"So… where are we going?" Saul asked curiously, his deep voice carrying easily over the bustle of the giant village.
We walked leisurely through the middle zone of Elbaph, the heartland where the villages of the giants sprawled across rolling hills and colossal tree trunks. I followed the subtle pull of my Observation Haki — a familiar presence I had sensed the moment my foot had touched Elbaph's soil.
Saul, lumbering beside me, looked puzzled. He wondered who else I could possibly know in his homeland. Even Dora, walking a pace behind, tilted her head with quiet curiosity. Beyond her, Mansherry sat perched on my shoulder like a glittering jewel, wide-eyed at the sheer scale of the world around her. Buffalo and Monet trailed us, silent but clearly captivated by every detail of giant society.
Finally, the pull led us southwest, into the western village. When the place came into view, Saul's eyes widened in surprise. "You knew…?" he muttered under his breath.
Before us stood the Walrus School and the Owl Library, perched like living monuments upon the branches of an ancient world tree. I had walked here without any directions, guided only by instinct — yet I stood exactly where I intended.
The school itself resembled a vast treehouse, its central platforms carved and reinforced into wide, open spaces. Two great decks stretched like wooden meadows high above the ground, connected by rope bridges that swayed gently in the wind. Around them hung smaller structures, suspended by thick ropes — some shaped like giant swings for play, others like spherical huts for study and rest. The entire design felt both playful and wise, a blend of giant craftsmanship and childlike wonder.
At its entrance stretched a grassy field, wildflowers swaying under the laughter of children. Towering above the gate was a carved figurehead: a smiling cartoon walrus, tusks gleaming, proudly wearing a graduate's cap. The sight carried a warmth that softened even the harsh grandeur of Elbaph.
Beside it, on an adjacent branch, the Owl Library perched like a watchful guardian. Its walls were shaped like an old treehouse, a building that's believed to have been around for hundreds of years, as though embracing knowledge itself. The carved wooden roof caught the afternoon light, casting shadows that rippled like turning pages.
"Not bad," I murmured, my eyes sweeping over the school and its twin library. "You've put a great deal of effort into this place."
A group of giant children passed us, their massive eyes curious as they stared at the tiny humans in their midst. Their laughter echoed like drumbeats as they darted through the flower fields, chasing one another with the boundless energy of youth.
Saul's face softened, a rare warmth brightening his rough features. "Truth be told, it was thanks to you, Rosinante. The books you sent, the knowledge you shared… without them, none of this could have been possible. And of course, King Harald supported the effort. It has only been four years since we began, but now… almost every child in Elbaph comes here to learn." His chest swelled with pride.
I glanced at him. For a man once branded traitor and exile, this was no small thing. Saul had been adrift, a refugee in his own homeland, until he found his spark here among the laughter of children. In these classrooms of wood and rope, the broken giant had found purpose again.
"Do you teach here as well, Saul-san?" Mansherry piped up from my shoulder, her small voice sweet yet full of awe. The little princess of the Tontatta could barely contain her excitement; to her, everything in Elbaph seemed impossibly large, impossibly grand.
Saul chuckled, his voice rumbling like stones rolling down a mountain. "Yes, Princess. I teach history here — the sagas, the battles, the stories of our people. If you wish, I can take you on a tour inside. The children would be delighted to meet you."
Buffalo and Monet exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the same awe Mansherry displayed. Everything about this land of giants felt like stepping into a legend. But Saul's curiosity finally broke through. He turned his great head toward me, brow raised. "By the way, Ross-kun… who is it you're looking for here at the Walrus School?"
His tone carried both eagerness and unease. Whoever it was, he wanted to see — and yet part of him dreaded the answer.
"Oh, I'm sure he already knows I'm here," I said with a sly smirk, letting my words drift lazily into the air. "He's simply playing hide-and-seek. Strange… the man I knew was never the shy type. He was always the loudest, the first to come screaming — whether to greet a friend or charge an enemy." I chuckled, tilting my head toward the shadows. "Maybe for now, I'll just settle for meeting Ripley-san. She's here, isn't she? Perhaps I should share a few… old stories from years ago."
I raised my voice deliberately, loud enough to pierce through the branches above.
Saul blinked. "Ripley-san…? How do you—" His voice trailed off, realization striking him like lightning. His eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.
Then his booming laugh shook the branches. "Dereshishishi! Now I understand who you're looking for! How could I forget—Ya-san!"
The name had barely left his lips before the world itself seemed to crack open. From the top of the colossal branch, a shadow launched itself into the air with the force of a cannonball. The leaves shuddered, birds scattered in fright, and a roar bellowed down like a war cry from the heavens.
"You little bastard!" The voice thundered with raw fury and unmistakable vigor. "Stay away from Ripley!"
The figure descended like a meteor, sunlight flashing off the massive axe he swung with both hands. Armament Haki rippled across the steel, black lightning crackling at its edge.
"Yasotakeru!!!"
The strike split the air with a deafening boom, tearing through the wind like a divine judgment. The gathered giants gasped, some stepping back instinctively at the sheer force behind it.
I, however, did not flinch. With a calm grin, I unsheathed Shusui in a single, fluid motion. The black blade, gleaming with its own coating of Haki, met the falling axe in a clash that erupted with sparks and shockwaves.
Steel rang against steel, the vibration shaking the branches beneath our feet. A gust of wind swept through the flower field as petals scattered like confetti in the wake of our strike.
But there was no malice in the blow — no true killing intent. I could feel it in the weight of his swing. This was not the attack of an enemy… but the greeting of an old warrior. And there he was, face wild with fire and laughter — Scopper Gaban, the Pirate King's left hand, the infamous Mountain Eater of the Roger Pirates.
The man who had once charged entire battlefields without fear… now roaring not for war, but for the honor of protecting his beloved wife from my teasing words.
I smirked, holding Shusui firm against his axe. "Still the same as ever, Gaban. Swing first, talk later."
His teeth flashed in a grin, eyes alight with that old reckless fire. "And you're still a damned cheeky brat, Rosinante. Mention Ripley's name again, and I'll split you in half just for fun!"
The giants around us stared, dumbstruck. They had heard tales of this man, some thinking him long vanished with Roger's era. To see him alive, axe in hand, clashing blades with me — it was like watching a saga leap straight from their storybooks. And though the clash sparked like the meeting of titans, beneath it all, the laughter of old acquaintances hung in the air.
Soon enough, I found myself seated inside Gaban and Ripley-san's home.
The house was carved into the trunk of one of Elbaph's ancient trees, sturdy yet warm, with tapestries of battle-scenes hung on the walls and shelves stacked with trinkets, books, and weapons dulled with age. The air smelled faintly of pine and burning firewood.
Ripley, after hearing that an old acquaintance of her husband had appeared, had cut short her day of teaching. The others — Dora, Mansherry, Buffalo, and Monet — had followed Saul for a proper tour of the Walrus School and Owl Library, leaving me alone in the care of the infamous Mountain Eater and his wife.
Gaban eyed me from across the table, his broad arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"Brat… you've grown," he muttered, his tone somewhere between disbelief and reluctant admiration. "Rayleigh wasn't exaggerating when he said you turned into a monster. Still…" He exhaled, half chuckling, half sighing. "I didn't expect you to become this much of a monster."
I smirked at his words, though my silence spoke volumes. It had been years since we'd last crossed paths — back when he still sailed under Roger's flag.
From the side, Ripley's voice cut in, curious and melodic. "Ya-san… is this the same young boy you told me about once? The one Roger wanted to recruit?"
She was striking. A giantess of a slender, statuesque figure, her presence carried the elegance of a warrior and the poise of a queen. A streamlined tattoo, like a flowing current, ran the length of her left side — from temple to foot. Her light hair, braided at the front, framed her face, though bangs fell just enough to shadow her right eye. She wore a dark tank top emblazoned with a horned Jolly Roger, a fur cape draped across her shoulders, a short skirt cinched with leather belts, and boots wrapped in furred bands. Every detail of her spoke of both strength and grace.
"Yeah, it's the same one," Gaban grumbled, scratching his beard. "I never thought I'd see him step foot in Elbaph. I figured this would be a nice place to retire quietly… but no, even here the past comes knocking." He shot me a glance, half joking, half annoyed. "Don't tell me Rayleigh was the one who gave me away."
Ripley returned with tea — a miniature set, clearly crafted for human hands. Likely Gaban's, tucked away for rare occasions. I took it gratefully, pouring a cup for myself and another for him.
"It's been almost a decade, hasn't it, Gaban-san?" I said after a sip. A chuckle escaped me. "Of all people, I'd never have guessed you'd be the first to settle down and start a family."
My eyes drifted toward the little figure toddling across the floor. A boy, three or perhaps four years old, with messy pink hair, freckles splashed across his cheeks, and a round, jutting nose. His bangs fell over one eye as he peeked at me with the same curiosity I'd seen in countless children who'd never met someone their size before.
"What's his name? How old is he?" I asked.
Ripley smiled warmly as she scooped the boy up into her lap, despite his little protests. "This is Colon. He's three this year. Don't you think he looks just like Ya-san, Rosinante-kun?" She cooed at the child, who clung to her as his big eyes studied me.
I tilted my head, lips curling into a grin. "Ah… I'd say he resembles you more, Ripley-san. It's better that way. Heaven forbid he inherited too many of Gaban-san's strange habits."
The remark hung in the air for a beat. Then Gaban's face darkened, one eye narrowing dangerously. "Oi… oi… what the hell is that supposed to mean…?" His voice was a growl, but there was no mistaking the panic flickering behind it.
Because Ripley had turned to look at him. Her sharp eyes narrowed, her expression curious, as though standing on the edge of some forbidden discovery. "Ya-san…" she murmured, her tone deceptively sweet. "What strange habits is he talking about?"
I smirked into my teacup as Gaban broke into a cold sweat. The great warrior who had once swung his axe against entire fleets now fidgeted like a boy caught red-handed. His gaze shot to me, frantic, practically begging. His message was clear: say one word too many, and I'll cleave you in two.
"Ross-kun," Ripley pressed, her tone sly now, "you knew Ya-san before, didn't you? You must have seen what kind of man he really was. What was he like back then…?"
Her curiosity glimmered like a drawn blade. Gaban's fists clenched, and I could see veins bulging on his forehead. He mouthed silently across the table, his jaw tight: Don't. You. Dare.
The situation was too perfect. The legendary Scopper Gaban — once feared across the seas, second only to Roger and Rayleigh — now sitting cornered in his own home, terrified not of marines, nor bounty hunters, nor enemies… but of the gentle insistence of his wife. And I, sitting between them, holding a cup of tea, was torn between mercy… or mischief.
"Well, word is that Prince Loki challenged you to a duel…?" Gaban said, leaning back as if casually, but his eyes were sharp — the move was deliberate, a calculated shift in topic. "I never knew Loki to initiate a conflict without reason."
It worked. Ripley's expression immediately grew serious. The matter of Loki had already rippled across Elbaph, whispered through taverns, markets, and training fields.
"Beats me." I shrugged, unconcerned. "He's simply asking for it. No one's ever put him in his place because he's comparatively strong among giants — not to mention his 'ancient bloodline.' But three days from now… I'll teach him a lesson he won't forget."
Ripley's brow furrowed. Her voice was soft, but there was weight in it. "He is… a troubled soul. The circumstances of his childhood shaped him. Unlike most giants, Loki grew up with nothing but hardship. Even as a prince, half the kingdom still sees him as an ill omen, believing his existence will someday bring disaster to Elbaph. He was discarded by his own mother, neglected by a father who put duty before son. He raised himself in shadows… and because of it, he came to see every outstretched hand as a trap."
Her words carried sorrow — not just as a teacher of Elbaph's children, but as a mother who understood what abandonment could carve into a child.
"You're confident in beating him?" Ripley finally asked, eyes narrowing slightly. "Loki isn't like other giants. You've seen him, haven't you? He towers over all of Elbaph. Only King Harald and Dora come close to his size. To us, his strength is… unmatched."
To her, it was a simple truth. To the giants, Loki was a force of nature — their greatest warrior.
But beside her, Gaban chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. He knew better. Giants always underestimated anything not of their kind. Even Ripley, for all her wisdom, could not strip away the ingrained pride of a giant's blood. She thought Rosinante was strong… but not strong enough.
"That's no reason to disrespect someone you've barely met, Ripley-san." I exhaled, calm and almost amused. "If there were a grudge, I'd understand. But I don't see his reason. I've only met Loki once before — during Linlin's tea party. The only connection I can imagine is Dora joining the Donquixote family, but even that doesn't seem to bother him much. His hostility… it's strange."
Gaban took a sip of tea, satisfied. He had successfully steered the conversation away from dangerous waters. The duel, the prince, the fate of Elbaph — all much safer territory than… that.
Or so he thought.
Ripley's eyes suddenly glimmered, her lips curling in a sly smile as she leaned forward. "That aside…" she said, sweetly venomous, "what was it you said earlier about Ya-san's… weird habits? I would very much like to know."
Gaban choked on his tea so violently he nearly spilled the cup. "Khh—!?"
A slow, mischievous grin spread across my face as I turned toward him. "Come now, Gaban-san. Back then, weren't you always telling everyone that secrets weren't meant to be kept… but shared freely?"
His brows furrowed, eyes widened and twitched, and his forehead glistened with sweat. For a moment, the legendary Mountain Eater looked less like a fearsome warrior and more like a man staring down his own execution. He half-rose from his chair, fists clenched, every muscle in his body screaming the urge to leap across the table and knock me unconscious before I could say more.
But then Ripley giggled.
It was a small sound, delicate, but to Gaban it may as well have been the toll of a death bell. Her gaze sharpened, hawk-like, pinning him where he sat. And in her eyes was a promise: If you interrupt again, if you try to wriggle out of this, you'll answer to me.
Gaban froze. Slowly, painfully, he lowered himself back into his chair, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, sweat dripping down his temple. Meanwhile, Ripley's eyes never left me, hungry for the truth.
And me? I simply sipped my tea, savoring every drop, drawing out the silence — letting Gaban stew in his torment. Because sometimes, revenge wasn't a sword. Sometimes, it was a story untold.
Well… this was sweet. A long-awaited revenge for all the times Scopper Gaban had beaten me black and blue whenever I so much as flicked Shanks or Buggy on the forehead.
Sure, I bullied them. We were kids, equals in age, and in my book that made it justified. But no — Gaban, the great protector, the terrifying mountain-eater, always had to swoop in like some guardian deity, cracking his knuckles and using me as a punching bag on their behalf.
And now? Years later? Here he sat, across from me at his table, shoulders slouched, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew. He understood. The brat he used to torment had finally grown, and now held the sharpest blade of all — secrets.
His secrets.
Ripley, ever the curious one, leaned closer. Her eyes shone with a warmth that reminded me of an older sister coaxing a story out of a younger sibling. "So tell me, Ross-kun… I can call you Ross-kun, right?"
I simply nodded, unbothered by the name, my gaze sliding toward Gaban as I scratched my chin thoughtfully. I dragged out the silence, savoring it, watching his one good eye twitch as he waited for the inevitable.
"There are many things I could tell you about Gaban-san's past," I said at last, my smile mischievous, knowing, cruel in the sweetest way. "The question is… what would you like to know, Ripley-san?"
Her brows knitted together in thought. Then her lips curved into a dangerous little smile — the kind that promised no mercy. "Tell me about Ya-san's… love adventures. From the time he sailed with Roger. He swore to me I was his first love… his only love. I've always wondered if that was true."
The temperature in the room dropped like an anchor. Gaban went rigid. His hand trembled on the teacup, and the faintest twitch pulled at his lips. Sweat beaded at his temple. The look on his face was the look of a man watching a noose being tied around his neck.
I almost pitied him. Almost.
"You… you wouldn't," he muttered under his breath, voice low, half curse, half prayer. "Ross… brat… don't you dare…"
But it was far too late. I leaned forward, voice deliberately soft, each word laced with venomous sweetness. "Ripley-san… have you ever heard of the Kuja Pirates?"
The effect was instant.
Gaban's jaw hit the floor. His face turned pale, then flushed crimson, then pale again. His fingers dug into the wood of the table so hard it creaked. His eye bulged in horror. "You bastard—!" he hissed, barely managing to contain his volume, mindful of the small boy still playing in the other room. "How the hell do you even know about that? You weren't even alive when—!"
He stopped short, realizing he'd just confirmed exactly what Ripley needed to know: there was something. Ripley's eyes widened, then narrowed into razor slits. Her gaze flicked from me to her husband, suspicion blooming into certainty. "Ya-san…" she said slowly, her voice deceptively calm. "You told me… I was your first."
Gaban choked on nothing, coughing violently, waving his hands as though he could physically swat away the words hanging in the air. "Wait—Ripley—it's not like that! It wasn't like that at all! That was a different time! I was young—stupid—reckless—!" He buried his face in his hands, muttering curses into his palms. "Damn it, Ross… damn it, brat… I should've left you in the dirt years ago…"
Meanwhile, I sat there, sipping my tea like the world's most satisfied man, savoring every drop of his misery. Revenge never tasted so sweet.
Ripley, of course, wasn't about to let go. "So it's true," she pressed, her voice gaining volume. "The Kuja Pirates… Amazon Lily… Gaban, what exactly did you do?"
Gaban slammed his fist on the table, rattling cups and plates. "NOTHING!" he shouted, then winced as Ripley's glare silenced him instantly. "Well—not nothing but—look, it was youthful folly! A mistake! I didn't mean anything by it!" His voice cracked as he tried to claw his way out of the hole he was sinking into. "Besides, it's not like they were interested in me! I was just—caught up in things! Wrong place, wrong time!"
But Ripley was already leaning closer, her hand gripping the table, her eyes blazing with the righteous fury of a woman discovering she'd only heard half of her husband's story. "Wrong place, wrong time?" she echoed, her voice dangerously sweet. "Tell me, Ya-san… how many wrong places? How many wrong times?"
I set my cup down gently, letting the silence stretch, enjoying the spectacle of Scopper Gaban — the great pirate, the fearsome warrior — reduced to a stammering wreck under his wife's gaze.
This wasn't just revenge. This was art.