In the hazy dawn of consciousness, Trafalgar D. Water Law’s eyelids fluttered open for the first time in this new, fragile existence. His mind, sharp as the edge of his long-lost Kikoku, stirred from the void—not with the frantic bewilderment of an ordinary infant, but with a calculated stillness that belied the storm within. What… is this? The thought cut through the fog like a surgical incision. Memories flooded in unbidden: the acrid smoke of Flevance burning, the cold betrayal in Doflamingo’s grin, the warm sacrifice of Corazon’s final smile. He had been the captain of the Heart Pirates, a man who dissected fates with the Ope Ope no Mi’s precision. Alliances forged in blood, vendettas carved into his soul—Luffy’s reckless alliance, the Dressrosa chaos, the weight of the “D” that whispered of destinies unbound. Now… reduced to this? A vessel so small, so helpless, that his tactical genius felt caged in soft, uncoordinated limbs. He didn’t cry. No, that would be undignified, a waste of energy. Instead, his gray eyes—still piercing, though widened by infancy—focused inward. Reincarnation? A cruel joke of the seas? Brooding resolve simmered beneath the surface, a faint echo of his stoic facade. His tiny hands twitched instinctively, as if reaching for phantom scalpels, sensing structures he couldn’t yet name. Survivor’s guilt gnawed quietly: why him, again spared from oblivion? The tattoos’ ghostly birthmarks tingled on his skin, reminders of oaths unbroken. Yet, amid the introspection, a spark of cunning flickered. I’ll adapt. Observe. Strike when ready. The pirate’s heart beat on, undimmed, in this reborn form—waiting, watching, ever the strategist in a game he didn’t yet understand.