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One Piece: Lightning Heir#322: Vegapunk’s Mad Roast
🕑 Added 2025-11-19 12:26:33 +0000 UTCThe Revolutionary Army's headquarters was, much like Vegapunk's old lab on Punk Hazard, buried deep underground. They hadn't yet made the bold move to operate in the open.
Hiding in the dirt might fool the World Government, but nothing could hide from Arthur's Observation Haki.
“Can we contact Dragon now and discuss the plan?” Fisher Tiger asked, glancing around the barren landscape before following Hack toward a hidden entrance.
“The Leader has gone personally to meet with a contact within the World Government,” Hack explained, leading the way. “We must wait for his return.”
In this world, Den Den Mushi were miraculous, but they were not secure. A breed of Black Den Den Mushi existed specifically to intercept calls.
The Revolutionary Army was still in its infancy. They lacked the technology to encrypt their communications or block wiretaps. So, regardless of whether anyone listened, they treated every major meeting as compromised. Critical discussions happened face-to-face.
Unfortunately for them, few people on the seas knew that Observation Haki could evolve into something as terrifying as Arthur's “Observation Haki,” a surveillance system that no technology could block.
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Inside the subterranean base, tunnels crisscrossed like a labyrinth. People in gray Revolutionary uniforms hurried back and forth, clutching documents, their faces a mix of urgency and fanatical devotion.
They had gathered here for a shared ideal, forming the first organized military resistance against the World Government.
Decay would eventually be replaced by new growth; it was the trend of history, an unstoppable tide. Yet there were always those who tried to hold back the dawn.
“Hey, Hack... and I do not need to ask to know that this is the adventurer Fisher Tiger,” said a middle-aged man with a thick beard, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a helmet shaped like a grizzly bear.
Terry Gilteo, the Revolutionary Army’s Intelligence Controller.
“Greetings. I am Fisher Tiger,” Tiger said, his expression grave. “King Neptune has reservations and cannot support this operation officially. But I, as an individual, am willing to join you.”
“Understood, understood,” Gilteo said, exhaling a plume of smoke and nodding. He gestured down the hall. “Let us go inside and talk... hmm?”
Just as he was about to lead Tiger to his office, Gilteo paused. He felt a sudden, jarring dissonance in the air, a foreign presence in the tunnel.
His eyes darted around behind his sunglasses, scanning the corridor.
Revolutionaries moved about their business, undisturbed. The tunnel looked exactly as it always did. There was no one new, no intruder.
“Am I overthinking it? Being too sensitive?” he wondered, shaking his head. “This is the Revolutionary Army Headquarters, after all.”
Dismissing the feeling, he turned back to Tiger. “This way, please.”
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Not bad. His Observation Haki is decent, Arthur noted silently. He did not even glance back at Gilteo as he walked past him, heading deeper into the complex toward Vegapunk’s location.
If it had been Issho—a man who had blinded himself to see the truth—he would have spotted Arthur instantly.
People with sight tended to trust their eyes too much, even when those eyes lied to them.
Gilteo was one of those people. Convinced subconsciously that the headquarters was impenetrable, and seeing no intruder, he suppressed his instincts.
The tunnel sloped downward, becoming brighter and more metallic. The rough stone walls gave way to sleek steel and soft, ambient lighting. It felt less like a cave and more like a glimpse into a future kingdom.
The Revolutionary Army clearly had scientists of their own, though their technology lagged leagues behind Vegapunk’s.
Arthur entered the main laboratory. It was a cavernous space, lined with workbenches every few meters. Dozens of scientists in white coats bustled around, some ecstatic over results, others slumped in frustration.
And there, in the center of it all, was Vegapunk.
He lounged in a chair, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind clearly light-years away, pondering some impossible problem.
A knot of angry scientists stood around him, looking as if they were trying to pick a fight.
“Dr. Vegapunk! You cannot even answer a simple question like this? And they call you the world’s greatest scientist, five hundred years ahead of humanity?” a balding old man, red-faced and thick-necked, shouted, jabbing an accusing finger at a document on Vegapunk’s desk.
The shout drew the attention of the entire room. Scientists looked over, their faces twisting into sneers of mockery or disdain, but underneath it all, it was pure jealousy.
Conflict was eternal, and among the talented and arrogant, it was inevitable. In the scientific community, where egos were fragile and massive, it was ten times worse. No one wanted to admit another was better.
Excessive pride made coexistence impossible. Unless you crushed them completely with undeniable skill, they would always question you.
Someone who far surpassed their peers would be worshiped as a “monster” or isolated as a freak.
And monsters could only truly get along with other monsters.
“Too loud,” Vegapunk muttered, snapping out of his trance. He dug a pinky into his ear, pulled out a glob of earwax, and with a casual flick, shot it straight into the balding scientist's face.
He did not give a damn about these mediocrities.
“Honestly... your jealousy is causing your cells to undergo plasmolysis. You are literally tearing yourselves apart with envy.”
“...” the balding scientist trembled, touching the earwax on his cheek in disbelief. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed stiffly to the floor, fainting from sheer rage.
“Hmph.” Vegapunk sneered. He picked up the document on the desk, glanced at it, and tossed it onto the floor like trash.
He turned his gaze to the group of scientists the Revolutionary Army held in such high regard and slipped into a mode of mass mockery he had never shown before.
“A gathering of mediocrity. With plans this simple and brains this small, I assume you are stuck researching the basics of the microscopic world. And you dream of collaborating with me on a super-weapon? Keep dreaming.”
“You think ‘electrons cannot leave the nucleus’ is an iron law? Stop trying to scare people with your ignorance,” Vegapunk scoffed. “In a superheated state, an ionized electron escaping the nucleus has more freedom than the sperm shooting out of your crotch.”
The group of scientists stood stunned, verbally flayed alive by Vegapunk’s barrage.
“That is... that is impossible! That is just your imagination!” a tall, thin scientist with glasses argued, though his arrogance was wavering. “No material in the lab could withstand those kinds of temperatures!”
“If it cannot withstand it, then go research superconductors, you moron! Did you trade your brain for a paperweight?”
Vegapunk destroyed them one by one. His look of utter contempt forced the scientists to lower their heads in shame.
“The application of electrons leaving the atomic nucleus... that is the direction for my Rumble-Rumble Fruit development, is it not, Vegapunk?”
Arthur walked into the lab, clapping slowly, a smile on his face.
Hearing the familiar voice, Vegapunk sat up straight and adjusted his collar.
“Ahem. Let us go. I cannot communicate with these people. It is impossible to have a pleasant conversation when their grasp of common sense is worse than yours.”
