Fishman District , New World
The air inside the ruined dojo was thick with humidity and tension.
Once, this place had echoed with the disciplined chants of Fishman martial artists—a sacred ground where unity and strength were forged in the clash of fists and the roar of spirit. Now, it stood in solemn decay.
Rotting beams sagged under the weight of moss and time, corals grew like tumors through broken floorboards, and creeping vines wrapped themselves around the skeletal remains of training posts. Salt wind carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the memory of sweat and blood.
It had become the gathering place of Fisher Tiger and the Sun Pirates—a sanctuary for outcasts, warriors, and those who had no place in Ryugu Kingdom's politics. The sound of wood splintering cracked through the silence.
"NEPTUNE, THAT BASTARD! He expects Brother Tiger to apologize to a human?… Since when did the fishmen start bowing to humans…? And he has the nerve to call himself royalty!"
Arlong's roar echoed through the hollowed chamber as his fist shattered a support beam, sending moldy splinters flying. His sharp teeth bared, rage vibrating through every muscle in his broad frame.
But before the dust even settled—
"Arlong—!"
The air snapped with Jinbei's voice, deeper and sharper than a spear. He stepped forward, fists clenched tight, gills flaring.
"Insult his majesty one more time in my presence… and I swear I'll break every bone in your body and feed you to the sea kings myself."
His glare could have cut stone. The calm, disciplined Jinbei—once a proud officer of the Ryugu Kingdom's army—had long shed his title and rank, but not his pride. His fury now, barely restrained, was enough to make even the hot-headed among the crew step back. Only Arlong held his ground, defiant as ever.
Between them, Fisher Tiger stood still—his massive form silhouetted by the fading artificial sunlight filtering through broken slats in the roof. He didn't move. He didn't even lift his head. His hand rested on the hilt of the rusted training sword that leaned beside him, fingers trembling ever so slightly.
He was quiet, but inside, he was boiling. Not with anger—with guilt. The silence stretched like tension on a taut wire.
Ever since that day—the day he broke the pact with the Donquixote family, ignoring their terms and acting alone—the balance between Fishman Island and their most powerful ally had crumbled. The dream of turning Punk Hazard into a sanctuary for fishmen, a place where they could live without chains or prejudice, was dying by the day.
The Donquixote family hadn't withdrawn support completely… But they'd grown cold, disinterested. Their shipments were fewer. Resources, limited. The once-promised land was becoming a myth. Everyone knew why.
"Trade still continues," Jinbei growled, forcing himself to calm. "But the progress is slower than it should be. They're dragging their feet, and it's because we broke trust. Remember that, Arlong…webroke the trust."
That accusation about themselves, because back then no one had stopped their leader from doing it and had silently acknowledged his plan, so it was their fault too—and the accusation hung in the air like a mountain. Arlong sneered.
"Trust? With humans? How many of our kind have died waiting for their 'trust'? Waiting for their mercy?"
His voice rose like a tide.
"I say we don't wait anymore. The Donquixote family has the resources we need. We take it! They've shown us their true colors—they'll never see us as equals."
"Arlong…" Fisher Tiger's voice rumbled low. Deep. Warning.
"No, Brother!" Arlong snapped, defiant. "You of all people know I'm right. How many years do we wait, bowing our heads to humans who still see us as beasts?! We have unified every Fishman pirate crew under our banner! We are strong now! We don't need their pity—we take what we want!"
The silence after that outburst was deafening. The crew stood frozen, eyes darting between the fire of Arlong and the steel of Jinbei. Then, Tiger finally turned. His eyes, normally calm, now flickered with something raw—torment.
"You think slaughtering humans and asserting dominance is going to bring harmony between our races?" Tiger's voice was a low growl, but its gravity silenced the room more effectively than a shout. "And do you really believe we're capable of taking on an Emperor's crew?"
He stepped forward, each word now carrying the weight of bitter truth.
"You're still naive, Arlong. Just because humans were born physically weaker than us doesn't mean they haven't advanced. Their power, their influence—it grows every year. Even if we gathered every last fishman under one flag, we wouldn't dent an Emperor's fleet. You think your hatred is strength—but it's a poison."
"You know nothing of humanity's infinite potential for evolution, Arlong...!"
His voice sharpened like a blade.
"And never again do I want to hear you trying to provoke the others into fighting the Donquixote family. That crew extended a hand when no one else would. Your blind hatred of humans will be your downfall one day, Arlong."
The room remained deathly still, the silence more suffocating than the ocean depths outside.
Tiger's voice dropped, quieter now—but heavier.
"You think I don't wake up every morning seeing the faces of our people slipping through my fingers? You think I don't carry the memory of the trust I shattered when I made that choice—believing it was for the greater good?"
His voice cracked—not with weakness, but with the kind of vulnerability that only comes from deep, enduring regret.
"I thought if I pushed a little harder… if I acted alone… maybe I could speed up our freedom. Maybe I could carve out a future for our people without waiting for permission. But I gambled with more than just my future…"
He clenched his trembling fist, his voice now a whisper laced with anguish.
"I gambled with all of ours."
"And I lost."
The entire sea floor outside the broken dojo seemed to pause—as though the ocean itself was holding its breath. Even Arlong's ever-burning fury flickered, dulled by the weight of that confession.
Tiger looked around—at the cracked wooden beams, the moss-covered floors, the weary faces of the brothers and sisters who had followed him to the bottom of the world. The ruins of a dream.
"We dreamed of a world where our children wouldn't have to live in fear. Where we wouldn't be forced to choose between pride and survival. That dream… it's not dead."
He took another breath, his voice rising.
"But it's fading. And I was the one who dimmed its light."
He turned sharply to Arlong, eyes burning with renewed conviction—not fury, but righteous command.
"We don't become free by becoming monsters. Say we do what you propose—attack the Donquixote family, strike out in anger. Do you think any of us would walk away from that alive? Even if we did, what would be left of us? How would we be any different than the humans you loathe?"
The air was thick now, heavy with the gravity of Tiger's next words.
"Not every human is a villain. And not every fishman is a saint."
He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the unmistakable brand of the Sun Pirates—emblazoned over what all of them knew to be the mark of slavery. A symbol hidden, but not forgotten.
"You all know what lies beneath this mark. You know who branded me. Not a human… but a fishman—one we once called brother. Our own kind."
The crew stared in silence, many lowering their gazes.
"We need allies, we need help. Like it or not, the Donquixote family was the first to offer us one. And while they may have turned cold now, I don't blame them. I was the one who broke our word."
He turned to Jinbei. "We'll send word. I'll make the journey myself to Dressrosa." Jinbei's eyes widened, alarmed. "Brother Tiger—"
"If they still genuinely believe in helping the fishman race, they'll listen," Tiger interrupted, firm. "If not… then I'll carry the burden of my failure to the end. Alone. I won't let the people of Fishman Island suffer for my selfish mistakes."
Outside, the deep currents howled through the coral-streaked ruins like ghosts mourning a forgotten war. Arlong turned away, fists clenched but lips sealed. The fire in his eyes still flickered—but it no longer raged.
Jinbei lowered his head, his jaw tight with conflict, but he said nothing more. Tiger now stood alone—surrounded by broken beams, shattered trust, and a dream that still refused to die. The dojo may have rotted, but in his eyes, a fire still burned.
Because even if the world would never accept them, he had not given up on it. Not yet. He exhaled slowly, then raised his voice one last time.
"And Jinbei… pass this message to every one of our brothers. For those who want to remain in Fishman Island—they can. I won't stop them. But I will be leaving after my trip to Dressrosa. I'm setting out to sea."
The gathered crew froze. Shock rippled through them.
"Brother Tiger…!" Jinbei breathed, stunned. The man who had devoted everything—his body, his spirit, his future—to Fishman Island was abandoning it?
Tiger's gaze was resolute.
"No. I have to leave. I made a mistake—and I must atone. The longer I stay, the longer the island suffers. Humans are as prideful as we fishmen. And someone like Doflamingo… a man who's climbed to the summit of this world… I wounded his pride. That pride must be addressed, or we'll never see peace again."
Tiger looked out toward the far-off horizon, his voice heavy with purpose.
"I have my own path to walk now. If I stay tethered to the island, then the World Government will direct its fury here. If I go rogue… if I become a pirate, then maybe—just maybe—I can take that heat away from Queen Otohime's vision of peace. If the world needs a scapegoat, let me be it."
He turned back to them—his crew, his family.
"I'm not abandoning fish-Man Island; I can still help our people… even if I have to do it from the shadows."
There was a long pause… then Jinbei stepped forward. Without hesitation, without fear.
"Then I will follow you, Brother Tiger. No matter where it leads. I will stay by your side."
What Tiger was asking for was no small thing—it meant severing all ties with Fishman Island. Declaring oneself a fugitive. A pirate.
And yet Jinbei's voice was unwavering. The others exchanged uncertain glances. But they understood now. This wasn't just about revenge, or pride, or politics. It was about protecting their future… in whatever form it had to take.
Fisher Tiger turned to face the sea, where the currents danced in the distance like threads of fate unraveling.
Meanwhile, deep within the majestic Ryugu Palace... A radiant corridor stretched like a tunnel of glass and light, lined with glowing coral chandeliers, translucent sea-anemone tapestries, and pearl-inlaid columns that spiraled like the horns of sea dragons.
Fountains of bioluminescent water danced beneath the arches, and schools of luminous fish weaved through the open spaces like animated brushstrokes. It was a place that belonged in fairy tales—so awe-inspiring that even the air seemed reverent.
Through these sacred halls, a most peculiar and powerful group made their entrance—escorted personally by the Left Minister himself.
They looked like children, teens at best. But the palace guards, seasoned veterans of countless battles, felt their spines stiffen. Because these were no ordinary visitors.
At the head of the group was a tall, silver-haired nineteen-year-old with a permanent scowl etched onto his face like stone—Smoker, the reluctantly appointed leader of this "excursion."
"Tch... babysitting while that bastard Lucci gets to fight... what a joke," Smoker grumbled under his breath, hands jammed in his pockets. His mere presence made the nearby guards clutch their tridents tighter, their gazes flicking nervously to the cigar that was already half-lit between his fingers.
Beside him, a boy with a spiky purple mohawk and a crooked grin couldn't resist the jab.
"Heh… who asked you to lose the sparring match? If you'd just kicked Lucci's ass, maybe Issho-san would've let you stay back and play war."
Gladius ducked just in time as Smoker's fist whipped past his head, shattering a coral vase instead. The guards flinched. The Left Minister nearly had a stroke.
Before more chaos could erupt, a petite, well-dressed seven-year-old with perfect posture and a devilish smirk stepped between them, brandishing a transponder snail like it was a sacred relic.
"Brother Smoker," she said sweetly, "do you want me to call Master Doffy and tell him you're being ungrateful?"
Reiju, pupil of Doflamingo and self-appointed "executive kid-in-charge," raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Smoker's eye twitched.
"Put that thing away—damn brat."
"Tsk tsk. That's not how you talk to a lady," Reiju replied, letting the snail inch toward her ear as Gladius snorted with laughter.
Smoker resisted the urge to scream. How the hell did I end up as the babysitter of the most dangerous daycare in the world?
Elsewhere in the group, Robin, calm and curious as ever, held little Anya's hand as they walked. Robin, though only twelve, already carried herself with an eerie grace. The remnants of her own tragic past glimmered behind her eyes, making her the perfect caretaker for someone like Anya, who still flinched at loud sounds and clung to family like a lifeline.
"See this coral, Anya?" Robin said softly, handing her a glowing piece shaped like a spiral. "It helps you breathe underwater."
Anya's wide eyes sparkled as she admired the piece, her tiny fingers curling around it like it was treasure. She didn't speak—she rarely did—but she gave Robin a shy nod of gratitude.
Meanwhile, Buffalo—lanky and always a bit too curious—was inspecting another coral piece.
"Hey, this one's chewy!" he declared—and before anyone could stop him, he shoved it into his mouth.
"Buffalo! That's not food—!" Robin started, but it was too late.
"Mmmph—salty!" Buffalo mumbled as his cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.Little Sugar let out a bubbly giggle from the comfort of Monet's arms, her laughter light and infectious like a bell echoing through the coral-lit halls.
Nearly the entire next generation of the Donquixote Family's core—save for a few key figures like Lucci and Scarlett—had embarked on this carefully orchestrated journey to Fishman Island. It was more than just a diplomatic visit or a leisurely trip. This was a strategic move—one woven with layers of foresight and precision.
With the storm of war on the horizon and their inevitable clash with the Beast Pirates drawing near, Doflamingo and Issho had agreed on one thing: those among their ranks who had not yet reached full maturity—physically or mentally—should be kept away from the battlefield.
Thus, they were entrusted to Giolla, the flamboyant yet fiercely loyal matron of the family. While she often appeared eccentric, those who underestimated her learned the hard way just how terrifying she could be. As the only adult directly accompanying them, her presence was more than symbolic—she was their shield and their sentinel.
Alongside her were Smoker and Gladius, both logia fruit users, young but already formidable in their own right. Smoker's raw power and instinctive leadership balanced Gladius' controlled chaos and sharp intellect. The duo, though constantly bickering, were trusted to hold the line should trouble arise.
But that wasn't the full extent of their safeguards.
Unbeknownst to most, two of their younger wards—Reiju and Robin—were not only exceptionally gifted, but both wielded Mythical Zoan Devil Fruits, rare and dangerous abilities that elevated their combat potential to the level of war assets.
Reiju, despite her age, had already mastered portions of her transformation, and Robin's enigmatic fruit allowed her brief but potent outbursts of destruction once their devil fruits were unleashed. Together, they were the trump cards hidden beneath the children's playful veneer.
The children might have looked carefree, wide-eyed as they explored the palace halls. But beneath their innocence, cloaked in coral and mischief, was a coiled force waiting to awaken.
And as an added layer of protection, Doffy had taken no chances. He had reached out to one more figure—a shadow moving quietly beneath the sea. Arnold, a fish-man, was also someone who had earned the trust of the Donquixote family.
Once a notorious name whispered among fishman outlaws, Arnold had since become a powerful figure on Fishman Island. With both political influence and raw strength. Now operating as one of the island's most respected defenders, his allegiance to Doffy ensured the group had eyes watching from the depths, ready to rise should danger arise from within the fishman ranks.
"Welcome… welcome, everyone, to the Ryugu Palace… Jamon!" boomed King Neptune, his deep voice echoing through the coral-laced corridors of the grand royal palace. The air shimmered with light filtering through the ocean above, casting a kaleidoscope of blues and golds across the marble floors.
At first, Neptune's bushy brows had arched in visible surprise—this delegation from the Donquixote Family was mostly comprised of teens and children. But that initial flicker of doubt quickly melted into admiration.
The very fact that the Donquixote family had entrusted their youngest—and some of their most dangerous prodigies—to the Fishman Kingdom without fanfare spoke volumes. It wasn't just a visit. It was a message of trust.
Little Shyarly, gliding forward with the grace of her mermaid lineage, dipped low in a respectful bow to the towering monarch. Her purple hair floated elegantly in the wind, and the others followed her lead—save for one notably stubborn figure.
Smoker, ever the rebel, stood stiff and upright, arms crossed as though the concept of bowing offended his very soul. Gladius sighed, already seeing where this was going. As predicted, Reiju, all of seven years old and entirely too smug, let her arm morph into a shimmering serpent.
Without a word, the snake coiled up and smacked Smoker's head down into a forced bow. He grunted but didn't resist. He knew better. One word of complaint from Reiju, and Master Doffy or Issho-san would turn the next training session when they return to Dressrosa into a lesson in humility.
"Forgive us for that unsightly display, Your Majesty," said Monet smoothly, adjusting her glasses with practiced grace. She gently set little Sugar down beside her, who, ever the mimic, mirrored her big sister's curtsy with a wide grin and a wobble.
"Ahaha! That is quite alright—Jamon!" Neptune let out a hearty laugh, the palace guards visibly relaxing. "I once again welcome you all to the Ryugu Kingdom. If we'd known of your arrival sooner, we would have prepared a reception worthy of such… unique guests." He smiled kindly, his towering frame both majestic and warm.
Behind him, even the ever-serious Left Minister was sweating bullets. He knew who these "children" were—and he definitely knew what they were capable of, or at least he thought he did.
Giolla, the only actual adult in the party, stepped forward with a theatrical flourish. "Ah, your majesty, do forgive the sudden visit. Little Shyarly was feeling homesick, and the rest of our little ones were becoming restless, cooped up in Dressrosa." Her voice was melodic and polished, though the knowing glint in her eyes betrayed her deeper intent.
"We thought a brief sojourn in the beautiful Fishman Island might do them some good—and, in light of recent... strain between our two parties, perhaps this gesture will help reaffirm our bond."
It was an elegant statement. Polite. Political. But Neptune, a wise king beneath his grandiose appearance, understood the true meaning. The visit was not just to calm the younger ones. It was a litmus test. A bridge being cautiously rebuilt.
And he welcomed it.
"Well said, Lady Giolla," Neptune nodded. "And well timed. You honor us with your presence, and we are grateful. Our doors—and our seas—are open to you."