“Gear Fourth: Boundman.”
And as the Sunny plunged into the dark, Luffy’s shadow—with its small, wiry frame—seemed for just a second to ripple and swell. A giant. A king. A rubber man who refused to break.
“How long can I stay in it now?” he wondered. “Thirty minutes? Forty? Maybe one day… one day I’ll use it and not deflate. One day, my body won’t betray me after the fight.” gear fourth
He looked at his hands again. The scars from Cracker. The bruises from Katakuri. He thought of Katakuri—the man who could see the future. For ten hours, Luffy had run, dodged, and bled. He’d eaten so much mochi he thought he’d turn into it. And when he finally went Gear Fourth against that perfect warrior, it wasn't just power.
Sanji lit a cigarette against the wind. “At least he’s not brooding anymore.” “Gear Fourth: Boundman
The sound wasn't a punch. It was a cannonball tearing through silk. It was a thunderclap happening inside a closed fist. Luffy remembered the shockwave traveling down his own spine, rattling his teeth. He remembered thinking: If this doesn’t work, I’m dead. The ten-minute cooldown was a death sentence. He was a rubber raft with a slow leak. Every second after Gear Fourth, his body screamed: You are not invincible. You are a human who has stretched too far.
His arm didn’t just expand. It compressed . Muscles coiled into a dense, spring-loaded mass. The haki didn't just cover him—it became his skin, a second, unbreakable exoskeleton. Steam hissed from his pores. He felt the urge to bounce, to roar, to bounce and roar. A rubber man who refused to break
It started as a whisper two years ago on that hellish island of Rusukaina. Rayleigh had taught him the basics of Haki—the armor, the prediction, the crushing will—but it was the beasts that taught him he needed more.