A hidden cove nestled in the cliffs beneath the Loguetown lighthouse.
The Big Top had dropped anchor behind the rocky outcrop.
Finding this secluded natural dock, frequented only by third-rate smugglers, rather than an official pier within Marine Headquarters' surveillance net was entirely thanks to my skill at the helm.
"All right, Red Nose. You brought the ship here as promised, like a gentleman, so my duty is done."
I straightened the cutlass at my waist and put one foot on the rail.
Buggy kicked open the captain's cabin door and came charging out, still sporting a lump on his forehead as he pointed accusingly at me.
"How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not Red Nose—!! Huh? You’re just running off now? Are you scared I’ll snatch that Luffy brat’s head before you can?!"
"Not at all. I’m a pacifist who dearly loves fragrant rum and a quiet stroll far more than a bloody tale of revenge."
I casually tipped up my tricorn hat.
"Go on, then—put on your grand circus slaughter to your heart’s content. I’ll simply go have a look around town."
"Hmph! Go on, run away, you coward! I’ll execute that rubber brat in Loguetown’s square and throw wide open the path to the Grand Line!"
Buggy cackled as he summoned Mohji and Cabaji, while Alvida stroked her iron club and watched my departing back with an unreadable look in her eyes.
Perfect. The first piece of my beautiful plan had fallen into place: draw every eye Luffy and the Marines had toward that gaudy gang of clowns, while I leisurely reaped the rewards from behind the scenes.
In the damp, rain-laden fog, Loguetown’s cobbled streets were eerily quiet.
The city of execution where the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, was born and beheaded.
But the air hanging over present-day Loguetown held none of the romance of twenty-two years ago.
Clang!
As I was about to round a corner, I quickly muffled my footsteps and slipped behind an old brick wall.
In the middle of the broad avenue leading to the central square—
"Aaargh—!"
Five or six bounty hunters and inept pirates spewed blood as they were hurled into the air.
What had sent them flying was neither sword nor gun, but a massive white storm of smoke billowing from one man’s arms.
Boom!
"The White Hunter... it’s Colonel Smoker—!!" "That monster! Once the smoke grabs you, there’s no escaping...!"
Over the faces of the screaming pirates,
a huge silver-haired man in a heavy Marine coat emerged, his boots striking the ground with weighty thuds.
He smoked two thick cigars at once, with a massive iron jitte strapped across his back.
It was Marine Headquarters Colonel Smoker, the White Hunter.
With one gesture, the man gathered the dispersing smoke and tightly bound every pirate sprawled on the ground as if with ropes.
A sharp, murderous presence utterly devoid of mercy.
...A Logia-type Smoke-Smoke Fruit.
A chill ran down my spine as I watched through a crack in the wall.
A hunting hound that spews smoke from its body? The god of the sea has a truly nasty sense of humor. If I so much as lock eyes with a relentless Marine bastard like that in the street, the freedom I worked so hard to secure will be thrown behind bars overnight.
Trying to force my way through head-on would be madness.
I turned up the collar of my old coat and pulled my tricorn low over my face.
Then, with my back to the brightly lit avenue, I slipped into the darkness of a damp, narrow back alley where even sunlight never reached.
Even the Marines’ fierce patrols could not perfectly choke off the breath of every rat lurking in the city’s underbelly.
After descending a creaking wooden staircase, I found an underground tavern.
Creeeak—bang.
The moment I opened the door, the stench of mold, sour beer, and the rotten breath of losers washed over me.
Smugglers, deserters, and underground brokers who had crawled in to avoid Smoker’s gaze sat huddled around tables.
At the very back, rough-looking men clustered around a greasy round table, their voices grating like steel.
Clatter, clatter, bang!
"Four! Six fours!" "Bullshit! Reveal your dice!" "Bwahahaha! Seven, you idiot! Sweep up every last bit of the pot!"
Liar’s Dice.
The center of the table was piled high with grimy stacks of ten-thousand-Berry notes and silver coins.
Beside them sat a corked glass bottle, covered in a thick layer of dust and sealed with a red wax stamp.
...Well, well.
My gaze immediately fixed on the bottle.
Clear cursive lettering was written on its label.
South Blue, forty-year oak-barrel vintage rum.
That was the sort of fine liquor money alone could not buy.
I swallowed hard. If I took that bottle and the fat stack of Berries on the table, I could not only resupply in Loguetown, but sail through the entrance to the Grand Line in splendid, elegant comfort.
"Say there, bearded friends."
I approached with my signature loose-limbed swagger,
leaned my rear casually against the edge of the table, and flicked a gold coin from my pocket.
Clink.
The golden Berry spun through the air three times before landing in the center of the table as though it had been driven into it.
The gangsters who had been spewing curses all turned their eyes toward my fingertips.
The hulking, scar-covered man seated at the head of the table—the local loan shark and predator of this gambling den—bared his yellow teeth and growled.
"You look like a drunk soaked to the marrow in sea wind. If you’re planning to whine after losing your stake, get out now."
"Not at all."
Grinning, I lightly snatched up an empty dice cup.
"A gentleman should never turn away the call of fine drink and gambling stakes. What say we raise the game a little, with that dusty bottle of rum included in the pot?"
In an instant, the game escalated into fierce tension.
Ten dice rattled wildly inside their cups, and the men’s ragged breathing heated the table.
But there was nothing more pitiable than fools who tried to run a crooked gambling game against a cheat.
When the men slammed their cups onto the table and watched one another for tells,
I was already swaying drunkenly, pretending my eyes had gone unfocused, and casually nudged beneath the table with my toe.
Click.
The cleverly hidden magnetic device attached beneath the tabletop came loose at my subtle bit of footwork.
A slight twitch crossed the loan shark boss’s face.
"Eight... fives."
Sweating coldly, the boss shoved his wager into the pot.
I took the cigar I had been chewing from inside my coat, set it between my lips, and gave the fingers holding my dice cup an exceedingly elegant flick.
"A most bold and greedy bet, my friend. But I’ll wager my old hat that there are only two fives in your cup."
"...What?!"
"I call your lie. Reveal them."
The boss lifted his cup with a trembling hand.
The dice revealed beneath it were one, two, four, five, five.
Even counting all the dice on the table, there could be no more than five fives.
A perfect defeat.
"..."
Silence fell.
It was the moment the stacks of banknotes worth millions of Berries piled on the table, along with that tempting forty-year vintage rum, rolled into my arms.
"Oh, the goddess of the sea smiles upon me. I shall gratefully requisition the liquor and stakes."
The very instant I brazenly swept up the bag of money and picked up the bottle of rum—
Bang—!!!!
The boss smashed the table with his fist and drew a black axe from his waist.
"You cheating bastard, you think you can flap your mouth however you like?! Kill him! Turn the bastard into minced meat and dump him in the sea out front!!"
"Raaahhh—!!"
In an instant, the underground tavern turned into utter chaos.
Five or six thugs wielding swords, iron pipes, and broken bottles rushed me all at once.
But I had only one concern.
Careful now. Wouldn’t want this precious bottle to break.
Grasping the neck of the forty-year rum bottle with my left hand and holding it protectively against my chest,
I twisted my body with my signature loose-limbed footwork.
Swish!
The axe blade falling toward the crown of my head narrowly grazed my coat collar and cut through empty air.
When I lightly kicked the ankle of the off-balance boss with my toe,
he obligingly rolled across the floor and swept out the shins of the thugs charging in behind him.
"Gaaah?!" "Move your feet, you fat bastard!"
As they tangled up and fell over one another,
I brutally kicked a huge beer barrel sitting atop the counter, sending it rolling.
Rumble, rumble—crash!!
Three or four reinforcements charging down the stairs were struck by the massive wooden barrel and flung through the air like bowling pins.
Then a knife came flying at me.
Without spilling a single drop of the rum held to my chest,
I merely tilted my head aside to avoid the blade, then sliced through the rope of an old chandelier hanging from the ceiling with my cutlass.
Crash—!!
"My eyes! They’re on fireee!!"
Oil lamps rained down, flames spreading across the floor.
Using the rebounding rope, I caught hold of it and lightly swung toward the tavern’s back-alley ventilation window.
Crash!
The window shattered splendidly,
and my body rolled smoothly onto the dark, damp ground of the alley outside.
"Whew..."
Dusting off my tricorn and settling it back onto my head,
I checked the bottle of rum in my arms.
Perfectly unblemished, without even a crack.
My pockets were heavy to bursting with the stolen stacks of Berry notes.
A perfect end to the workday—no, a perfect escape.
Rumble... boom—!!
That was when it happened.
Lightning flashed from the clear sky overhead, and the dark clouds began to churn ominously.
The scent of the wind was changing sharply.
This was no simple shower. It smelled of a massive storm—and of an enormous calamity that would shake the balance of the seas.
Tap, tap, tap.
At the far end of the alley, two Marine noncommissioned officers carrying transceiver snails ran through the rain, their faces deathly pale.
"Report to headquarters! Report to headquarters!" "The Straw Hat Pirates, who crushed Arlong’s crew in Cocoyasi Village...!" "They’ve just entered the waters off Loguetown!!"
The Marines’ urgent shouts passed through the rain clouds.
Leaning beneath an alley awning,
I popped out the cork of the forty-year vintage rum with my teeth.
Pop.
The sweet, fierce fragrance of alcohol stung my nose.
After tipping back the bottle and swallowing a burning mouthful,
I clenched my cigar at a jaunty angle and let out a grin in the darkness.
"Oh... at last, the leading actors take the stage."
Very soon,
Buggy’s circus, Luffy’s antics, and Smoker’s smoke would become one enormous fireworks display and swallow all of Loguetown whole.
And amid the center of that boisterous pandemonium,
all I had to do was take the biggest, most beautiful "gift" those Marines had so carefully treasured—and leave.
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