Shyarly's voice was still coming from inside the room.
It was a sound that didn't belong in that place, in that moment. A torn, muffled melody, yet unmistakable. Her voice—usually calm and distant—now trembled like glass on the verge of shattering.
And even though she tried her best to keep the volume down, to stop her pain from leaking beyond the walls, Namur, who was standing right on the other side, heard everything with crystal clarity.
He recognized it. That was her voice.
The voice he had imagined so many times calling his name with affection, with tenderness. But what he heard now wasn't desire. It was resistance. It was fear. It was… humiliation.
And alongside that voice… something else.
Smothered moans.
Broken laments.
Gasps rising like spasms and falling like swallowed sobs.
Namur's chest began to hurt, slowly at first, like something invisible was starting to squeeze his heart with a cold hand. His breathing turned heavy.
The sounds of the entire world faded away.
And then, in the middle of it all, a vivid image took shape in his mind.
An involuntary, but inevitable vision. Shyarly—his Shyarly—the one he had idealized for years, was in there… in the hands of another man. Not in a romantic moment, not in a consensual act. In a hell.
And that thought broke him.
His whole body trembled. He collapsed all at once. He stumbled several steps back, unable to hold in the emotional nausea rising inside him. His jaw clenched so hard that his teeth ground together. He felt his soul being torn from its roots.
Then, he heard her again.
"T-Tiberion-sama…" she whispered from inside, her voice so soft, broken, and humiliated it sounded like the final string of a violin snapping under pressure.
!
Namur froze.
His expression twisted—first in disbelief, then in a realization so abrupt it felt like it ripped the skin off his soul.
"W-What…?" he muttered, eyes wide, "Tiberion?"
The name fell like a hammer on his consciousness.
"Tiberion… Hanma?"
The human...
The same one who had massacred thousands on the island like insects. The same one who now stood at the center of every conflict. The same one King Neptune feared… and the same one who, at this very moment, had Shyarly under his control.
"Goddammit…!" he shouted, clutching both hands to his head like he wanted to tear the thoughts out.
"This is wrong! That bastard… he's raping Shyarly!!"
There was no other way to interpret it. Not with those sounds. Not with that tone.
And then, something snapped inside him.
It was no longer pain.
It was fury. A fury so immense, so savage, it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Love turned into rage. Devotion into a thirst for justice. Desire into hatred.
"Damn you…"
"TIBERION!"
And immediately…
Boom
With a devastating kick, he threw his entire body against the door.
Blasting it into a thousand splinters in one blow. The whole frame gave way with a cracking sound.
…
Inside, under a dim light.
The air reeked of raw sex. Everything felt thick, saturated with a humid heat that seemed to radiate straight from the walls, and the room now looked like it had lost all elegance, as if something unseen had tainted it.
Tiberion Hanma was no longer on the bed when the door exploded.
He had left it behind, standing tall beside the entrance, arms crossed over his bare chest, spine straight like an iron pillar, and a face completely devoid of fear.
He was wearing only a pair of white briefs, made of thin, stretched fabric, unable to hide the monstrous and unnatural bulge between his legs.
His body itself was a physical aberration.
Muscles defined to the absolute limit, as if sculpted by the gods. His abs, chest, arms—everything screamed overwhelming power. His veins traced thick paths across his skin, as if what flowed through them wasn't blood, but steroids.
And the most terrifying part was what couldn't be seen.
Because now, his interpretation of Yujiro Hanma had reached 40%.
The violent sexual initiation he had just completed with Shyarly wasn't just a carnal act—it was a crucial step in the full simulation of the monster he was embodying.
[Integration System — Progress: 40%]
[Base Talents: 450 + 50
Base Strength: 5100 + 2000
Base Endurance: 5100 + 2000
Base Speed: 5100 + 2000
Base Muscle Density: 5100 + 2000
Yujiro Hanma Combat Skills: Mastery at 40%.]
And now, on top of everything, he had activated a unique ability: the Demon Brain.
The Demon Brain amplified both physical and mental faculties.
A capacity that went far beyond just thinking faster—it allowed him to feel and predict the battlefield with the cold precision of a soldier hardened by war.
He had countless abilities he could exploit with the "Demon Brain" activated, but for now, he only needed the basic ones…
Instant motor plasticity, tactical hypercognition, and the deadliest of them all: hyperreal visualization. In simple terms, Tiberion could already mimic any technique he saw, simulate multiple combat scenarios, and predict with mathematical accuracy the most efficient outcome.
It wasn't just strength.
It was calculation.
It was foresight.
He was a predator who had already fought thousands of times within his own mind… and always won.
In fact, he had already simulated the fight with Namur.
He had foreseen everything.
And the inevitable ending.
Namur… dead by his hands.
"Bastard!" roared Namur, bursting in like a storm. "Are you that Tiberion Hanma?!"
But the question got no immediate answer. Because the moment he stepped through the door, his gaze was drawn automatically to the bed.
And then he saw it.
His world collapsed.
In the center of a shattered bed, with the sheets torn to rags, Shyarly sat, naked beneath a white sheet that barely covered her body. Her trembling shark tail was curled up tightly to her torso, and she clutched it with both arms, as if she needed to hold onto something to keep from falling apart completely.
Her back was hunched, her shoulders dropped, her chin trembling, and her face… her face was a wreck.
Tears poured from her eyes in a cascade, as if they would never stop. Her mouth hung completely open, yet no sound came out.
She was screaming in silence.
A scream that could only be born from the deepest part of the soul, where there were no words left, no resistance, no will.
It was pure pain.
A sadness so intense it seemed to devour the room's light, dimming every color.
She didn't even look up. She didn't notice the broken door. She didn't register Namur's presence.
She was just there, broken.
A woman who had lost everything, and who, deep inside, no longer knew if she was still alive.
Namur couldn't hold back.
Seeing the curled body of his beloved, her state of absolute shock, her tear-drenched eyes and her silent scream nailed like an invisible spear in the middle of the room—something inside him shattered forever.
It was an emotional collapse that swept away every last trace of reason. Rage mixed with helplessness, shame with despair, and all that remained standing was a fury so pure it seemed to consume the oxygen around him.
His muscles expanded all at once, as if his entire body wanted to break its limits in a single instant. The tension in his fibers was visible beneath his skin, veins bulging, his shark teeth tightly clenched, and his eyes turned into a searing crimson red, as if a flame had ignited deep within his soul.
"You… you damn bastard! I'm going to kill you!" he roared, shaking the very walls of the building:
"I'm going to tear you apart piece by piece, until there's nothing left of you but a stain on the floor!"
With a war cry, his entire arm was coated in Armament Haki, blackening his right arm, and he launched a punch straight at Tiberion's face.
But the Hanma didn't even flinch.
He had already visualized everything.
His mind, now governed by the Demon Brain, had shown him this moment a thousand times. He already knew the exact trajectory of the punch, the weight behind it, the gyojin's heart rate, the angle of his hips, the push of his feet. Everything was calculated. Measured.
A twisted smile formed on his face. It wasn't a mocking smile. It was the smile of a beast already tasting the blood before devouring.
His red hair shot upward with invisible force, as if an explosive pressure was rising from within.
The energy around him was so dense it felt tangible, as though his body emitted its own gravity.
In a blink, he moved.
In a fraction of a second—before Namur's punch reached his face—Tiberion raised both arms and clapped the sides of Namur's head in a synchronized slam.
The speed of the movement far exceeded that of sound.
"WAAAH!!" Namur cried out, blood spraying from his mouth instantly.
His body jolted as if struck by a thunderbolt from within. His arm stopped dead just inches from Hanma's face. The force behind his punch vanished like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.
"W-What…?" he stammered, eyes wide in shock.
His mind couldn't process it. He didn't understand.
How was it possible for him to block it like that?
How could he move with such speed and precision?
His vision blurred. The light in his pupils began to scatter like ink dissolving in water.
But then…
The roar returned.
From deep within his soul.
"NO!" he screamed, fueled by desperation. "Even if I die… I'll make you pay dearly, you disgusting beast!"
If he was going to fall, he wouldn't do so without a fight.
He opened his jaw wide, revealing several rows of shark teeth, serrated like saws, strong enough to split a sword in half. And without hesitation, he lunged toward Tiberion's arm.
He was going to tear it apart. Rip it off.
But he didn't make it.
Because the instant before his fangs touched the skin, Tiberion moved again…
He stepped forward and, with both hands, struck the sides of Namur's head once more.
Boom
The crash wasn't like before. It was deeper, as if the sound had echoed inside Namur's skull, breaking things that don't regenerate, damaging tissues that don't heal.
Namur's jaw clamped shut awkwardly—his bite incomplete. His body swayed like a tower that had lost its center. And then, blood poured from all his orifices: eyes, nose, mouth, and the six gill slits on his neck.
The light in his pupils faded.
He didn't fall with a scream.
He fell in silence.
Like those who, even giving everything, never had a chance.
Namur, Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' Eighth Division, died standing—fury still carved into his face… but his heart shattered to pieces.
...
Outside the room, the employees remained frozen, faces pale and pupils dilated in terror.
Several of them covered their mouths with both hands, while others clung to the walls or the counter.
They wanted to scream. They wanted to run. Some felt the urge to let out a cry from the depths of their throats… but the air wouldn't come. They just trembled.
Namur was dead.
The commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' eighth division.
And the one responsible, Tiberion Hanma, was right now in that very room.
Inside, silence reigned.
Tiberion, after watching Namur's body finally collapse to the floor, walked toward the bed slowly, unhurried.
His hair still slightly raised from the surge of energy earlier, his breathing was calm, as if everything that had happened had merely been an inevitable formality.
He crouched beside the bed, picked up the pants he had left on the nearby chair, put them on, and then draped the shirt over his shoulder. The room was saturated with his pheromones, but his steps were quiet.
And then, he spoke.
"From now on, you're my woman, Shyarly. No matter what happens, no matter what problems you have, you can always come to me."
His tone wasn't commanding. It was gentle, almost human. It was the tone of someone who, after having taken by force, felt an irrational need to offer shelter.
Because, no matter how much he was playing the role of Yujiro Hanma, there were limits he couldn't reach.
He had had Shyarly. He had crossed that line. He had fulfilled what the system "required" of him to advance the interpretation. But he couldn't treat her like a mere tool.
His small heart wouldn't allow it.
And that small gesture, that pause in his coldness, changed everything.
He knew it in that instant—he would never reach 100% fidelity in the portrayal of Yujiro. Because Tiberion, no matter how hard he tried, wasn't a monster without emotions.
And even though he knew that would put a ceiling over him, he also understood that what he already had was more than enough.
Not only had he awakened the Demon Brain.
His talent across the board had risen to 500.
And his punches now could reach up to 20,000 tons of force.
He could also simulate battles at any moment.
With talent and ability like that, there was no one he couldn't defeat, no technique he couldn't decipher.
Furthermore, with his enhanced talent and complete mastery of all the martial arts and combat techniques of Yujiro—at 40% mastery…
At this level, for example: Rokushiki.
He didn't need anyone to teach them to him. The theory alone was enough for him to master them.
It could be said that, in terms of hand-to-hand combat, there was no one in this world capable of teaching him anything.
The martial arts, combat techniques, and skills he now possessed were so numerous, it was overwhelming.
With this current foundation, facing the strongest in this world… posed no problem.
…
Shyarly was still crying, her tears unending, yet no sound came from her.
A sorrow pouring out from her soul like a broken river, overflowing, unstoppable, but without the strength left to scream. The sheet clinging to her body felt like a second skin.
At this point, her mind floated in a strange place. The chaos of her emotions wouldn't let her think clearly.
For a single moment, just one, she asked herself what was the point of resisting anymore—what else could she do. Her body, her dignity, her emotions… everything had been invaded.
And yet…
When she looked at him, something inside her stirred.
She hated that man deeply. She despised him. Rejected him with every fiber of her being. She loathed him for what he had done to her, for the pain, the humiliation—also for having killed Namur without hesitation.
But she couldn't deny that… she felt a strange tension inside when she looked at him.
It wasn't fear.
It was something more complicated… confusing.
A mix of magnetism, rejection, and primal attraction.
And the worst part was that her body wasn't reacting the way it should. That internal sensation—hot, uncomfortable—as if some part of her was responding to his scent, his presence, his tone of voice… was driving her mad.
And just then, he approached again.
Tiberion leaned down briefly and spoke to her in a low voice.
And those few words, that seemingly small gesture, achieved the unthinkable: the storm in her chest quieted—if only for a moment. It didn't heal her. But it gave her a truce.
Because, even though she hated him, that monster still had the capacity to show responsibility. He didn't abandon her like a used object. That, as small as it was, made a difference.
But that didn't mean she could forgive him.
Not now. Maybe never.
Tiberion, seeing that Shyarly didn't respond, just stood there looking at her in silence for a moment. His face showed no guilt, no remorse, but his eyes—if only for a second—revealed something more human.
Something that even he himself seemed not to fully understand.
He sighed without making a sound.
And without saying anything more, he turned around.
Before leaving, he left her with one final sentence:
"Calm down for now… I'll come see you again in a few days."
Then he walked toward Namur's body, still lying on the floor.
He crouched down, grabbed him by one leg, and dragged him out as if he were a sack of potatoes.
The sound of the body scraping across the floor echoed through the café.
When he exited, the silence was absolute.
The employees stepped aside. No one dared say a word. Some could barely stand, and others fought back nausea. But no one moved.
Tiberion walked slowly, hiding nothing.
His bare torso and firm steps through the open street… were a statement. A message that didn't need to be spoken.
The people who saw him pass froze. Some instinctively backed away, others covered their mouths in horror.
"My God…" someone whispered, "That… that's Namur's body!"
"Is he… is he really dead?"
"Shhh! Shut up! Don't stare!"
"It's Lord Tiberion…! That guy doesn't even take Whitebeard himself seriously…!"
"He killed him! He killed Namur, the commander of the eighth division!"
"And he's dragging him like garbage…!"
"This… this is going to get ugly."
"Namur didn't come alone! He was with Jozu the Diamond, the actual captain of the third division!"
"God…! If Jozu finds out about this… hell's going to break loose!"
________
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