The sterile air of the Germa 66 training room bites at Sanji’s lungs. Eight years old, and every breath feels earned, a prize ripped from the cold, metallic space. Fluorescent lights glare down from the ceiling, reflecting off the polished durasteel floor, a blinding mirror of her own small, sweaty face. She clenches her jaw, tasting copper. Judge watches, always watching, though his physical form is miles away. His presence hums through the intercom, a constant, low thrum beneath the thud of her brothers’ heavy boots. Ichiji moves like a blur, a red streak across her vision. Niji is a blue flash, faster, more brutal. They are older, stronger, built for this. Sanji, in comparison, is a whisper. A ghost of a child, a girl in a world of engineered men. Father calls her a failure, a genetic anomaly, a waste of resources. The words echo, colder than the training room itself, and Sanji pushes them down, deep where they cannot touch her. She remembers her mother, a soft warmth in a steel cage. Sora. The name is a lullaby Sanji only hums in her head, a fragile, forbidden tune. Mother had called her strong, her unique, perfect Sanji. Not a failure. Not a tool. Just Sanji. Those memories are fuel, a small, stubborn flame against the icy indifference of her father and brothers. Ichiji’s fist connects with her side. A sharp, cracking impact. Sanji stumbles, a gasp caught in her throat. The pain blooms, hot and familiar, but she does not fall. She cannot. Falling means weakness. Weakness means another harsh pronouncement from Judge, another beating from Ichiji and Niji. She pushes through the agony, a raw, burning defiance in her gut. She rolls, narrowly dodging Niji’s kick. Her small hands, always disproportionately strong, shoot out, catching his ankle. It's a futile move, she knows. He will not fall. But it buys her a second, a fraction of time to breathe, to brace. Her muscles ache, stretched taut and screaming. Every joint protests. But she stands. She always stands. Another punch glances off her temple. Her head snaps back, vision swimming for a beat. The world tilts, then rights itself. She tastes blood in her mouth. Her body knows this dance, the rhythm of blows and evasions. She absorbs punishment with a resilience that confounds even herself sometimes. Bruises bloom on her skin, fading faster than they should, the pain a memory before the marks fully set. It is a secret she guards, this strange, quick recovery, one more thing to hide from Judge’s scrutinizing gaze. She has learned early that anything different, anything unexpected, invites suspicion. Niji laughs, a harsh, metallic sound. “Still standing, Sanji? Impressive for a runt.” His contempt is a physical weight, pressing down on her. Ichiji circles, his expression a cold mask of disinterest. They are predators, she is prey. This is Germa. This is her life. She has no choice but to fight, to endure, to pretend that the blows do not shatter her, piece by tiny piece. She lunges, a desperate, clumsy feint. Ichiji easily parries, his arm a steel bar. Her arm jars, a sharp sting shooting up to her shoulder. She forces a grunt, not a cry. A cry would be unforgivable. A cry would be failure. She remembers her mother’s hand, soft on her cheek. “Be strong, my little star.” Sanji is strong. She has to be. --- The next blow arrives with the force of a speeding train. Niji’s leg, encased in the blue battle suit, pivots, then strikes. It catches Sanji in the ribs, a sickening crunch that echoes through her entire being. Air explodes from her lungs. She flies backwards, slamming into the durasteel wall with a dull impact that jars her teeth. The world spins, dissolving into a kaleidoscope of pain and flashing lights. She crumples to the floor, a small heap of aching bones and ragged breath. A sharp, searing pain radiates from her left side. She tries to move, to push herself up, but her arm refuses, a dead weight. Her shoulder throbs, a deep, sickening ache. A fractured humerus, she thinks, distantly. She has felt this before, though never quite this bad. It usually takes longer to mend. Her chest tightens, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. This is it. This is the moment Judge confirms her worthlessness. The pain is a betrayal, loud and undeniable. She can hear her own ragged gasps, small and pathetic in the vast, silent room. The metallic tang of blood fills her mouth. Her body trembles, not just from the impact, but from a profound, crushing despair. Then Judge’s voice, cold and dispassionate, cuts through the intercom, loud enough to make her flinch. “Subject Vinsmoke 04 has reached her physiological limit. Performance remains inconsistent. Failure to meet combat parameters.” His words are a scalpel, dissecting her, dismissing her, utterly devoid of emotion. He doesn’t even call her Sanji. Just a subject. Just a number. Ichiji and Niji stand over her, unmoving, their genetically enhanced bodies radiating an aura of superiority. They look down, their faces devoid of concern. Disappointment, maybe. Boredom, certainly. Reiju, standing a little apart, closer to the observation deck’s glass, watches. Her expression is unreadable, as always. A flicker of something in her eyes, though. Not pity. Something else. Curiosity, perhaps. Sanji closes her eyes. The humiliation burns hotter than any physical injury. She is useless. A burden. She can feel the sharp edges of bone grating against each other, the tearing of muscle. The familiar dull ache of minor bruises isn't there; this is different. This is broken. This is permanent. Her mother’s words, “Be strong,” feel like a cruel joke now. How can she be strong when her own body betrays her? She lies there, defeated, a tear tracing a hot path down her temple, blending with the sweat and grime. She can’t even hide the weakness now. It’s too big, too loud. Judge’s voice continues, a low drone, analyzing the data, her failure. Each word a fresh blow. She is nothing. Less than nothing. A broken experiment. A girl unwanted. --- A strange heat begins to bloom within Sanji, a frantic, desperate surge of something foreign and powerful. It starts deep in her core, a golden warmth unfurling, then rushes outward, concentrating itself in the sites of her injuries. The throbbing pain in her shoulder intensifies, not with agony, but with a strange, almost electric hum. She gasps, not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming sensation. Her fractured humerus, a jagged torment moments before, now feels like it's vibrating. A peculiar pressure builds, a stretching, a pulling deep within her flesh. She feels the bone knitting itself back together, not slowly, gradually, but with impossible speed, almost in real time. The grinding sensation of bone against bone ceases, replaced by a firm, solid connection. Skin begins to close over the torn muscle, raw edges drawing together, sealing themselves shut. Her eyes snap open, wide and disbelieving. She pushes herself up, slowly, tentatively, her left arm rising with her. There is no pain. None. Only a residual phantom ache, a ghost of what had been. She touches her shoulder, then her ribs. The skin is smooth, unbroken. Not even a bruise. The tear stains on her face are the only testament to the moment before. Ichiji takes a step back, his cold expression finally cracking into something resembling shock. His eyes, usually unreadable, are wide. Niji stares, his mouth agape, a rare, bewildered silence falling over him. They are frozen, their usual bravado replaced by sheer, dumbfounded disbelief. They saw it. They saw her body mend itself, faster than anything they’d ever witnessed, faster than anything that should be possible. Reiju moves. She steps forward from the observation deck, her eyes narrowed, an intense, almost predatory focus in her gaze. She doesn't speak, but her presence fills the space. Her gaze sweeps over Sanji’s body, searching for any lingering sign of the injury, of the weakness. She finds none. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on Reiju’s lips, a subtle curve that Sanji has never seen before. A dawning understanding flashes in her older sister’s eyes, a recognition of something extraordinary. Sanji stares at her own hands, then back at her brothers. Their shock is real. Her body feels… normal. Stronger, even. The crushing despair of moments ago has been replaced by a dizzying confusion, a flicker of something new. Fear, maybe. Or something else entirely, something she hasn’t dared to name yet. This isn't just accelerated healing. This is impossible. It is a miracle, and in Germa, miracles invite a different kind of scrutiny. --- The silence in the training room stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation system. Ichiji and Niji still stand frozen, their mouths slightly open, eyes fixed on Sanji. Reiju’s gaze remains on her, a strange, calculating intensity that makes Sanji’s skin prickle. The golden warmth that had surged through her has receded, leaving behind a subtle, lingering energy, a whisper of power beneath her skin. She tries to process what just happened. Her arm. Her ribs. Broken, then whole. The raw agony, the despair, all of it gone. It feels like a dream, a hallucination brought on by pain. But the shocked faces of her brothers, the focused stare of Reiju, they are real. This is real. This new, terrifying thing within her is real. Her mind races, trying to find an explanation, a reason. Did Mother… did she know? Did that protectiveness, that strange light in her eyes, stem from something more than just a mother’s love? The memory of Sora telling her she was strong, unique, suddenly takes on a new, unsettling meaning. Had her mother seen this? Known this was coming? Before she can dwell on it, before she can even begin to comprehend the implications, Judge’s voice booms through the intercom. It is no longer the cold, dismissive drone from moments ago. Now, it is sharp, resonant, filled with a new, dangerous urgency that makes Sanji flinch. The casual disdain has vanished, replaced by an unmistakable command. “Subject Vinsmoke 04,” he barks, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. There is a predatory edge to his tone now, a hunger. “Report to my private laboratory. Immediately.” Sanji’s stomach drops. The command hangs in the air, an invisible weight pressing down on her. His private lab. Not the infirmary, not a punishment cell. His lab. The ominous words echo in the sterile space, promising further scrutiny, further experimentation. Her newly healed body trembles with a fresh wave of fear. Judge knows. And he wants to see exactly what she is.

Chapter 1: The Daughter of Germa