutting."
With every point repaid, he couldn't afford a new limb. Garp, however, reported his record to Fleet-Admiral Sengoku, who—impressed and satisfied after a background check—offered him a place in the Navy's science-branch experiment: a mechanical right leg.
Months passed while he learned to fight with steel instead of flesh. One day he saw Ace's new bounty; Garp dragged him off to drink and curse Ace together. That night he got drunk—truly drunk—for the first time, defenses completely down.
In the final year he obeyed Marine HQ, hunting pirates across the seas, rising steadily in strength until he wore the star of a rear admiral. He was thirty-one when, far away at Windmill Village, Luffy finally set sail.
He kept killing, speaking to no fellow marines, quietly stockpiling points he never spent; by now he lacked nothing.
He met Luffy, fought him, crossed blades with Zoro, yet never captured the boy—partly from Garp's sake. He did beat Luffy half-dead more than once, and discovered victory over the protagonist still awarded points—fewer than a kill, but substantial. The system confirmed: clash with a world's lead and gain credit even without a kill.
His days became Haki-training, sword-polishing, pirate-hunting. In time he fully mastered Rokushiki and advanced both Haki to high grade.
Then the Paramount War began. He chose not to save Ace; once he had wept for Ace on a screen, but now he needed strength. He lacked both the power and the reason to betray the Marines for a man he barely knew.
He deliberately avoided Luffy on the battlefield, cutting down pirates instead. He witnessed Whitebeard's might; the shockwaves shattered his steel leg and battered the rest of his body.
The war ended; Ace died. He himself was carried to the Navy's hospital.
Worth it: the battle had earned him more than four million points. After discharge he spent two million on a great swordsman's lifetime ken-do insight. Two and a half years later the knowledge was fully his—he became a master swordsman, albeit one built on borrowed epiphytes. Meanwhile Sengoku stepped down, Sakazuki took the fleet-admiral's seat, and Kuzan left the service.
Half a year later the Straw Hats reappeared; he ignored them. With Sakazuki in charge and HQ relocated to the New World, he stayed there, hunting pirates and forging the stolen sword-principles into something of his own.
Two more years and he truly stood as a great swordsman, his own Dao of the blade realized. Both Haki, pushed by points, reached their peak—ten million spent in total. He still held nearly a hundred million points, earned from countless kills and hundreds of shattered prosthetic legs. Yet he neither healed the leg nor the long-lost eye, keeping the scars as reminders of weakness—and to avoid suspicion. For his slaughter he was promoted to vice-admiral by Sakazuku, and marked by every major pirate crew in the New World.
One year later a sudden accident killed him in the world of One Piece.
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