Chapter 1: The Weight of the World
In the slums of South Blue, beneath a sky cracked by time and war, a child was born. He did not cry loudly, nor was he swaddled in silk or held by calloused hands of a proud father. His name was given in a whisper—Gokusei, the Star of Captivity. And from his first breath, the world seemed intent on making sure he lived up to the weight of it.
Raised among ruins and rust, Gokusei knew neither comfort nor luxury. His mother, a quiet and broken woman, spoke little of the past. But around her neck she carried a necklace, and within it, a Vivre Card that pulsed faintly with life—guiding, waiting. She never told him who it belonged to, only that one day it would lead him to the truth. When she died, the boy buried her with his own hands, swearing silently over her grave. That was the day he stopped being a boy.
He grew tall quickly, his body hardened by the streets and his soul weathered by violence. Hunger taught him strategy; betrayal taught him caution. He fought to survive, wielding makeshift weapons until he forged his own—a warhammer he named Shinpan, or Judgment. It was not just a tool for combat—it was the extension of his will, his justice.
Though the world around him was chaos, Gokusei lived by a code. Not imposed by kings or Marines, but forged through blood, pain, and sheer will. He hated injustice, not by ideology, but by memory. He had seen children die of hunger while nobles drank wine. He had seen slavers laughing while families wept. So he vowed: wherever he walked, no tyrant would sleep peacefully.
At sixteen, fate stirred. The Vivre Card glowed more brightly than ever before. Guided by it, Gokusei crossed waters and battles until he reached a Marine outpost.
There he saw him: Sengoku, the Buddha. An icon of order, cloaked in white and power. Gokusei did not know what to expect. He only knew the card burned for this man.
Their meeting was not warm. Sengoku, startled by the presence of the young man and his claim, demanded proof. The necklace, the card, and the faded journal of Gokusei's mother were enough to cast doubt in even Sengoku's steady heart. The truth was bitter—Sengoku had once loved a woman during his early years, a woman he lost during a mission, never knowing she carried his child.
They were strangers. Yet blood bound them. Gokusei did not crave a father. He wanted understanding. And Sengoku, to his surprise, gave it. Slowly, their bond formed—not of obedience, but of respect. They were different. Sengoku stood for order. Gokusei fought for justice. Sometimes those overlapped. Often, they did not.
By the time Portgas D. Ace began his journey to the seas, Gokusei had already consumed a Devil Fruit—a Mythical Zoan known as the Ashura Ashura no Mi. It gave him form beyond man, a monstrous deity of arms, rage, and judgment. But its true power was not in destruction—it was in perception.
Gokusei could see the morality of others. A halo of white for the kind, a shadow of crimson for the damned. But his most fearsome ability was the Judgment Gaze. By transforming only his head into Ashura form, he could invoke an illusion: a scale suspended in the air. In one plate, a feather; in the other, the heart of his target.
"What weighs more—your heart or a feather?"
Those found wanting were consumed in flame-like judgment. Not of vengeance. But of balance.
Each morning, Gokusei practiced what he called auto-judgment. He held himself to the same scales. If ever he found himself unworthy—too clouded by hate, or too far from his ideals—the Devil Fruit would become dormant. His justice, after all, was not borrowed. It was earned.
But powers such as his often attract those who dwell in the shadows.
In the Grand Line, another child had risen. Not from poverty, but from the ashes of a fallen nobility.
His name was Hokushin.
A descendant of the Celestial Dragons, exiled and forgotten. Unlike Gokusei, Hokushin believed himself divine. He formed a cult of zealots, preaching peace through annihilation, mercy through domination. He bore a power akin to a Dementor's Kiss, stealing suffering but leaving behind a void.
To Hokushin, he was not a man. He was God.
Their paths had not yet crossed. But as the tides of fate surged, and the world plunged into chaos with the death of Gol D. Roger and the rise of the pirate era, it was clear:
This was no longer a story of pirates alone. It was a battle between judgment and false divinity.
And soon, all the seas would know their names.