"Go for it, Captain!"
"Yeah, get him!"
"Kick his ass!"
"..."
That day, the massive Chris sailed smoothly across a calm sea. On the main deck, it was anything but calm—chaotic shouts and cheers filled the air. In the middle of the deck, Arlan and Oliver were tangled in a furious scuffle, surrounded by a huge crowd of onlookers—over two hundred crew mbers packed tightly together, all shouting and laughing with a mix of excitent and schadenfreude.
The cause?
At lunch earlier, Oliver had snatched a huge piece of roast at off Arlan's plate. That would've been bad enough, but considering Arlan had already been pissed that Oliver's bounty was 15 million berries higher than his, the theft pushed him over the edge. Words were exchanged. Then fists.
Now they'd been rolling around on the deck for more than ten minutes, shirts ripped to shreds.
"You blue-haired freak! I'm gonna beat you to death!"
"You hook-nosed bastard! Get ready to die! Serves you right for acting so smug!"
"I don't talk to punks whose bounty's 15 million berries lower than mine!"
"—Screw you!"
Clang! Clatter! Bam! Crash!
The two wrestled furiously, with Arlan's ticulously styled hair—he'd spent all morning on it—now reduced to a frizzy bird's nest, while Oliver sported a swollen, panda-like black eye.
"These two idiots... seriously..."
On the second-floor balcony of the upper deck, Aeridar leaned on the railing, facepalming in utter exasperation as he watched the chaos unfold below.
These two? A day didn't go by without a scuffle, and every three days they broke into a full-on brawl. If Aeridar wasn't around to keep the peace, they might've torn the entire Chris apart by now.
Ever since the Battle of Loguetown six months ago and the release of their new bounty posters, tensions had skyrocketed. Oliver's bounty was 15 million berries higher than Arlan's—a fact Oliver weaponized relentlessly. No matter what Arlan threw at him, Oliver only needed to sneer, "I don't talk to people whose bounty's lower than mine," and it would hit Arlan like a critical strike every ti.
Naturally, Arlan wasn't one to just swallow the insult quietly, which ant taunts turned into brawls. Every. Single. Day.
Aeridar had given up trying to stop them.
"Captain! Situation ahead! There's a large ship—and three more ships not much smaller than ours!"
Suddenly, a lookout's voice blasted from the crow's nest loudspeaker.
Aeridar scratched his head, pulling a sour face as he shouted back toward the main mast: "Pirate ships? What flags are they flying?"
Honestly, Aeridar didn't care much about ship size. In the world of One Piece, massive ships were a di a dozen—there were vessels as big as islands out there. Size didn't always equal strength.
"Captain, the flags are—uh..."
The lookout stuttered, his voice laced with shock—and maybe even a bit of panic.
"It's the World Governnt flag!"
What?!
Aeridar's heart skipped a beat. What the hell is a World Governnt ship doing way out here?
Still, he wasted no ti, sprinting straight for the bow.
"World Governnt?!"
Down below, Oliver and Arlan froze mid-brawl, instantly sobering up. They shoved each other aside, standing up as the gravity of the situation sank in.
The crowd of onlookers dispersed just as fast, everyone rushing off to grab weapons and return to battle stations.
The deck, once packed with energy, emptied out in seconds—well, it was already pretty empty for a thousand-man warship barely carrying three hundred sailors.
Out on the open sea, a colossal ship over a hundred ters long cut through the waves. Five decks stacked atop each other, the hull painted a garish yellow, with a massive, blood-red man-eating flower emblem emblazoned on its side.
Aboard the Saint Florent, a rotund man lounged leisurely in the center of the main deck, sipping afternoon tea at a dainty white table. His brown-and-red striped shirt looked like it was about to burst under the strain of his bulk, and he wore a gaudy pair of floral-patterned shorts. His round face was hidden behind oversized brown sunglasses, making him look almost comically absurd.
Standing respectfully beside him was a middle-aged man in a neatly pressed black suit, bowing low as he reported:
"Elver-sama, we've spotted a pirate ship off our starboard side—roughly the sa size as ours."
A ring of twenty-plus black-suited bodyguards encircled them. So held swords, others firearms—all of them radiating nace.
"A pirate ship, huh? Not bad!"
The fat man—Elver—lowered his sunglasses with a grin, his tone gleeful.
"Paradi, looks like another rookie crew. Sink them. Capture their captain and sell him to Saint Rosward. We'll make a tidy profit!"
He paused.
"Wait, are they rookies for sure? Can you recognize their flag? What's their bounty?"
"We checked all wanted notices issued in the last four months. No matches. Their jolly roger isn't registered either," the middle-aged man—Paradi—answered respectfully.
"No problem, no problem. Move in and sink them."
Elver chuckled, his fat jiggling with every laugh.
"Yes, Elver-sama."
Paradi turned to leave but suddenly paused halfway. He glanced back with a deadpan expression:
"By the way, my lord, you really ought to lose so weight. Back in Alabasta, if you hadn't collapsed halfway through chasing that Zoan user's ship, we would've caught them already."
Elver's face turned a thunderous shade of black. Embarrassed beyond asure, he hurled his delicate teacup at Paradi with a roar:
"You damn loudmouth! Shut it!"
Whoosh!
The teacup flew like a white streak, slicing through the air with a shrill whistle.
Clap!
In a flash, Paradi casually caught the cup one-handed—without spilling a single drop of tea.
"Elver-sama, this is rely following your orders to keep you inford," he said coolly.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the cup gliding back to land perfectly on the white table—again without spilling a drop.
"Uh..."
Elver froze, his whole body jiggling with suppressed rage... and sha.
After a mont, he flapped his hand dismissively.
"Go, go! Sink that damn ship already!"
"As you command."
Paradi bowed and swiftly retreated.
Within minutes, the Saint Florent shifted its heading, its lower deck gunports swinging open, revealing rows of ominous black cannons.
"Captain, they're headed straight for us. They've opened up their gunports."
At the bow, Dimitri put down his telescope and reported grimly to the approaching Aeridar.
"Troubleso bastards..."
Aeridar rubbed the golden ring in his ear, a glint of cold killing intent flashing in his eyes.
"Looks like we're their target."
"I think I've figured out who they are,"
Arlan said as he walked over, smoothing his hair in the reflection of a hand mirror.
Aeridar and Dimitri both raised their eyebrows.
"Oh? What identity?"
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