19,440 points.
Staring at the number on the system panel, KING felt that every second of suffering during the seven-day voyage had finally been redeemed.
AFK truly was supreme.
Promotions, battles, justice—
none of them compared to lying down quietly and watching numbers rise.
KING sat up on the pile of oak barrels and stretched.
Crack… crack…
His joints popped like dry beans. Three days of immobility had stiffened everything.
"System. Open attributes."
[Host: KING]
Status: Healthy (Hungry)
Physique: 1200
Spirit: 15
Speed: 5009
Free Attribute Points: 19440
Dominance: /
Skills: Emperor Engine (Passive), Game Mastery (God-level)
Item: Pochi's Cell ×1
He stared at the numbers.
Pathetic double-digit Spirit.
Sky-breaking Speed.
The memory of nearly dying after boosting speed last time made his spine go cold.
"In martial arts, speed breaks all limits" was clearly a lie.
At least until the body could withstand that speed.
There was no need to hesitate.
"Allocate all."
"All into Physique."
Living came first.
Only a body that could survive mountain-shattering blows offered real security in this world.
[Ding — Attribute Injection Complete]
No warmth.
No surge.
Only weight.
An overwhelming heaviness settled into his body.
If before he was a wooden boat…
now he was an armored warship.
He clenched his fist experimentally.
CRACK!
KING froze.
He held nothing.
Yet compressed air burst in his palm like a tiny shockwave.
"…If I swatted a mosquito, would I demolish a wall?"
Still—
the solidity felt reassuring.
Grrrlll…
His stomach growled.
Hunger struck like a tidal wave.
"I need food."
KING stood and stretched.
Everything felt different.
The previous instability was gone.
His legs felt rooted to the earth.
Every muscle responded with precise control.
He took a step forward.
A normal step.
Balanced.
Silent.
Perfectly measured.
"…This is amazing."
He nearly cried.
He reached the iron gate.
He was certain he pushed gently.
BOOM—!!!
The heavy metal door didn't open.
It launched.
Door and surrounding masonry tore free and flew over ten meters, embedding into a wall opposite.
Sunlight flooded the cellar.
KING stared at the wreckage.
"…I really was gentle."
Two kilometers away — Naval Base Tower
Smoker's cigars burned to the filter before the heat snapped him back to reality.
His hands gripped the railing so hard his fingerprints dented the metal.
Even through binoculars, the scene chilled him.
No Haki flare.
No Devil Fruit energy.
No visible exertion.
He had simply brushed the door aside.
As casually as removing a curtain.
But what moved was steel and concrete.
"Colonel…" the adjutant whispered, voice shaking.
"Should we investigate?"
"Silence!"
Smoker spun around, eyes bloodshot yet blazing.
"Investigate what? Your own ignorance?"
He crushed the cigar under his boot.
"For three days he neither ate nor drank, isolating himself underground."
"And upon emerging, he did not seek food…"
"He struck the world."
"What terrifying physical power!"
"He is declaring something."
The adjutant blinked. "Declaring what?"
"Contempt for limitation!"
Smoker strode to the roof's edge.
"In an era where Devil Fruit users rely on abilities and swordsmen rely on famous blades…"
"Mr. King demonstrates that the human body itself is the ultimate weapon."
"That door was a restraint. A shackle."
"He didn't destroy a door."
"He destroyed limits."
"Do you understand?"
The adjutant nodded rapidly.
"…Yes, sir."
"…What do we do now?"
Smoker steadied his breathing and raised the binoculars again.
In the lens, KING moved.
His gait was strange.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each step light, as if walking on thin ice.
His brow glistened with sweat.
His eyes remained fixed on the ground, as if confronting an invisible enemy.
The concentration was suffocating.
"See that?" Smoker whispered.
The adjutant squinted.
"…He looks exhausted."
"Shallow thinking!"
Smoker smacked the back of his head.
"Look at where he steps!"
The adjutant focused.
Tiny fracture lines radiated beneath each footfall.
Barely visible.
"He's suppressing it," Smoker breathed.
"The power he just obtained is overwhelming — even he must devote full concentration to control it."
"Each step is a battle against his own destructive strength."
"What discipline…"
"What restraint…"
"To avoid harming the citizens of this town… he restrains himself to this degree…"
Moisture gathered in the hardened Marine captain's eyes.
He had seen strength.
Garp could shatter mountains.
But this—
strength capable of destruction, restrained to avoid crushing ants—
was different.
This was compassion.
This was vision.
This was kind-hearted Mr. King.
At that moment, KING lifted his sleeve and sniffed it.
(Why do I smell sour… three days without bathing… I need new clothes… and food.)
He turned toward the busiest commercial street.
His steps remained measured, steady, rhythmic.
Smoker lowered his binoculars.
Resolve hardened in his eyes.
"Transmit my orders!"
"All patrol units shift to stealth mode!"
"No one is to approach within 100 meters of Mr. King!"
"No civilian interaction permitted!"
The adjutant blinked. "Why, Colonel?"
Smoker looked at him as if he were an idiot.
"Mr. King has just completed a breakthrough."
"He is adapting to his new power."
"He must merge with the world… experience his transformation."
"What he needs now…"
"…is freedom."