But Luffy wasn’t at the bow, laughing. He was in the men’s quarters, sitting cross-legged on his hammock, staring at his own hands.
He’d punched the gorilla. The shockwave cracked the mountain behind it. But then he deflated. He collapsed. For an hour, he couldn’t move. He was a shriveled, gasping doll in the mud, watching ants crawl over his fingers. For the first time in his life, Monkey D. Luffy felt vulnerable . He hated it. gear fourth
He looked at his hands again. The scars from Cracker. The bruises from Katakuri. He thought of Katakuri—the man who could see the future. For ten hours, Luffy had run, dodged, and bled. He’d eaten so much mochi he thought he’d turn into it. And when he finally went Gear Fourth against that perfect warrior, it wasn't just power. But Luffy wasn’t at the bow, laughing
Because he’d already broken the only thing that mattered: his own limits. The shockwave cracked the mountain behind it
He looked up. His face split into that wide, goofy grin. The one that never changed, whether he was a boy in Foosha Village or the Emperor who punched a Yonko.
He looked normal. Bony knuckles, rubbery skin, the small scar under his palm from a fight with a sea king when he was seven. But he could still feel it. The ghost of Gear Fourth.
It started as a whisper two years ago on that hellish island of Rusukaina. Rayleigh had taught him the basics of Haki—the armor, the prediction, the crushing will—but it was the beasts that taught him he needed more.