Suddenly, a gust of wind rattles your window, despite it being locked. A faint scent of sea salt and gunpowder fills the room. You blink, and for a second, the steam rising from your ramen bowl looks exactly like the "Mera Mera no Mi" flames flickering on the screen.

You freeze. Standing near your bookshelf is a tall figure in a long coat, his face scarred but his smile familiar. It’s Sabo. He isn't a drawing anymore; he’s flesh, blood, and embers. He reaches out a hand, his fingers glowing with a soft orange heat.

A voice, low and raspy, speaks from the shadows of your armchair: "È un bel momento per smettere di essere un semplice spettatore, non credi?" (It’s a good time to stop being a simple spectator, don’t you think?)