The morning rose pale and soft over Water 7, its light spilling across the mosaic canals and bridges with a hope. The city stirred with the rhythm of hammers and voices, of merchants already shouting their wares, of gulls wheeling overhead with hungry cries, of merry chatters of the people already hanging on in the streets.
But for the Strawhats, the day began not with laughter or adventure but with the creak of ropes and the stubborn drag of their beloved ship being hauled across stone and plank. It was with the hope that the Merry could be fixed and with the wait of what would happen next.
The Going Merry, battered and weary from too many adventures in the seas, bobbed gently as if trying to resist the hands that tugged her forward. Her timbers groaned in protest at the indignity of being ferried into the docks of the P.P.P., the one whom Merry's Nika-sama didn't approve of yet. Yet with the tide low and the crew determined to have her in their journey further, she slid at last into the berth with the aid of thick ropes, pulleys and the occasional shove from the waves and the hands of the few workers Merch had somehow convinced to help.
Merch, ever the worst picture of bustling importance, walking along the edge of the dock with a ledger under one arm and a whistle perched at his lips. He gestured dramatically as though he was commanding a fleet, not merely a handful of workers nudging an exhausted little caravel into place. His long cast flared with every move of his dramatics, his grin unfaltering as if he were the benevolent wise man of the city itself.
"Careful with her, careful!" he barked, though his tone carried none of the true shipwright's love for wood and sail and ships. "She's a fragile little lady, ain't she?" he didn't see the way the captain's face darkened. "One wrong tug and her insides'll split faster than a barrel dropped from a height!" he failed to see the anger in some of the Strawhats. "Ah, there we are! Steady, steady.. yes, right into the cradle. A perfect fit!"
The Strawhat crew was standing nearby, some with arms crossed, others with anxious eyes. Usopp lingered closest to Merry's rail, fingertips brushing against her wood as though reassuring her. Nami, meanwhile, kept her gaze sharp on every gesture of the workers and sharper still on Merch himself, her mind already keeping track of the men. Luffy, perched with legs dangling off a bollard, simply gave a small assuring grin at Merry, promising to stand in the way of harm for her.
Zoro leaned against a piling with his arms folded, jaw set and one brow faintly arched, said nothing but his silent gaze following Merch told about his suspicions. Because whatever the flamboyant merchant was selling, it was too smooth, too rehearsed. Sanji was standing a step away from Nami, his hands were buried in his pockets, but tension carried through his shoulders. His eyes constantly trailing after Merch. Something about the man's behavior tasted wrong, as though a sweet wine had been watered down. His smile, charming to anyone, was too broad for Sanji to swallow.
Robin, as ever, was poised with quiet grace, yet her dark eyes held none of Merch's performance in indulgence. They lingered on his careful phrasing, on the way his promises were delivered with a flourish, as if he meant for the spectacle to distract from the words themselves. And then there was Chopper, standing a little apart, his ears twitching as he tried to follow every word Merch said. To the little doctor, Merch's booming confidence and painted charm were overwhelming, dazzling even. He wanted to believe the man meant well, that his grand speech was a kindness meant to save Merry. But he couldn't help but feel like giving a prey to the predator.
At last, when the ropes were tied and Merry rested in the P.P.P.'s dock's embrace, Merch turned back to the crew with a flourish. He clapped his hands together, as means of getting attention back to him.
"Now then! Business," his smile widened, though his eyes narrowed with a calculating gleam. "I've spoken to a few of our… associates, and we've had a look at the ship's ailments. Let me tell you, it's no small scratch up. We are talking deep wounds," he snapped open his ledger, flipping through pages filled with neat but endless columns of numbers. "The mast's warped, the ribs are bent, but the most damming–" he paused as if he hadn't told them beforehand, "–the keel. The very spine of your Merry. To mend it will be no simple patchwork. It will take time, men and quite a fortune at that."
The words hung heavy in the salt-tinged air, with Merch letting the pirates soak in his words. Usopp's mouth went dry, hope and dread tangled. Nami's eyes narrowed further, calculations running in her mind. Zoro's frown deepened, a scowl without words, distrust carved plain upon his face. Sanji's cigarette burned down untouched, the bitter taste only sharpening his distaste for the man's honeyed voice. Robin's smile remained soft but unreadable, though her gaze lingered on the cracks. Chopper shifted uneasily on his hooves, his nose twitching. Luffy tilted his head, his lips curved faintly though his eyes were sharper, knowing Merch's words rang false, yet the fragile promise of Merry's repair kept him rooted.
Unknown to the emotions swirling inside the Strawhats, Merch spread his arms wide. "But! Because I am such a gracious merchant, one whose heart bleeds for wayward sailors, I will not demand you hand over the whole treasure chest today. No, no, I am not cruel!" He thumped his chest, puffing up with his own fake generosity. "Instead, you may pay but a fifth of the total cost up front. A small token, a gesture of faith! And once the work is finished, once the fine lady stands tall again, then shall you pay the remainder!"
"And how much," Nami asked, her arms folding with feigned casualness. "Would this… gracious deal of yours cost us?"
Merch's smile widened, his teeth flashing, as he snapped his ledger shut with a flourish, almost as though announcing the grand finale of a play. "Thirty million berries," he declared. "A mere pittance, considering the magnitude of the work. Thirty million upfront, and the rest upon completion."
The crew stared at him, shock rippling through them like a sudden wave.
"Thirty?" Usopp choked. "That's–"
"–nothing," Nami finished, though her eyes narrowed further, disbelief and less cost warring with calculation. They had traded gold worth a fortune for less than half a million just days ago, and now this man was offering them a price that sounded absurdly low for a keel repair. Even Chopper, the naive one among them's ears twitched in confusion, though his wide eyes shone with relief.
Yet, the money was paid without hesitation. Relief at the thought of Merry restored, washing away their suspicions and misgivings, if only for the moment. But not for all.
Luffy's gaze lingered, steady and unblinking, his smile faded into a line of quiet tension. He could sense it, the bottomless well of greed pulsing beneath Merch's voice, the hunger that never ended, the chains his soul wore crushingly. It gnawed at him like the whisper of his mother herself warning against the current.
Beside him, Zoro's eyes narrowed, the swordsman's instincts prickling. The merchant's words, the too smooth gestures, the eagerness, it was wrong. Suspicion was coiling in his gut like a blade waiting to be drawn. But before any of them could give their doubt voice, Merch clapped his hands briskly, as though to sweep the air clear.
"Splendid! Then it is settled," his tone was cheerful, but there was an edge of haste beneath it. "Now, if you'll be so kind, the shipwrights must work undisturbed. The sooner you leave her in our capable hands, the sooner she will return to you whole and sound. So, go! Enjoy the festival, the masks, the revelry! Leave the worries to us!"
The urgency in his voice did not go unnoticed by Luffy, Zoro and Sanji. It was almost desperation, a too insistent shove to drive them from the docks.
Luffy's head lifted, his mouth opening with the stubborn refusal of a captain unwilling to abandon his ship. "We can't leave Merry. All our things are still on board."
Merch's hand flitted through the air like a magician dismissing a trivial concern. "Nonsense! The workers here are the most courteous you will ever meet. Not a speck of dust, not a copper coin will go missing, I assure you. And it will save quite a bit of time, labor and fortune for you to trust us."
The words rang hollow to Luffy, the lie so loud that he could almost taste it. His jaw tightened, but before he could speak, Nami stepped in, her voice sharp and her smile sharper.
"If anything disappears," she said smoothly, "you'll find out exactly what it means to cross pirates with bounties like ours." Her gaze flicked to Luffy, then to Zoro, then to Robin. "Two hundred million. Seventy five million. Seventy nine million. Do you really want those numbers knocking at your door?"
Merch's inward scoff at the threats did not reach his face. He chuckled, bowing slightly with mock civility. "Preish the thought, my dear. You can trust us." Again, that little shove in his words, pushing them toward the city, toward the festival was there.
But in that moment, Luffy's eyes met Zoro's. No words were passed, but the air between them spoke volumes and understanding beyond any limits. Zoro stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His voice was low and firm, carrying no flourish, only the simple truth of steel.
"It's my job to protect the ship," he said. "I'll stay."
Merch's genial façade faltered at Zoro's blunt declaration. The merchant raised his hands as though to placate, though his eyes flashed with thinly veiled annoyance.
"Now, now, sir swordsman," Merch said quickly, his voice as oily as the sheen on the harbor's water. "It is most admirable, your dedication, but having you lingering about will only distract the craftsmen. Tools flying, timbers being lifted, ropes pulled taut, you could be hurt! And then what? Would you have me responsible for a swordsman's broken bones while trying to fix the ship?"
Zoro did not so much as blink. With a single push of his heel, he vaulted onto the Merry's deck, landing with all the grace of a man who had no intention of leaving.
"Not my problem," he said simply, settling against the railing as if he had always belonged there.
Luffy's eyes softened, a sad little curve in his smile, as he nodded once, slow and steady, then turned to Merch. His voice, usually bubbling with careless cheer. "If you've got a problem with Zoro staying," he said, "then forget the deal. We'll take our money back."
The words landed heavy, and for the first time, Merch's mask cracked. His grin tightened, too stiff to be natural, his fingers tapping once against the ledger at his side. A beat passed, before he let out a laugh far too loud for the quiet dock.
"Ahaha! No, no, no, of course not! What's one swordsman, eh? He may stay, if that is your wish." His smile sharpened as he added, "But only him. No one else. The shipwrights cannot have a whole crew trampling about while they work."
Luffy didn't argue. He didn't need to. His instincts told him the shipwrights themselves—the honest workers in their plain masks—were good people. It was Merch, Chant, and the unseen hands behind them who stank of rot. And besides, Zoro was more than enough to crush them if they tried anything foolish.
"That's fine," Luffy said at last.
Relief mingled with lingering suspicion as the crew gathered themselves. Five million berries were counted out into a pouch to cover the festival day's needs, the rest pressed into Zoro's hand with trust as firm as any spoken vow.
"We will get you sake, Zoro," Luffy promised with a small smile.
"And oye, don't empty the barrels of alcohol in the kitchen," Sanji muttered, though his usual bite was softened with something closer to concern.
Zoro looked at Luffy and Sanji, a smile forming on his lips. He knew Luffy wanted him to join in the festivities, he could see it. And the cook wanting to bicker with him like always. "Thanks, captain, but don't cause much trouble without me," Zoro teased before turning to Sanji. "Keep an eye on him, will ya?"
Luffy laughed for the first time since the morning while Sanji gave a firm nod.
And so they left him there, alone on Merry's deck, watching them go as the city's morning light grew brighter. Luffy glanced back once, a pang in his chest at leaving his first mate behind, but there was no choice.
"Zoro should be at the festival too," he mumbled, though his voice lacked its usual fight.
The crew nodded as they turned towards the city, into its canals alive with the stirring pulse of the Masked Festival. Lanterns already swayed on strings above the water, laughter and music echoing through alleys. It would be crowded, semi-busy enough to drown them in witnesses, the perfect cover. Better still, a festival could untangle the knots of fear and tension that still clung to their bones.
And this time, they would not split apart. Robin walked at the heart of their group, her steps quiet, eyes shadowed, but the comfort of her crewmates beside her was an anchor. No one said it aloud, but all of them knew they would not leave her alone again, not with CP9's eyes still hunting in the dark.
Moreover, each Strawhat carried a mask, tokens of the festival's spirit, painted with care and chosen to reflect something of themselves, selected by none other than Robin and Chopper a day prior.
Sanji preened behind a swan of love mask, all white curves and flourishes, already insisting it made him look even more handsome. Nami's butterfly mask glittered with golden patterns, amethyst stones catching the morning sun like jewels plucked from the sky. Usopp's long nosed tengu mask suited him too well, though he strutted with exaggerated pride as though the mask made him some legendary warrior.
Robin's ivory feathered mask lent her an air of quiet elegance, her eyes glimmering with something unreadable beneath. Chopper's was round cheeked, sunny, smiling face painted in warm, simple strokes. It didn't dazzle, but it glowed with a childlike warmth. Luffy's mask blazed the brightest of them all. A great round face painted in blazing gold and fiery orange, its grin so wide and open it seemed ready to laugh with him. Rays of color burst outward from its edges like the sun drawn by a child's hand, imperfect yet radiant, full of warmth.
Only one mask was missing from the group: the black-and-red oni mask meant for Zoro. It remained with him, resting on the Merry's deck beside his swords. A silent reminder that while the others went into the whirl of color and sound, he would keep his vigil here.
.
Zoro leaned back against the Merry's rail, arms folded, eyes half-lidded but never still. The sun climbed higher over Water 7, glinting off the canals and setting the shipwrights' tools flashing as they worked. Hammers rang, saws scraped, voices rose and fell with the rhythm of honest labor. For the first hour, nothing seemed amiss. The men moved with practiced ease, their focus entirely on the keel and ribs of the Merry, as though their craft was shield enough against suspicion.
And yet, Zoro's gut did not quiet. He had fought too many battles, crossed too many people to trust so easily. He watched each motion, each glance, waiting for the hand that might slip too close to the crew's belongings, the eye that lingered too long.
But time passed, and nothing came of it. Their work was steady, measured, earnest. Even Zoro, sharpened as he was, began to feel his guard slacken. Perhaps Luffy was right, the shipwrights themselves were good men. Perhaps it was only their employer who stank of greed.
But soon, Merch's voice broke across the dock, too loud, too cheerful. "Oi! Today's no ordinary day!" The man strode out from a squat little building at the edge of the docks, Chant lumbering behind him. Between them they rolled two barrels, froth already spilling from the cracks around their lids.
"Today's the anniversary of the grand founding of the P.P.P. company!" Merch declared, arms wide, voice booming as if he announced a festival in the square. "A toast, my friends! A celebration to honor our work, our craft, and our fine guests!"
The shipwrights cheered at once, laughter rising like the tide. Tools were set aside, ropes dropped, and hands reached eagerly for the mugs Merch handed out. In a breath, the dock was awash in cheer, the salty air thick with the scent of ale and foam.
Zoro stayed where he was, one brow faintly arched, watching the scene with the same care he gave any battlefield. The mood was warm, genuine enough with the shipwrights grinning, clapping shoulders, raising their mugs high. Yet it was not them he distrusted. His eyes lingered instead on Merch, whose grin
It wasn't long before Merch turned to him and moved to give him a mug of ale. "There's too much we still have!" he laughed, gesturing at the untouched barrels. "What's a feast without a challenge, eh? What say you, swordsman? How about a contest?" He clapped Zoro's shoulder with exaggerated familiarity. "You and me. We drink until the other falls!"
Chant dropped another barrel beside Zoro with a dull thud.
Zoro's lips curled into a faint, smug smirk. If Merch thought he could win at this game, he was already defeated.
"Fine," Zoro said, rolling his shoulders loose as he sank down cross-legged on the dock. "Don't cry when you can't keep up."
The shipwrights roared approval, mugs clashing in delight as they gathered to watch.
Merch and Zoro sat opposite one another, barrels flanking them, mugs in hand. A shipwright stepped between them, raising his hand high.
"On three!" he called. "One… two… three!"
Both men raised their mugs, foam spilling, and downed the first in a single swallow.
.
Luffy wandered with the others through the bright canals, laughter and song spilling from every bridge and alley. Masks glimmered, each unique and bright, with foxes, dragons, birds and painted smiles bobbing through the semi crowded streets. Music thundered from every corner, pipes and drums clashing in a wild rhythm that made the canals itself seem to pulse.
It should have been enough to drown him in joy. It should have been enough to quiet every thought but meat and laughter. And yet, the wind pressed against him harder than usual, tugging at the edges of his sunburst mask, ruffling his hat where it hung about his neck. It carried with it not only the scent of food and smoke, but something sharper, unsettled. Every gust seemed to murmur, voices overlapping in a chaos only he could hear.
The crowd was no better. Laughter rose too loud, feet shuffled too heavy, words tangled into noise so thick it blurred into one single droning hum. But beneath it all, Luffy could hear it, the wind whispering over itself, particularly chatty today, and the crowd's roar carrying meaning only for him.
He couldn't make out the words. He couldn't understand why the winds were so noisy today, but somewhere deep inside his drumming heart, Luffy knew something was going to be wrong.
His smile faltered for a heartbeat, his Haki spreading throughout his crew, keeping an eye for them and the others who came too close to them. But nothing was amiss yet. They were safe. They were laughing. They were together.
Luffy even expanded his Haki over the entire island. He could sense the excitement of the people for the festivals, the merchants' determination to sell, the shipwrights working, the CP9 far away from where they are, the P.P.P's greed, and Zoro's grin.
Nothing felt wrong. Not yet. So why did the wind sound like it was trying to drown him? And why did, in the rolling chorus of voices, he can hear a single word break through.
'Zoro!'
It was faint, half swallowed by drums and laughter, but it caught Luffy, his head snapping slightly to the side, eyes narrowing beneath the blazing sunburst mask. The wind pressed harder, tugging at his clothes, carrying scraps of words he couldn't catch—blurred, tangled in themselves and lost in the crash of festival noise. He tried to listen, but each time the sound scattered like sand between his fingers.
Luffy's jaw set. Something was happening. Something the wind wanted him to know.
.
Merch's grin stretched wide across his face, but behind it his thoughts spun quickly for his plan. Because of course the Strawhats had money, far more than most ragged bands of pirates could ever dream of. They had paid thirty million upfront without flinching, like it was nothing, like gold rattled loose in their pockets. No hesitation, no bargaining. It was the easiest fortune he had ever pried from anyone's hands.
And that made it sweeter still. Because surely the puny pirates had stolen it. Surely it was ill-gotten wealth, and so by every law of fortune and wit, it was fair game for him to take it back. Good people robbing pirates, balance restored.
He almost laughed aloud, thinking of their captain's dopey grin, the orange haired woman's cold eyes, the long-nosed liar's pride. And then of the foolhardy decision to leave their treasure in the hands of the 'Pirate Hunter'. What kind of crew left money in the care of a man who could be undone by his own vice?
Merch had not needed to dig deep. A single word at the Info Központ–their central information hub–was enough. Names were catalogues there, habits whispered, every weakness etched into their records.
Roronoa Zoro: bladesman, bounty head, drunkard. The last detail had made Merch's plan fall into place like a gift.
He would make the swordsman drink. He would keep his attention fixed on froth, challenge his pride, and when the man would fall unconscious due to all the ale and lower his guard, one of the Knights would finish the job. With a swift blow and a silent fall. Then the berries would be his and no one would be the wiser until it was far too late. Not the Strawhats.
The thought of it all alone was enough to set his blood humming. But then, he choked, coughing suddenly on the ale he had raised to his lips. Foam spilled down his chin as he thumped a fist against his chest, eyes watering.
Damn it. Unlucky, cursedly unlucky, that he should be the one sitting here, facing the beast of the man himself. He would have preferred to stand in the shadows, pulling strings, while someone else bore the risk. But no! The play has already begun and the stage is set. He could not turn back now.
He forced the cough down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiled again, all shining teeth and bravado. "To good fortune," he muttered hoarsely, though in his chest, nerves twisted tight.
The dock had turned lively, with laughter echoing over the water as the barrels kept coming. Each time Zoro slammed down his mug, the shipwrights cheered and refilled it, clapping his shoulders and jeering good naturedly.
"Bottomless pit, this one!" one of the shipwrights barked, slapping his thigh as the swordsman raised another mug filled with ale with a smirk on his face.
"Aye, he'll drink the sea dry next!" another worker howled, passing a fresh mug.
They meant it in jest, nothing more. Most of them had no quarrel with him personally; truth be told, they admired his stamina. If not for the wrong banner flying above Merry, half of them might have wanted to share a dockside drink with him for real. They were honest craftsmen, skilled enough that some might've worked with Galley-La had their paths run straighter. But here, under the banner of the P.P.P., their choices were narrower.
When orders came from above, they obeyed. And if that order meant dragging more ale into the sun and pouring it down a pirate's throat, they did it with forced smiles, because defiance was a luxury long since beaten out of them.
Still, by the fourth barrel, the mood began to change.
"How the hell's he still upright?" a shipwright muttered, staring as Zoro tossed back another mug without so much as a stagger.
"Four barrels, and not even a sway," whispered another, with concern threading into his voice.
"He should've passed out twice over by now… or gotten sick," uttered another, astonished at the sight before him.
They turned sidelong glances toward Merch, who sat across from the swordsman, face already flushed, movements sluggish despite his wide grin. Sweat gathered at his temples, his bravado dimming with each swallow. He was not in a shape to continue or give them any orders. Luckily, Chant stepped forward, scowling as he hefted another barrel. His patience had run thin.
"Tch. Enough wasting good ale," he muttered under his breath, just low enough that only a few of the workers heard. The next barrel he rolled forward was not untouched. Dark bottles had been emptied into its depths, lacing the froth with sleeping tonic.
The shipwrights hesitated, uneasy, but no one spoke. Strict subordination held their tongues in iron and orders were orders.
But even laced, the swordsman drank. Two more barrels into the bottomless pit. There wasn't a single wobble, not a slur. For all, the tonic seemed to be more water than actual stuff for all the effect it had.
A chill crept up the workers' spines as they watched, unease prickling sharper with every gulp.
Chant's scowl deepened. He didn't voice his next order. He just stepped forward, tainting the barrel of ale with something far crueler. Poison. Poison, which slipped in under cover of froth, and mixed with his own hands.
And still, the Pirate Hunter drank. He drank one more barrel. But that's when Zoro was finally starting to feel it. A woozy haze creeping at the edges of his vision, his limbs growing heavier with each swallow. His senses dulled, blurred by the heavy weight of alcohol, the bitterness of hidden tonics, and the sharp bite of something fouler laced beneath the froth.
He paid little mind to the bustle around him. Most of the shipwrights were too busy laughing, clapping shoulders, or rolling yet another barrel to care what was really happening. Their voices blurred into one shapeless din.
That was when the dockside air shifted.
A knight in black strode forward, the crowd parting for him. In his hands gleamed a slab of metal, heavy and cruelly shaped. Without a word, he swung it in a wide, brutal arc aimed at the back of the swordsman's head.
The blow landed with a sound that cracked the dockside mirth in two. The metal had struck hard, impacting Zoro who wasn't aware of it at all.
Silence engulfed the shipyard, as everyone waited with bated breaths for the hunter to be hunted.
Zoro did not move at first. Not a single movement. He only sat there, his hands still in the process of getting the ale to his mouth. But it almost seemed that he was frozen. Then, after a long five seconds, his body gave away and he pitched forward, crashing onto the land in a sprawl.
The shipwrights erupted, cheering at once. Relief and laughter rippled through them as they swarmed the Merry, snatching up the heavy suitcases without hesitation. Only some didn't evade, and those were the people who witnessed the fingers of the swordsman twitching. Just barely, but enough. The faintest stir of life, of refusal.
A pulse of dread spread through the workers, their cheer faltering at once.
"He's not… he's not going to stay down," Chant tsked, grabbing the suitcases filled with money and thrusting it into the hands of the Knights instead, shoving them toward the canal. The armored men wasted no time, breaking into a run, their footsteps pounding as they carried the cases away, toward the true headquarters of the P.P.P's in Water 7.
.
The festival spun around him in a whirl of drums, masks and laughter, but Luffy was no longer hearing it. He had his eyes closed beneath the blazing grin of his sunburst mask, and for the first time that morning the chaos of the winds stilled and obeyed.
They came tumbling toward him, countless voices tripping and shoving over one another in their rush to be heard, like a mob of invisible gremlins all trying to speak at once. Their words crashed and tangled, each pushing to the front, stepping over the next. But it was finally comprehensible for Luffy.
'Nika-sama!' one shrieked, only to be drowned out by another, louder voice.
'The merchant schemes-'
'-Zoro falters-'
'The treasures runs dry!'
'Danger coils–'
'-at the dock! At the dock!-'
'-of the P.P.P.-'
The overlapping chorus pressed against Luffy's ears, urgent and chaotic, until he felt his chest tighten under the weight of it.
On the other side of his mask, his crewmates watched him with growing unease. Nami slowed, her butterfly mask tilting as her brow knit. For a moment she thought Luffy was only missing Zoro, but the stillness in his shoulders told her otherwise. Robin's smile flattered, soft and sad, as though she too sensed something unspoken.
Even Sanji and Usopp had stopped joking. "He looks… weird," Usopp muttered, tugging nervously at his tengu mask. While Sanji's gaze sharpened behind the ridiculous swan feathers, his cigarette trembled faintly between his fingers. Chopper shifted on his little hooves, his head cocked and worry bright in his eyes.
'Zoro danger–''
'-posioned–''
Luffy's eyes snapped open. He stiffened. He felt it. Zoro's consciousness dipping, and slipping away. And with it, a flash of anger so sharp it cut across the distance. Zoro was not angry at the enemies. But at himself, for letting his guard slip.
The air thrummed around Luffy, the winds knotting tighter and tighter, with voices tangling into anxious threads.
"Zoro.." he whispered, voice tight and cracked.
That was the only warning the Strawhats got, before Luffy bolted. He tore through the crowd without any explanation, shoving past masked people and banners, his feet pounding against the stones towards the P.P.P docks.
The Strawhats startled, their cries of surprise rising at once.
"Luffy?!" Nami called, already breaking into a run after him.
"Oi, what's wrong?!" Sanji barked, leaping forward in an instant, his long strides already chasing their captain.
Usopp stumbled, scrambling to keep pace, panic bubbling in his chest. Chopper darted at his heels, heart hammering with dread. Robin's face had gone pale, but she ran too, her eyes narrowing beneath her ivory feathers.
None of them needed words, because whatever had seized Luffy's heart was real. Whatever had dragged him forward, running, was dangerous.
The festival roared on around them, oblivious. But the Strawhats tore through it as one, following their captain toward the next danger.