Heaven Has No Limit Chapter 7 - Grindset

There were fools about to die of a bitch-addiction.

Sitting deep at the bottom of a swimming pool in only a pair of swimming trunks, with his eyes wide open, an alarm clock wrapped in a thin film of plastic and floating beside Noah within the water began to ring. Glancing at the number, he saw the timer, 30:00:00, blink red. Noah took a deep breath, and the water that should have entered his lungs stopped at his nostrils as if blocked by a small, thin barrier of air.

He looked upwards, to the image projected on the surface of the pool by a Den-Den Mushi, grinning wider and wider as he did.

Boa Hancock had been put in a French Maid outfit. Not just any French Maid outfit, but the good stuff, the type where the skirt didn’t go past the middle of the thighs and the top was several sizes too small to allow the bust to really pop. The types with long white thigh-high socks and school-girl loafers that accentuated the fit. Her hair was let down, her face was red, her body was bangin’, and there were first simps, the first victims of what would be the E-Girlification process.

Hancock grabbed a piece of paper that had been left, awkwardly reading out the lines:

“Oh-em-gee, you’re so toxic… uwu~!”

Fool A was the first to collapse, one of the many mook guards, flying backward with blood pouring out of his nose. Fool B followed suit, his nosebleed ejecting his head back with enough force that it slammed into a wall and knocked him out cold.

Behold! Noah cackled. I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds.

The nosebleed gag was the type of shit Noah would cringe at and call ass whenever he saw it, but that type of shit was something hard-baked into this world. Sanji losing copious amounts of blood due to a nosebleed from seeing hot women in mermaid-land was a direct fucking beat to introduce the ‘my blood pure, your blood stank’ beef between Fish-Men and Humans.

The moment that shit was played straight and Sanji got that blood transfusion, it stopped being a gag and became reality. It meant simps getting nose-bleeds from seeing sexy girls do sexy things was as real as the fucking One Piece.

Unleashing the E-Girl into a world where men could die from nosebleeds was no different from being the Oppenheimer of the Goon Wars. 

If he wanted to, he could probably win the entire fucking board game with just this One Piece. 

Noah, though, had no intention of doing that. As one with Kingly Ambitions, he didn’t need to weaponize E-Girls to take the throne. That he could was good enough. For now, it was enough that the world would see his girls, worship them, shower them with gifts, with cash, with all their attention, all hoping for a day when they’d be stepped on and spat on.

Those fuckers would be no closer to touching his E-Girls than the highest paying subscriber of an OnlyFans Thot was to touching breasts. 

“Was…. was that good, Saint Noah?”

Noah exhaled fully through his nostrils, propelling himself out of the bottom of the pool all the way to the top in a single breath. He rested his arms against the edge of the pool, took the Den-Den Mushi, and spoke into it.

“Keep at it,” Noah said. “I’ll be checking in on your progress from time to time.”

“Is… is this really… a Celestial Dragon tradition, Saint Noah? This manner of speaking, and these… habits?”

“They are,” Noah said. “The ‘uwu’ is an ancient Celestial Dragon chant meaning ‘I am beautiful.’ Every time you say it, you let the world know you are the most beautiful of all.”

“I-I see! I won’t forget to say it, Saint Noah..! Uwu~!”

Noah’s cheeks ached from how wildly he was grinning.

 Love Sickness is a fucking hell of a drug.

He was at least 90% certain he could outright shoot her in the face, and she’d justify it by thinking he was trying to kill a fly that landed on her nose. 

“Rerorerorero.”

The feed cut, and that conversation ended. Another one instantly came up.

“Guernika. Is it done?”

“I’ve put the girls on a ship, Saint Noah. It’s headed straight for Amazon Lily.”

“Good. Once you’re done with that, prepare a ship for me. Have it stocked and ready to make a trip to the New World,” Noah grinned. “There’s a place I need to go for the next level of my training.”

“Understood, Saint.”

The call ended with a click, and Noah turned back on the feed of Hancock, now in her room, practicing various phrases and words in front of a mirror.

As per their agreement, Hancock became his, and her sisters were let go.

Hancock didn’t tell either of them that she had made that sacrifice, and wasn’t allowed to meet them even to the end. Neither of the two sisters were idiots, so they’d eventually put two and two together. Noah didn’t care if they did. He did not mind removing the sisters, Sandersonia and Marigold, from the picture, because he only had eyes for Hancock.

He wanted the snack, not the fridges protecting it. 

The sea was fucking big, and there were way more girls to capture, and more slaves to get. There was no reason to be greedy for 6s and 7s when he could have 10s, and those two were less than 6s and 7s. In Noah’s eyes, they barely scratched the surface as 3s and 4s.

When your options are Jessica Alba and Ana de Armas, you don’t lament the loss of Awkwafina and Bella Ramsey.

Noah had plans for much bigger fish.

But for that…

Noah kicked out of the pool, once, then twice, and stood in the air for a brief moment, before he kicked again, and again, and again, staying aloft. He then spun, performing a textbook axe kick down towards the pool. Rough, harsh winds flew forward, slicing the water perfectly in half like oiled ass-cheeks spreading for Diddy. The sickle wind-blade struck the bottom of the pool, leaving a wide, ten-foot gash on impact. 

Geppo was the art of kicking strong enough for a person to literally kick off the air and fly. Rankyaku was the Rokushiki Art of kicking strong enough to create wind blades that could slice shit up like swords. The core of both techniques was that they required a fluid, such as air, as the medium. Kick air hard enough, you fucking fly. Kick air hard enough, you create fucking wind blades.

Noah, in his head, had three important bits of detail. The first bit of detail was that Rankyaku, despite literally being called Storm Leg, could be used with more appendages than just legs. A tail, a neck, anything strong enough and long enough. 

The second bit of detail was that there were countless variations of the wind blades. Jabra could make his wind blades the shape of wolves. Kaku could make them the shape of rain. Rob Lucci could make his into that of a fucking bird.

The third and most important bit of detail was that water was a fluid, just like air. It was why Sanji could use his Sky Walk underwater and move as fast in it as a Fishman swimming. 

All that put together meant Rankyaku was especially synergistic with Fishman Karate and Fishman Jujutsu. It was the type of synergy that allowed for emergent techniques and an endless number of ‘Oh shit, I can do that?’ moments.

Noah hopped in the air, before he slowly lowered himself down atop the surface of a different pool of water, landing on it, and then standing on it. Where he stood, ripples continuously emerged in a perfect, flawless, three-second interval.

Water, being significantly denser than air, required significantly less effort to kick against. Thus, it was easier to ‘fly’ on top of water than it was to ‘fly’ in the air. However, from the viewpoint of a casual observer, it would look only as if he were just standing on the water. Noah was using his toes to push against the water, using about a fraction of the force needed for Geppo to ‘fly.’

Noah ran his hand through his hair before he started moving, one step after the other, each step sending more ‘ripples’ out over the surface of the pool. 

Eat your heart out, Son of Joseph!

Noah grinned.

Man, feels fucking good to see the results of training.

His training was going much, much faster than Noah anticipated. Granted, all he did all day was train. In the morning, at night, all day, every day. Since he was born, he was training, and for the past three months, locked in the Limit Breaking Room, he had done nothing but train. If he got tired or his muscles got sore, he had access to the best medicine in the world to get him up faster. He had access to the best chefs in the world who could follow to his specifications a high-calorie, incredibly dense nutritional plan for his body to keep up with the training. Noah didn’t do anything else but train, eat, sleep, then wake up, train, eat, sleep, and do it the next day.

Noah thought at first his body, still developing, wouldn’t be able to withstand the workload and heal quickly enough to continue training, but he found out it was the exact opposite.

The more he trained, the stronger his body became. The more it ached and burned, the more resistant it was to aches and burns.

Noah figured it was a feature, not a bug, just like nosebleed from goonbait. From the first day Luffy set out to sea, to the final moment he was slapped across the world by Kuma, the Nepo Hats couldn't have spent any more than three months together give-or-take. Even if Noah was being extremely generous, there was no way all of the Pre-Timeskip was longer than six months. 

Six months wasn’t even enough to pop out a full human, and in that time frame, they recovered from crazy, otherwise debilitating injuries, like Zoro being sliced by Mihawk and Usopp’s skull being broken against Baroque Works fodder chumps. Most injuries that would have killed regular humans hundreds of times over had healed in time for the next arc, again and again. Even the weakest Nepo Hat, the Coward of the Sea, had a superhuman recovery rate.

Something about this world meant having common-sense-defying levels of recovery speed. It made sense, as there were literal giant sea fish in the fucking waters, even in the weakest seas, so there was no way anyone in this world would survive with regular Earth Human-level durability and recovery.

As soon as Noah figured that out, he didn’t hold back.

He trained harder and harder, and he improved faster and faster.

If he didn’t improve at a bullshit pace when twenty-four hours a day, all he did was train, train, and train some more, he would be the greatest fucking embarrassment in the world. Doubly so because training in this world had verifiable proof that it gave results.

Koby, a fodder so weak that he let himself be bossed around by the likes of Alvida, a no-name pirate in the Weakest Blue, was, in less than three months of training, able to survive the Marineford War, a place where Commodores, Captains, and Vice Admirals were dropping like flies. That feat alone meant he had gone from being a literal bitch ass fodder, to being capable of surviving in a war against the New World-level pirates of Whitebeard’s Fleet, in less than three months.

Or, if Noah was being generous, less than six months.

Not just him, the other one, Helmeppo, managed to survive that war as well, and those two had been the sort of individuals the likes of Buggy would consider laughably weak if he had met them at the time of their intros. 

Yet, they survived that war because they trained.    

In two years, Koby, who was mopping decks and cowering from a fat bitch, managed to be able to head to Amazon Lily and fight against Haki-powered members of the Kuja Tribe, as well as take on members of Blackbeard’s Crew, learning his own version of Garp’s Galaxy Impact.

Koby had no special genes, no bullshit devil fruit, no hidden bloodline, and no nonsense ‘Will of D.’ The only ‘handout’ he was given was training from Garp, which, while a big one, was something that would be meaningless if he didn’t have the determination to improve.

If that sort of turnaround was possible for Koby in just two years—

If Noah couldn’t achieve more, it meant his drive couldn’t compare.

Noah had the privilege of having no other responsibilities or things to occupy his time, just as all Celestial Dragons, compared to Koby, who also had to work and do jobs and tasks as a Marine. So whilst the other Celestial Dragons whiled away their time on pleasures, hedonistic desires, food, women, and sex, Noah spent his, pushing his body to the absolute peak and then some.

Because he would not let himself be out-ambitioned by motherfucking KOBY!

Noah dropped down to the surface of the water and began pushing, with his entire body, pushing up, and down, using the principle of Geppo, not just on his legs, but his hands as well.

No Limit! 

No Stopping!

His haters used to tell Noah that he was a nobody who just got lucky, but those bitches had no idea how much Noah put into every single one of his videos, and he would never tell them, because he needed the illusion of effortlessness to elevate his aura. For many of his videos, Noah put his life on the line; he risked death, danger, and arrest. Hundreds of hours of bloopers and failed cuts and behind-the-scenes footage would never be seen, because he needed only wins. 

Hell, he had been arrested more times than he could count, and he didn’t even care to keep track of the many times he’d been charged and taken to court for one shit or another, or the times he’d been hospitalized for one shit or another.

Yet, he kept coming back.

One Judge had outright told him to his face, “Young man, do you want to be locked away for life?” And Noah had fired back, “Only if that’s what it takes to reach the top.”

No one else would have done the shit he did. Infiltrating Area fucking 51 for clicks and views would have given even the most hard-boiled, click-chasing fucks pause. Noah did not hesitate. He had more sheer fucking grit in a single finger than his copycats and detractors had in their entire bodies.

They hated him because they couldn’t be him; they hated him because every fucking day he did shit others wouldn’t, so the next day, he could do things they couldn’t.

It’s about drive! It’s about power! 

We stay hungry, we devour! 

Put in the work, put in the hours, and TAKE WHAT’S OURS!

NO LIMIT! 

NO STOPPING! 

NO STOPPING!

NO LIMIT!

HELL YEAH!

No one knew the kind of mentality it took to read death threats day after day, grin, and blow a kiss to the bastards sending them. To have millions of fuckers constantly telling him he wasn’t shit, yet look at all of them, and say: “Nah, I’m the best.”

Noah did not for a day, for a second, doubt his own greatness, doubt his own capabilities. He could not afford to. Because if he didn’t believe in himself—

Who the fuck would believe in him?

I’ve hit the peak with this form of isolated training.

It’s time to move on to the next step. Real-world experience.

Gotta level up this shit.

Noah stopped his push-ups, grabbed a different Den-Den Mushi, and immediately dialed a number. 

Vinsmoke Judge’s voice hurriedly came from the other end. “Saint. I’ve been expecting your call.”

I bet you have.

“How is it?”

“There are no problems on my end, Saint. In about two and a half months, it should be complete. Entirely within the deadline. The project, Saint, is revolutionary—”

“I know. It was my idea.”

“T-that is true, Saint. Without your… input, I never would have…” There was a pause. “May I know if you have any more… ideas, Saint Noah? Any projects you wish to… work on? I… no, the entirety of the Germa Kingdom is at your disposal.”

“Tests have to be conducted first. I want to see the results firsthand, before I trust you with anything else.”

“Of course, Saint. As soon as the project is complete, I will send the—”

“No need.”

“No need…?”

“Once I handle some matters here…”

Noah walked towards the large, heavy, hydrolock door. With a wave of his right hand, water gathered around him, spinning faster, and faster, and faster until it formed a near-solid ‘glove’ around his right hand. A ‘glove’ of high-spinning, super-fast, incredibly ‘hard’ water. He thrust the gloved hand forward and grabbed the door’s handle, before his right hand covered itself with a sheen of black all the way down to his shoulder. The black sheen then spread into the water itself, creating a jet-black, ink-like glove of solid, high-velocity water. His blood pumped faster, his muscles bulged, as he pulled.

The sound of gears shattering echoed throughout the Limit Breaking Room. Sparks flew. Pipes exploded and burst. The large, solid, nigh-unbreakable steel door was lifted into the air with one hand.

Noah grinned.

“I’ll come see it myself.”

=====)+(=====

In the Room of Authority, Saint Jaygarcia Saturn sipped from a cup of tea, calmly turning a newspaper that provided him with details of the world’s events. One particular headline amazed him, if only because it was a headline that was worth celebrating, as another member of that accursed crew had met their end. An end nowhere near as glamorous, and an end fitting for such a troubling insect.

The news had been brought to him directly by another colleague of his, and they gathered here, at the Room of Authority, to discuss it amongst themselves before the other three would be informed.

“Rerorerorero.”

The Den-Den Mushi to his side rang, and Saint Saturn picked it up.

“Yes?”

“S-Saint Saturn… there’s someone here to see you! I— I told him you were occupied, and having a meeting, but he insisted on—”

“It is fine.”

There could only be one person who would come to see him here.

“Send him on his way up.”

“He’s already… we… couldn’t stop him, Saint Saturn. We did not… dare. Those who tried… were all… killed. It— it happened so fast, no one could… not a person could react.”

Saturn lifted a brow. What?

“KNOCK! KNOCK! GRAMPS!”

The door of the Room of Authority burst open and was sent flying off its hinges. His fellow Elder got up to his feet, lazily slicing the door that came flying towards him in half, before sheathing his sword in the same motion. A white-clad blur flew into the room. Saint Saturn’s Observation Haki sensed the danger and held up his right hand, just as a foot slammed into it with a deafening boom.

A shockwave rocked the Room of Authority. Papers were sent flying, soaring, pens, bottles, and chairs, all in varying directions. Saint Saturn felt a slight ache from the kick, where the boy’s leg, clad in Armament Haki, made contact with his palm. It was minor, all things considered, but considering who he was, taking into account his strength?

The power of the attack was noteworthy.

“Hm. You need to work on your manners, boy.”

“My parents are dead, old man, and the tutors don’t know shit.”

Noah cartwheeled out of the kick, landing on his feet and dusting his white suit.

“I’m here to see you, and—” Noah paused, his head snapping to the other person in the room. “Who’s the bald geezer, gramps?”

Saturn’s lip pursed as he held back a slight snort of amusement. Gramps, the boy called him. A small, but notable change in the method of address, compared to when he just called him old man. A subtle change to hint at fondness and familiarity, one that may or may not exist, and was, at best, performative. Yet, Saturn did not question or dislike the change, because he was smart enough to see that the boy was using it tactically, as there was another of the Five Elders present.

Clever… how very clever…

His great-grandson was more socially astute than Saturn expected. That pleased him. In comparison, his colleague was displeased; Saint Nusjuro's right eye twitched in annoyance at the minor jab to his hairless state. He was bald, yes, but that didn’t mean he liked others pointing that out.

“Hm. This is the War God of Finance. Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro,” Saturn said. “Saint Nusjuro, this is my great-grandson, Saint Noah.”

“Yes, the troublemaker…” Nusjuro muttered. “The one who made quite a stir during the last Gathering of the Gods. I’m told you called many, to their faces… pigs.”

“What of it?” Noah said, crossing his arms. “I called it as I saw it.”

“Presumptuousness is a symptom of youth that is cured with time,” Nusjuro chided. “I would caution you to treat your fellows with consideration, rather than holding them in contempt.” 

His great-grandson Noah grinned in an almost uncanny manner.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“You’re old, but you’re still in shape. On your right hand, I see calluses. You train, don’t you? You’re a swordsman. Means you’ve got discipline, bald geezer. You’ve got to. So here’s the question—”

Noah pointed his finger at Nusjuro.

“Would you have no contempt for a swordsman who doesn’t take care of his sword? One who doesn’t clean it, lets it get caked with blood, gunk, and lets it rust and chip?”

Nusjuro paused for a moment, adjusting his spectacles. “No.”

“Then why should I not have contempt for those who do the same to their bodies?”

Nusjuro slowly stroked his chin. “Is that how you see it?”

“As gods, our bodies should be a temple,” Noah patted his chest. “You don’t flood a temple with shit, and expect others to sniff it and say it smells like roses.”

“Crass and vulgar,” Nusjuro mused. “...but not wholly inaccurate.” He turned to Saturn. “I see why you’re fond of this particular descendant, Saturn.”

Saturn hummed, neither confirming nor denying the claim. He asked, “Is there a reason you’re here?”

“Huh? Didn’t you say you wanted to see me once I came out of my training room?”

“If I recall, you said you would not come out until you managed to open that ridiculous door with one hand.”

“Well, I did,” Noah said, with a shrug.

You did? Saint Saturn’s brow went high. …A door that could resist my efforts to push it?

Saturn was certain that if he transformed and applied a bit more strength, he would have been able to open that door without much hassle. However, he, an older man, granted a body that could regenerate from nearly all harm, meaning he possessed strength that could be used without care for damage to his muscles or body. It was one thing for him to be capable of doing so, but it was another for a child to be capable of doing so. 

Such would imply the boy in front of him had the strength to compete with giants. To Saturn’s knowledge, there had only ever been one such monstrous freak of nature amongst the insects, a notorious woman, who, as a child, had bested the likes of those creatures.

However, one was due to being born that way, and his great-grandson’s achievement was due to training.

“Did you, or did you not want to test my skills, gramps? If you’ve changed your mind, let me know. I’m setting sail and won’t be back for a while.”

“Setting Sail? Where?”

“An Island on the New World. Going there to train some more.”

Saturn frowned. “Such excessive training isn’t needed. With a Devil Fruit—”

“And I’ve said I don’t need a Devil Fruit, gramps! Strength with your own training is better.”

“That is a rare perspective,” Nusjuro spoke up, slowly rubbing his chin. “As I recall… Saint Saturn, you told me that many of those insects currently considered the strongest individuals on the sea all arrived during that incident, hoping to acquire Devil Fruits…”

“They did.”

“Yet, here is a child who holds scorn for their use…” Nusjuro looked towards him. “I’m told you have a strong grasp of the Rokushiki Arts, Little Jaygarcia. Show me your Rankyaku.”

“Why?”

“The Rankyaku can be considered a sword, if used properly. Let me see it,” Nusjuro said. “Attack me with the intent to kill. Your strongest attack.”

Saturn slowly spoke up, “I would not advise that you—”

Nusjuro shot him an odd look. “You cannot mean to believe that you think a child can hurt me, Saturn?”

…This child has the Haki of the Supreme King. Saturn shot a glance at Noah. Noah, however, though grinning, nodded at him. “Don’t worry, gramps. I’ll rely only on my training.”

So he knows he has it, and knows what it is—

And he knows it's wiser if not many people know he has it.

Every additional second Saturn spent with Noah, he found newer, deeper depths to the layers the boy possessed. These newer, interesting layers made Saturn remember what it was to be a parent, finding joy in the achievements of one’s progeny. No, none of his progeny had even as much potential as this child. Not even close. Quite literally, as awakening that Haki already made him one in a million.

“Hey, bald geezer,” Noah pointed his index finger. “Blink and you’ll miss it.”

“What do you mean by—”

“Rankyaku: Shigan.”

Ker-KRACK!

The sound barrier shattered in front of him. A flash of steel came from Nusjuro, as his sword sliced at the air, at seemingly nothing, in the air, before the next moment, two finger-sized holes appeared in the wall beside him, drilling clean through until what lay beyond, the sunlight from outside, could be seen. 

Saturn blinked, staring quietly. Nusjuro, slowly, quietly sheathed his sword.

On his cheek, there was a slight horizontal cut. Not enough to draw blood, but there was, all the same, a cut.

“How surprising,” Nusjuro chuckled. “At your age… You’ve mastered Rankyaku.”

“Do you still think I need a Devil Fruit, gramps?”

Saturn let his gaze linger on the cut upon Nusjuro’s cheek before he turned back to his great-grandson. “...Hm. I suppose not.”

“Though, if you’ve got any really good fruits,” Noah said, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind giving them to my henchmen and slaves.”

“You mean that CP0 Agent of yours…?” Saturn nodded. “I do not see why not.”

“Great!” Noah clapped. “Alright, gramps! I’ll be seeing you!”

Noah waved at Nusjuro.

“You too, bald geezer!”

“Brat, I have a name.”

His great-grandson left through the busted doors, which Saint Saturn would have slaves come in and fix soon after, and as he watched the boy’s departure, he turned back to Nusjuro, humming quietly.

“To be able to perform the Rankyaku with one’s finger…” Saturn began. “It must have taken you by surprise.”

“He did not use his finger.”

Saturn’s brows rose. “What?”

“He used his right leg,” Nusjuro said, after a moment’s pause. “First, using Soru to amplify his speed such that his act of kicking was imperceptible. Then, guiding the blade into the form of a projectile whilst pretending and convincing himself that the point of origin for the attack was his finger.”

“Why would he—”

“Because doing so masks the attack in a way that fools the Color of Observation,” Nusjuro continued. “If one relied purely on the Color of Observation, the attack would kill them. They would sense only his intent to attack, the finger, but not notice his true attack, the kick.”

Saturn blinked. If it were not Nusjuro telling him, he would never believe it.

“I did not see any of it.”

“The boy said it himself,” Nusjuro chuckled. “Blink and you’ll miss it.”