Fishman Island, New World
The salty tang of the sea still clung to the seahorse fishman's gills as he dragged the cart across the coral-paved street, muscles aching from weeks of toil in the dark ocean trenches. Behind him, his crew of exhausted fishmen followed, fins frayed from the cold depths, scales marked with cuts from jagged rocks.
But their spirits had been high, their chatter lively. This load of freshly mined seastone ore was more than enough to feed their families, to barter for luxuries they never dreamed of before the Donquixote Family had come.
That hope died the moment they reached the trade post. The once-bustling coral arches of the Donquixote trade station were shuttered, the bright flags of commerce stripped away. Instead, Ryugu Kingdom's soldiers stood at the gates, spears crossed, their expressions hard as the seabed stone.
The fishman stopped short, sweat rolling down his face.
"Eh… what do you mean you're not taking them anymore?" His voice cracked as he jabbed a webbed finger toward the cart. "Do you even know how deep we had to dive for this?! A month! A month in the Black Abyss trenches, and you tell me now it's for nothing?!"
The soldier at the front shifted uncomfortably, but his grip on the spear didn't waver. "Orders from the palace. Trade with the Donquixote Family has been suspended indefinitely. Turn back."
The fishman's jaw dropped. Around him, more voices rose—other crews with carts of their own, laden with pearls, rare corals, shipwreck treasures, seastone. Dozens of fishmen families had gathered, all expecting their payday, all staring in disbelief at the locked station.
Suspended?
"What kind of joke is this?!" a shark-toothed fishman roared, his tail slamming against the ground hard enough to crack coral. "You think we do this for fun? Do you think the seabed feeds us by itself?!"
Another, a manta fishman with ragged scars across his chest, pushed forward, his eyes bloodshot. "Before Donquixote trade, my children starved on rotten kelp scraps! You think I'll just go back to that?! No! We demand answers!"
The soldiers didn't flinch, though unease flickered across their faces as the crowd swelled.
And it wasn't just this station. Word traveled quickly through the currents: the stations near the Fisherman's District—normally overflowing with goods and traders—were abandoned, their stalls bare. Even the ones within the safety of the kingdom, deep under Ryugu Castle's watchful coral towers, were shut down and sealed, soldiers standing guard like jailers at every corner.
The people felt it like a gut punch.
Before the Donquixote Family had opened their channels, poverty ruled these waters. Families scraping by on scraps, fighting over the smallest treasures dredged up from the seabed. The nobles of the kingdom had never cared much for the commoners' plight; the merchants of the surface world exploited them, giving nothing for the sweat and blood they spilled.
But then the Donquixote Family had come.
They paid fairly—generously. No cheating scales, no broken promises. Pearls fetched gold. Coral bought food. Seastone ores were treated like royal treasures. For once, it didn't matter who you were, noble or gutterborn—if you were willing to risk the depths, the Donquixote Family gave you wealth enough to live well.
And now, with no warning, it was gone. The voices of the mob grew louder, a cacophony echoing through the water like a rising storm.
"This is robbery!"
"My children depend on this trade!"
"You can't shut us down and say nothing!"
"Where's our king? Where's the truth?!"
The seahorse fishman slammed his hand against the cart, the clatter of seastone echoing like a drumbeat. "We gave our blood to fill these crates! And you tell us the deal's over, just like that?! We're not leaving until someone explains!"
The soldiers shifted uneasily, lines tightening as they lowered their spears. The mob pressed closer, webbed hands jabbing, fins thrashing in agitation. For every soldier, there were ten angry fishmen, their desperation boiling into fury.
A dolphin fishman in the back shouted above the din: "They don't want us to know! That's why they're silent! Something's happened between the Kingdom and Donquixote, and they think we're too stupid to deserve an answer!"
The crowd roared in agreement, pounding fists against coral walls, tails lashing currents that sent smaller fish scattering.
One soldier finally snapped, his voice sharp as his trident. "Enough! Orders are orders. The King decreed the suspension. We don't answer to you!"
The effect was like blood in the water.
"The King decreed?!" the manta fishman bellowed, veins bulging at his temples. "Does he feed my children? Does he dive the trenches for seastone?! No—it's us! We bleed, we drown, we fight the abyss! And now you spit on us!"
Another voice screamed: "If the Kingdom won't answer us, we'll take our answers ourselves!"
The mob surged forward. Soldiers braced, spears crossed, trying to hold the line, but the press of bodies grew overwhelming. Anger made the water heavy, thrumming with the fury of the oppressed. Mothers with empty baskets cried out, fathers clutched the hands of their hungry children, and all of them demanded the same thing:
"Tell us why!"
The coral streets shook with the chant, hundreds of voices rising in unison.
"Tell us why! Tell us why!"
For the first time, the proud soldiers of Ryugu Kingdom looked shaken. They had faced pirates, they had guarded kings, but the raw fury of their own people, united and desperate, was another matter entirely.
The seahorse fishman climbed atop his cart, raising a chunk of seastone high in his hand, his voice thundering over the mob:
"We worked for this! We risked our lives for this! We trusted the Donquixote Family because they gave us what our own Kingdom never did—honor for our labor! And now they take it away without a word?! No more silence! We demand the truth, or this whole island will hear our rage!"
The chant grew deafening, echoing through the coral towers, shaking the bubble that encased Fishman Island.
"No more silence! No more silence!"
The soldiers stood their ground, but sweat gleamed on their brows, and unease gnawed at their discipline. For all their spears and armor, they were outnumbered, outmatched by the tide of anger.
Above them, Fishman Island seemed to groan in warning. The coral spires swayed, and even the great whale-shaped dome above seemed to tremble with the voice of the people rising within it.
The plaza was on the verge of collapse. Thousands of fishmen pressed together, their voices crashing like waves, their anger boiling hot enough to shake the coral pillars of the central square. Soldiers struggled to hold them back, but the tide was ready to sweep them away.
And then… silence rippled through the chaos.
A massive vessel, its ornate hull shaped around the long, serpentine body of a giant oarfish, glided into view. Dozens of oars cut through the currents, pushing the grand carriage into the center of the plaza. Every fishman present froze. The banners of Ryugu Kingdom unfurled in the currents, unmistakable even at a distance.
"...That's the royal vessel," someone whispered.
The noise died almost instantly. Thousands of angry shouts fell into hushed murmurs. All eyes turned upward as the ship descended, carried on the backs of armored seahorses until it landed at the plaza's edge.
On deck, Queen Otohime stood with her delicate hands clenched against her chest, flanked by the Left Minister, who looked as though he might faint from worry.
"Your Majesty, please—this is reckless," he hissed under his breath. "We should return to the palace at once. I can send a missive to explain the suspension of trade… anything but this. It is too dangerous to face them here, unannounced! King Neptune does not even know you've come—"
But Otohime did not move. Her swollen eyes, puffed red from sleepless nights and endless tears, locked onto the sea of her people below. Her voice trembled, yet carried the weight of steel.
"They need to hear it from me, Minister. Not rumors, not palace decrees. Me."
Her gaze dropped towards the plaza, to the glass box secured on the edge of the plaza platform, filled with thousands of signatures—the petitions of her people who had believed in her dream, who had trusted her vision for the future. Their faith weighed heavier than any crown.
She turned back to the Minister, her voice breaking. "It was my foolishness that led to this. My weakness. My people suffer because of me. I will not hide behind Neptune or palace walls while they cry out for answers."
And before he could stop her, Queen Otohime stepped down from the vessel.
The soldiers who accompanied her formed a protective square around the base of the platform. The crowd shifted, a tense anticipation rising in their throats. For many here, the sight of their beloved Queen—frail, pale, yet radiating compassion—stirred their hopes. If anyone could fix this, it was her.
"Queen Otohime-sama!" a voice rang out, desperate and raw. A carp fishman, his scales dulled from exhaustion, shoved forward. "They've shut all the exchanges! They say the trade with the Donquixote Family is finished, by orders of the King! Please—tell us this isn't true! My family depends on this, we all do!"
Murmurs erupted like sparks in oil.
"Yes, Otohime-sama! We dive the trenches for weeks, but they refuse our goods!"
"My children go hungry again—tell us it's not permanent!"
"Why would His Majesty Neptune do this to us?!"
The square swelled with voices, pleading, demanding, shouting. All of them turned to her as if she carried the tide itself in her hands.
Otohime's lips trembled. She had prepared herself for this moment, rehearsed the words in her head countless times. But now, staring at the faces of her people—their hollow cheeks, their desperate eyes, their faith in her—her throat locked. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
Finally, she fell to her knees.
The collective gasp of the plaza was audible even in the water. Their Queen, bowing so low her forehead nearly touched the coral platform, her voice shaking with shame.
"My beloved people… forgive me. Forgive me for what I have done to you."
Silence. Then a ripple of confusion. The fishmen exchanged glances, brows furrowed.
"What… what do you mean?" someone asked.
Otohime's sobs broke through her words. "The Donquixote Family is not to blame for this. They have not abandoned you. It was I. I am the one responsible for the severing of our ties. This suffering, this emptiness you now feel—it is my doing, born of my own foolishness."
A stunned murmur swept the crowd.
"Her doing?"
"What does she mean?"
"How could she be the reason?"
The Left Minister paled. He rushed forward, voice low and urgent. "Your Majesty, enough! Do not go further—please! There is no need to drown them in specifics. Please… I am begging you to stop kneeling… Let's return to the palace."
But it was too late. The crowd had heard, and the seed of agitation grew into thorny vines.
"What are you saying, Queen Otohime?" a hammerhead fishman demanded, his deep voice cutting through the whispers. "This is not a temporary suspension? You… you mean the Donquixote Family has severed all ties with us completely?!"
The roar of protest was immediate. Shouts erupted, shaking the plaza to its core.
"Impossible!"
"Why would they abandon us now?!"
"What did you do, Otohime-sama?!"
The soldiers braced, hands tightening on their spears, as the mob pressed closer to the platform, their anger rekindled and doubled.
Otohime's voice cracked. She couldn't look up. Her hands pressed against the coral floor, trembling. "I entertained a pact… with the World Government. I thought it was for the benefit of our race. But in doing so, I undermined the trust the Donquixote Family placed in us."
The words hung in the water like poisoned ink, spreading dark tendrils into every ear.
A heavy silence. Then—
"You… what?!"
The crowd erupted into chaos. Thousands of voices crashed at once.
"She went behind their backs?!"
"After everything they gave us?!"
"You betrayed them?! For a promise from the government?!"
The Left Minister tried to speak, but his voice was drowned by the roaring waves of outrage. He cursed inwardly, thankful at least that the Queen had not revealed everything. If she admitted she had nearly stabbed the Donquixote Family in the back for empty promises from the World Government, there would be no containing this mob.
And then, another voice tore through the din.
"Why don't you tell us the whole truth, Queen Otohime? Or are you too ashamed to admit it?!"
The crowd parted as a sawfish fishman pushed forward, his spines bristling with fury. Soldiers moved to stop him, but he shoved against their spears, his glare fixed on the Queen.
"I already know what happened," he snarled. "I know because Arnold-san told me before he left. Don't play innocent now."
At the mention of the name, the crowd stilled.
"Arnold-san?"
"Where is Arnold-san?"
"It's true… I haven't seen him or his family in days."
The sawfish bared his jagged teeth. "That's right. Arnold-san—the Donquixote Family's man here, the one who always looked out for us fishmen, the one who gave us more than fair deals—even at his own loss. Where is he now? Gone. He and many families who followed him have already left this island. Because of what you did."
The plaza erupted once more, the rage now laced with betrayal.
"Gone?!"
"He left Fishman Island?!"
"Why would he leave unless—unless it's true?!"
Otohime's tears blurred her vision as she listened to the storm she had unleashed. Her heart clenched as she realized the depth of her sin—not only had she endangered the fragile ties with the humans she hoped to unite with, she had destroyed the one lifeline that had allowed her people to thrive.
And in the churning waters of the plaza, the tide of confusion and fury grew too strong to hold back. The crowd erupted into chaos.
"Our beloved queen sold the Donquixote family for a promise from the World Government… isn't that right, Otohime-sama!?"
The roar of the sawfish fishman cut like a blade through the plaza. His voice was ragged, not just with fury, but with heartbreak. His words echoed against the towering coral walls, bouncing back into the ears of thousands of fishfolk who stood frozen, their gills flaring, their hearts pounding.
He pointed an accusatory finger at the Queen, his teeth bared. "The same government that has lied to us for centuries, that has shackled us in chains, that has only spat down from their ivory towers—and you sold away the Donquixote family, the only humans who ever extended us a genuine hand? They treated us with decency, not prejudice. They traded with us fairly, when no one else would. They gave us dignity! And you… you traded their trust for nothing but hollow promises!"
The crowd gasped, a wave of confusion and disbelief sweeping across the plaza.
"Tell us this isn't true, Otohime-sama… tell us he's lying!" voices cried from below the platform. Their cries cracked with desperation, clinging to the hope that their queen—their beloved, gentle queen—would deny it.
But Otohime, who had been pulled back to her feet moments earlier, could not meet their eyes. She trembled, her lips parting, but no words came. The assurance they longed for never arrived.
And silence… was as loud as betrayal.
The sawfish fishman's voice shook as he pressed on. "Is this the future you envisioned for us? To watch our children starve again? To send us back to scavenging the sea floor for scraps? Is this what you wanted, Otohime-sama!?"
The Queen bowed her head, her tears falling freely. She could not defend herself. Not against the truth of their pain.
The Left Minister stepped forward, his arms wide, shielding the Queen. His voice thundered over the crowd. "Enough! Our kingdom has endured hardship long before the Donquixote family came to us. And we will endure even now! We do not—"
"Endure?!" the sawfish fishman snarled, his words venomous. His fury infected the air around him, fueling the others like wildfire. "Do you even know what that means? You royals who feast in plenty, who sleep in golden halls—do you know what it means to starve? To claw at the ocean floor for scraps? To bury children who never had enough to eat?"
The crowd roared in agreement, voices overlapping, growing louder and more frenzied. Murmurs became shouts. Shouts became curses.
The sawfish's eyes blazed as they fell upon the glass bin at the edge of the platform—the container filled with thousands of signed petitions, the very symbol of the Queen's dream. He kicked it with all his might, the glass shattering, scattering the fragile hopes of her people across the plaza like falling snow. Sheets of paper rained down, fluttering across the stones like abandoned prayers.
"Is this the dream you traded our future for?!" he roared, his chest heaving. He struck a flint, the spark catching instantly. In one savage motion, he flung it onto the pile of papers. The petitions ignited, flames devouring them hungrily. The fire danced high, licking the air, consuming the dream that had once united them.
The crowd snapped.
A raw seastone ore hurtled through the air, striking the platform with a crack. The first stone was like a trigger. Dozens more followed, then hundreds. The plaza erupted in chaos as the fishfolk, their despair now weaponized into rage, hurled everything they carried—ores, tools, broken shells, whatever they had brought from the seabed. The very treasures they had once traded for their livelihood were now missiles, flung at the very royalty they felt had betrayed them.
"Down with false dreams!"
"You betrayed us!"
"You doomed us all!"
The soldiers surged forward, their spears raised, fury burning in their eyes. "How dare you attack the Queen!?" one roared, ready to strike. But before blood could be spilled, a massive shadow loomed.
BOOM.
The ground shook as King Neptune himself landed heavily on the platform, his enormous trident stabbing into the stone with a thunderous crack. His body, towering and broad like a fortress, positioned itself between his Queen and the storm of projectiles.
Stones, ores, and debris slammed into his massive frame, bouncing off his scales, leaving bruises and cuts across his flesh. Yet he did not move. He stood, arms outstretched, shielding Otohime, shielding the Left Minister, shielding what was left of dignity.
The soldiers froze mid-charge as Neptune's voice erupted, shaking the very ocean.
"STAND DOWN, JAMON!" His voice was not a command—it was a roar of sorrow.
The plaza fell silent for a heartbeat, the echo of his voice reverberating like a wave crashing against the seabed. Then his words came again, softer, but heavy with grief.
"Do not punish them. Do not raise a weapon against them… For this anger is not theirs to bear—it is mine."
His chest heaved as another barrage of stones struck his shoulders and arms. He did not flinch.
"It was my failure as King that led us here! My failure to guide my Queen, my failure to safeguard our trust, my failure to protect the bond that had given you all hope. If you must curse someone, then curse me. If you must strike someone—" he spread his arms wider, blood trickling from a fresh gash on his arm— "strike me!"
The people's projectiles rained down, and Neptune bore them all. Each blow was an atonement, each bruise a confession. His towering frame never wavered, but his voice trembled with raw guilt.
"I swore to lead you to a brighter future… and instead, I led you into despair. If your rage demands a target, then let it be me, your King. For it was I who failed you!"
The sight was unbearable—one of the mightiest kings of the seas, reduced to a penitent shield, bloodied by his own people's anguish, yet refusing to lift a hand against them. His crown weighed heavier than it ever had, his trident no longer a weapon of power, but a symbol of his willingness to bear their fury.
And as the flames of the petitions rose higher, licking the sky like a funeral pyre for broken dreams, the fishfolk stared—some still hurling, some frozen mid-motion, their anger beginning to falter at the sight of their King's sacrifice.
King Neptune's roar carried through the plaza once more, not with authority, but with sorrow:
"Let me carry your hatred, your grief, your despair… for I am your King, Jamon!"