The old man let out a long sigh as he glanced at the swords on the counter. "You should take back the swords, kid," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Displaying these will only bring trouble. Big trouble."
I couldn’t help but chuckle. "Anyone causing trouble would be asking for death," I replied with a casual shrug. But I understood his worry. Showcasing such legendary blades was like ringing a bell for every thief, pirate, and opportunist within miles. The temptation would be too great, and even those who valued their lives might consider risking it all for a chance to steal such rare treasures.
"I’ll have Miyamoto-san stay here. There’s no need to worry about the safety of the shop while he’s around. But if you’re concerned about what happens after we leave, that’s a different story." I gave the old man a knowing look. Even if we protected the blades for a week, the aftermath could follow him long after we were gone. It wasn’t an easy decision.
The old man mulled it over, eyes deep in thought, weighing his lifelong dream against the potential danger it might bring. After a few monts, he turned to his grandson, Ipponmatsu, who had been standing nearby, still too shocked to speak.
"Announce it to everyone in Loguetown," the old man finally said, a hint of excitent returning to his voice. "We’ll be showcasing these blades for a week. We will create a legendary event that will echo throughout history."
With that, his hesitation lted away, and the old man carefully gathered the three swords with reverence. He imdiately began polishing them, barking orders at his grandson to prepare the best display cases in the shop. The excitent was palpable; this wasn’t just about showing swords—it was about fulfilling a lifelong dream.
"Miyamoto san will be enough to deter anyone from trying anything," I reassured him, "and if there’s real trouble, it won’t take more than a mont to get here from anywhere in Loguetown."
Satisfied, I turned to leave the shop, and soon, with Miyamoto staying behind to guard the place, the rest of our group made our way to the center of Loguetown—the massive scaffold where Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King, had been executed all those years ago.
As we approached, the scaffold lood large over the town square, casting a long shadow across the bustling streets. The massive wooden structure stood tall and unyielding, its presence commanding a deep, unspoken respect from those who passed by. The air around it seed heavier, as though the weight of history clung to the very fibers of the wood.
Locals and tourists alike moved through the square, but as they neared the scaffold, their pace slowed, their voices hushed. There was a palpable reverence in the atmosphere—this was not just any place. It was where legends began and where they ended. Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King, had taken his final breath here, and the ripples of that mont still echoed through ti.
Smoker, who was usually loud and brash, had been uncharacteristically quiet during the walk toward the plaza. The closer we got, the more his mood seed to shift. His usual gruff deanor was replaced by sothing more solemn.
His eyes were locked on the towering scaffold as we approached, his brow furrowed with a mix of mories and reflection.
"No matter how long it’s been, it still sends a chill down my spine," he muttered, his voice low.
I glanced at him, noticing how people scattered at the sight of Dora, who was casually strolling through the streets of Loguetown, her presence drawing wide-eyed stares and nervous whispers.
But Smoker remained focused on the scaffold, the mories from his past clearly weighing on him.
This place held a unique significance for him. He had been here on the day Roger was executed—just a child, but that mont had changed everything for him. And it wasn’t only Roger’s death that had left an imprint on him. This was also where I’d found him, plucked him from his path, and brought him under our family’s wing.
Back then, Smoker had been filled with dreams of becoming a Marine, of upholding justice and order. But fate had other plans. Now, here he stood—a trusted part of my family, soone who had chosen a path far removed from the laws he once swore to uphold. It was a strange turn of events, one that even I hadn’t fully anticipated.
Smoker continued, his voice taking on a reflective tone. "I rember standing here, watching the execution, and wanting so badly to beco a Marine. I thought that was the only way to bring justice into this world." He paused, his usual gruffness softening into sothing more vulnerable.
"But that day, when Roger spoke... it changed sothing in . And you..." He shot a wry grin. "Well, you changed the rest."
I chuckled, unable to resist the smile tugging at my lips. "I didn’t exactly give you much of a choice, did I?"
Smoker shrugged, his smirk still in place. "No, but maybe that was for the best." His eyes drifted back to the scaffold, the wooden beams towering over us like silent sentinels. "This place... it has a way of changing people."
Robin, who had been quietly observing the scene beside us, gave a small, knowing smile.
"History does that. The weight of what’s happened here... it lingers. You can feel it, even now."
Leo, always the eager one, suddenly stepped forward with wide-eyed enthusiasm. "So this is where it all started? The Great Pirate Era? Roger’s final words... that’s what kicked everything off, right?"
I nodded, glancing at the scaffold. "That’s right. When Gol D. Roger was executed, he didn’t plead for his life or show fear. Instead, he smiled and told the world about his treasure—One Piece. That single mont sparked a wave of ambition and dreams that spread across the seas and gave birth to the age we’re living in now."
Leo’s eyes glead with excitent. "Do you think we’ll find it? One Piece, I an."
I turned my gaze back to him, letting the question hang in the air for a mont. "Who knows?" I said, my tone casual but with an undercurrent of sothing more. "I already have an idea of what it is, but whether we find it... well, that’s a different story."
Dora, standing beside Leo, clenched her fists with barely-contained excitent. "Tell , Ross! Tell what it is! How do we find it?"
Robin let out a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusent as she crossed her arms and playfully scolded her.
"Good luck getting that out of Brother Ross, Dora. He hasn’t even told anything yet, and I’ve read part of Oden’s journal—one of the few who knew what Roger found at the end of his journey."
Dora huffed, pretending to be upset, but there was a glint of determination in her eyes. She wasn’t about to give up.
The wind swept through the square, carrying with it the briny scent of the sea and the distant cries of gulls circling overhead. Despite the activity of the town, there was a strange stillness near the scaffold—a quiet respect that no one dared to break. Even the wind seed to whisper in reverence as it passed the towering structure.
Smoker exhaled a long plu of smoke, the tendrils curling into the air before drifting toward the scaffold.
"I hated you back then, you know," he said quietly, almost as if the words were being carried away by the breeze. "But now... I think I understand why you did it."
I glanced at him, mildly surprised by the admission. "And what do you understand?"
He took another long look at the scaffold, letting the sight linger in his eyes before imprinting it into his heart.
"That the world isn’t as black and white as I thought. Being a Marine, following the rules... it isn’t always enough." He hesitated for a mont before continuing, his voice thoughtful. "Sotis, you have to break a few rules to make things right."
A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "You’ve co a long way, Smoker."
He grunted, shifting uncomfortably under the complint. "Don’t get used to it. I’m still going to give you all hell."
I laughed. "Wouldn’t expect anything less from a troublemaker like you."
As we stood there, under the looming shadow of the scaffold, I couldn’t help but reflect on how far we had all co.
After checking the scaffold, I let the group scatter to explore Loguetown on their own. With Lucci and Dora among them, I had no concerns about their safety. Both were more than capable of handling themselves, and if anyone dared to start trouble, they would be the ones in for a surprise. Besides, I was constantly monitoring the entire island, keeping tabs on anything that could be remotely dangerous. Trouble wasn’t sothing I feared.
Now, it was ti for my own business. I hadn’t co to Loguetown on a whim; I had a eting arranged, and my destination lay just ahead. I stood at the entrance of a narrow alley, the dim light barely illuminating the path that led to my appointed rendezvous point.
At the end of the alley, tucked away from the bustling streets, stood a run-down bar. It was shabby, almost decrepit, the kind of place that most people avoided unless they had specific, secretive business.
Despite its unsavory exterior, the bar was far from empty. I watched as patrons entered and exited through its battered door, their expressions cautious, their steps hurried. No one lingered too long in a place like this.
I pushed open the door, and the small bell above it gave a soft chi, imdiately drawing the attention of the bartender—a grizzled old man whose best years were clearly behind him.
His faded eyes flickered toward briefly before returning to his work, but not before his brow furrowed in subtle recognition. The bar wasn’t exactly well-lit, but even in the shadows, my presence was impossible to miss.
As I entered, a heavy silence fell over the room like a blanket. Conversations died mid-sentence, glasses were frozen halfway to lips, and for a mont, even the rowdy laughter ceased. The patrons, hardened n and won accustod to the rough life of the seas, instinctively glanced in my direction.
Eyes widened with recognition, fear, and understanding. They knew who I was. So even paled slightly, their expressions betraying the realization that soone of my status had walked into their dingy bar.
But just as quickly as the silence descended, the room shifted. The patrons imdiately averted their gazes, turning back to their drinks and companions, unwilling to draw my attention.
They resud their conversations, but the tone had changed—more hushed, cautious, as if everyone was on edge but pretending not to be. No one wanted to risk catching my eye. Here on the seas, one could lose their life for reasons as trivial as a wrong look, and no one wanted to test their luck with .
Ignoring the silent acknowledgnt of the room, I scanned the bar briefly. The shadows in the back corner caught my eye, and there, obscured by the dim light, sat my contact. A cloaked figure, his features hidden in the gloom, waited at a small table in the farthest, most discreet part of the bar.
I walked toward him without hesitation, each step asured, the floorboards creaking faintly under my weight. As I moved closer, the air seed to thicken, the tension palpable. But I didn’t care.
By the ti I reached the table, I could feel the room’s focus shift away from , the patrons were visibly relieved that I wasn’t interested in them. The murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses slowly resud, though the undercurrent of unease still lingered.
"You’re late," the cloaked man whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the bar. He didn’t move, his hood obscuring his face, though I could sense his impatience.
Unbothered by his complaint, I casually took the seat opposite him, my movents unhurried. "Had a few things to check out," I said coolly, leaning back in the chair as if I owned the place. The man’s reprimand didn’t faze in the slightest.
Despite the return of the boisterous conversations and the clatter of drinks being served, a few curious glances still darted in my direction. But as soon as anyone made eye contact with , they quickly looked away, focusing intently on their own affairs.
It was clear they wanted nothing to do with whatever business I was here for. In a place like this, keeping your head down was often the key to survival, and no one here was foolish enough to try and test that rule.
The tension between the cloaked man and , however, remained thick. He leaned forward slightly, his voice now a soft rasp. "Do you have what I asked for?"
I let a slow smile tug at the corner of my mouth. "That depends," I said, my tone dripping with ease. "On whether or not you’re ready to hold up your end of the bargain. You know I don’t like being made a fool of."
His eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, flickered with uncertainty, though he tried to maintain a calm exterior. He might have been used to dealing in dangerous circles, but in this world, few could match the weight my na carried.
I watched him for a mont longer before he pulled a small, intricately wrapped chest from inside the coat and placed it on the table between us. The bar continued to hum with low energy, but here, at this table, a different kind of transaction was about to begin.
I raised an eyebrow, trying to understand the weight behind the man’s words. His tone was desperate, a flicker of hope barely clinging to his voice. "You’ll understand once you see what’s inside," he murmured, pushing a small chest toward . "Then you’ll realize the information I shared is genuine."
My intrigue piqued, I reached out to pull the chest closer, curiosity tugging at . But just as my fingers brushed the cool surface, the man’s hand shot out, pressing down firmly on the chest. His grip trembled, not from fear, but from sothing deeper.
"Promise ..." he whispered, his voice fragile, like it might shatter under the weight of the request. "Promise you’ll get rid of him for ." A tear rolled down his cheek, silent yet heavy with a lifeti of despair and helplessness. This wasn’t just a deal to him—it was his final hope, the last thread he was clinging to before everything collapsed.
I looked at him carefully, my gaze hardening slightly. His desperation was palpable, but I wasn’t one to make promises lightly. I said nothing, letting the mont stretch out as I slowly pulled the chest toward , breaking his grasp with ease.
I opened the chest, and for the first ti in a long while, my pulse quickened. My heart raced as my eyes took in the sight of what lay inside.
"So... you weren’t lying," I muttered, my voice betraying a flicker of surprise. Inside the chest was sothing rare—precious enough to shift the balance of power: a Devil Fruit. Its swirling patterns and the ominous aura it radiated were unmistakable.
I closed the chest gently and looked at the man across from . "With this Devil Fruit, you could’ve had a chance at revenge yourself," I pointed out, leaning back in my chair, trying to gauge his resolve. The fruit’s power was undeniable; any man with it could change his fate if he had the will to wield it.
He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "If only it were that simple," he rasped, his voice filled with bitter resignation. "Even if I were to consu that fruit, it would be wasted on . I’m not strong enough. They’d kill before I could even get close. But you... you’re different. The world says you’re not afraid of them."
His eyes t mine, pleading, broken. "I don’t even have the strength to approach them. But you can. So I’d rather make this deal, hand you the fruit in exchange for the one thing that matters now—vengeance."
The desperation in his voice was enough to drown out the noise of the bar around us. For him, this wasn’t just a deal—it was his last chance to see justice, or at least his twisted version of it, before the darkness swallowed him whole.
I sighed, weighing the situation. This fruit could be invaluable, and I wasn’t about to rob a man who had lost everything. The deal was too good to pass up, and I wasn’t so heartless as to take advantage of his misery.
"Fine," I said, my voice calm, asured. "But you should know—it might take ti." Revenge wasn’t always swift, and dealing with powerful enemies required patience. But I would do it. The deal was struck.
He exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding his expression. "Just give your word..." he whispered, his eyes hollow yet hopeful, as if the promise was all he needed to feel so semblance of peace.
I saw the shift in his body language before he even moved. His hand, which had been resting on the table, slipped toward his coat. I didn’t need to guess what he intended. His fingers found the hilt of a small knife, the blade barely visible beneath the table’s shadow.
In an instant, I reached across, grabbing his wrist before he could plunge the knife into his own heart. His hand trembled under mine, the last vestiges of his will crumbling away as I pried the blade from his grasp.
"Not so fast," I said, wrenching the knife away and tossing it aside. His eyes t mine, filled with disbelief and raw pain. "You need to stay alive, at least until the one you want dead is gone. After that, it’s up to you how you want to end it."
He slumped back in his chair, his chest rising and falling heavily as the weight of what I’d said sank in. The resolve to take his own life was clear in his eyes, but for now, it was postponed. His gaze fell to the table, the reality of his situation slowly settling over him.
The man had co here tonight ready to trade his life for vengeance. Now, with the promise hanging in the air, he was caught in a limbo, forced to live just a little longer in hopes of seeing the end he so desperately desired.
As I leaned back in my chair, the bar’s sounds washed over us again—murmurs, clinks of glasses, laughter. But at this table, in this corner of the world, the weight of death and revenge lingered, thick and heavy.
*****
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