"That old hag…" Smoker grumbled, smoke curling lazily from his lips as he leaned against the railing of the merchant ship. "Sending me on errands around the island wasn't enough, now she wants me to sail halfway across the seas to fetch her luxuries…"
He exhaled a heavy plume, scowling at the endless blue horizon. "Hmph. At least it's better than doing her chores and listening to her constant nagging…"
Behind him, a soft sound broke the stillness.
"Cough… cough…"
Smoker turned slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. Standing there was a girl in her late teens—tall for her age, long pink hair cascading in neat strands, her posture prim and proper even in the salt-kissed wind. Her eyes were sharp, almond-shaped, and filled with a steel that betrayed her youth. Even now, dressed in simple travel clothes, she carried herself like someone born to command.
Her lips pressed into a firm line as her gaze locked onto him.
"Hina dislikes this."
Smoker raised an eyebrow, the cigar clamped between his teeth shifting as he muttered, "What?"
Hina crossed her arms, the bangles on her wrists clinking softly. "Hina dislikes people who smoke in public spaces. Hina dislikes idiots who choke others with their filthy habit."
Smoker grunted, turning back to the sea with exaggerated indifference. "Tch. Who cares what you dislike? Mind your own business, girl."
But Hina didn't back down. She stepped closer, her boots clicking against the wooden planks, her chin tilting upward so her eyes could meet his. "This is Hina's business when Hina is forced to breathe your smoke. Hina dislikes inconsiderate men."
Smoker's brow twitched, his teeth grinding slightly on the end of his cigar. He exhaled another stream of smoke deliberately, letting it drift between them. "Then don't breathe it. Simple."
Hina's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Hina swears… once Hina becomes a Marine, Hina will capture fools like you and lock them up for endangering others."
Smoker actually barked a laugh, the first real sound of amusement he'd made all voyage. He looked at her fully now, his scarred face split by a crooked grin. "Lock me up? For smoking? What kind of crime is that?"
"The crime," Hina shot back without hesitation, "is being an inconsiderate nuisance who pollutes the air Hina breathes. If there isn't a law for it now, then Hina will make one when she's an officer."
Smoker chuckled, low and rough, shaking his head as if this was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Tch… Marines making laws about cigars? That'll be the day."
But there was something about the fire in her tone, the utter lack of fear when facing down a stranger twice her size, that made him keep watching her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't bluffing. This girl believed every word she said.
And for the first time, Smoker didn't feel like grumbling. He felt… challenged.
The salty wind carried their standoff into silence, but in that silence, a spark had been lit. Neither knew it then, but the clash that began with a petty argument over smoke would one day forge a bond of iron.
"Little girl, you should probably stay away from that one…" the elderly navigator whispered as he hobbled to Hina's side. His voice was low, careful, his wrinkled eyes darting toward the broad-shouldered young man leaning against the railing, smoke curling around him like a serpent. "He's not the kind of person you want to be messing with."
The navigator's hands, weathered by decades of steering ships through storms and whirlpools, trembled slightly as he spoke. He'd seen men like that before—men who carried storms in their eyes and death in their silence. Monsters. He was already grateful that this one hadn't caused trouble since boarding. The boy didn't talk much, didn't mingle, just kept to himself, smoking like a chimney and staring out at the horizon. But the navigator's instincts screamed danger.
Hina, however, barely blinked. She acknowledged the man's words with a small nod, but her sharp pink eyes never left the figure by the railing. "Hina dislikes cowards who whisper instead of speaking their minds," she replied flatly, loud enough for Smoker to hear.
Smoker's brow twitched, but he didn't turn. Instead, he casually struck a match against the railing and lit another cigar, dragging in a long breath and letting the smoke roll out lazily into the sea breeze.
"Hina dislikes inconsiderate men even more," she pressed, marching up beside him, hands firmly on her hips. "You think just because you're tall and scary-looking you can do whatever you want? Hina will say it again—Hina dislikes this."
Smoker grunted, unbothered, eyes still locked on the waves. "Tch. Then look the other way, brat. The world doesn't bend for what you like or dislike."
"Wrong!" Hina snapped, stamping her foot. Her voice rang across the deck, startling a few sailors at their posts. "When Hina becomes a Marine officer, Hina will bend the world however she pleases! And the first thing Hina will do is lock up fools like you."
The crew froze, wide-eyed, waiting for the storm to break. The young man finally turned his head, cigar between his teeth, and smirked at her.
"Lock me up? For smoking? That's your grand idea of justice?" His voice dripped with mockery.
"Yes," Hina said firmly, arms crossing. "If there isn't a law yet, Hina will make one. Smoking on public decks—punishable by imprisonment."
Smoker barked out a laugh, deep and raw, his shoulders shaking. He turned back to the horizon, shaking his head as if this girl were the most ridiculous creature he'd ever met. "You're out of your mind."
But Hina wasn't done. Every time he took a drag, she exaggerated a cough. Every time he blew smoke, she waved her hand furiously in front of her face. At one point, she even tried to pluck the cigar from his mouth, only for him to snatch it back and glare at her with a growl.
"Persistent little pest…" he muttered under his breath, biting down on the cigar again.
"Hina is not a pest. Hina is justice!" she fired back immediately, puffing her chest with pride.
The crew looked on in stunned disbelief. Nobody dared go near the man with the scarred face and the cold, predator's gaze—but this slip of a girl stood inches away from him, unflinching, scolding him like he was some wayward schoolboy.
And Smoker, to everyone's surprise, wasn't throwing her overboard. What none of them knew, what none of them could know, was that this young man's presence aboard their humble ship was nothing short of a miracle. His name alone could have emptied every berth in panic.
For though he was only twenty, he already bore a bounty far surpassing most so-called "supernovas" of the seas. A monster in the making, marked by the World Government as a danger greater than most pirates thrice his age.
But Smoker wasn't worried. If Marine intelligence had picked up his trail in the first half of the Grand Line, the family would have warned him long before the news reached Marine Headquarters. And besides, he wasn't here to cause trouble. Not unless trouble came looking for him.
For now, trouble had pink hair, a sharp tongue, and the audacity to challenge him over a cigar. And for reasons Smoker couldn't quite name… that amused him more than it annoyed him.
"Hina…" the pink-haired girl started again, her voice carrying that stubborn edge she had wielded since the first time she scolded him for smoking.
But Smoker didn't reply. His eyes narrowed, his jaw stiff around the cigar as a faint tremor in the air brushed against his senses. To most it was nothing — the wind tugging at the sails, the groan of timbers, the crash of waves. Yet to him, through the sharpened lens of his Observation Haki, it was clear as day.
A presence. No — several. Shadows lurking just beyond the line of the rocky shoals to the east. Intentions sharp, hungry, and vile. They were drawing closer with predatory precision, cloaked by the geography of the sea.
His fingers tapped idly against the railing, feigning indifference even as his haki stretched wider, brushing against the bloodlust of dozens. They had already trained their guns on the merchant vessel. The timing was meticulous, the ambush inevitable.
The sea was calm only a moment ago, golden light flickering across its surface, the ship creaking gently as if in slumber. Then—
BOOM!
The calm shattered. The merchant ship screamed as the ocean exploded at its aft, the thunder of cannon fire ripping through the air. Plumes of spray towered skyward, the deck shuddering as though the sea itself had risen to strike them down.
"PIRATES!" The cry from the crows' nest carried a terror that no wind could scatter. The deckhand clung to the mast, spyglass trembling in his hands as his eyes widened. "Three ships! Three pirate galleons to starboard! Hidden behind the rocks!"
The horizon, once serene, now surged with black sails cresting the waves. The ships cut through the waters like sharks scenting blood, their prows sharp, their decks bristling with rows of cannons that gleamed cruelly in the dying sunlight. The wind was at their backs, carrying them forward with vicious momentum.
The merchant vessel, though sturdy, was built for trade and survival—not speed. Outrunning them was a fool's dream.
The deck pitched hard as another cannonball slammed into the sea, close enough to spray saltwater over the crew. A few unlucky passengers screamed, clinging to the rails or tumbling across the boards. Hina staggered, her pink hair whipping wildly in the wind. The deck tilted sharply under her feet—too sharply. She lost balance, her arms flailing as the railing came dangerously close.
But a hand like iron caught her wrist. Smoker.
In one smooth, unhesitating motion, he pulled her back and tossed her to safety, as though she weighed nothing more than a sack of grain. She landed hard on the deck, coughing, heart hammering, her eyes darting up in shock to thank him—
But he was already gone. No trace of the broad-shouldered young man remained on the deck.
For the briefest moment, disappointment flickered in her chest. She had thought him different—someone fearless. Yet, as chaos spread, she imagined him slinking below deck with the rest of the civilians, hiding in the darkness while others faced steel and fire. Her jaw tightened. So be it.
If the men failed, if that supposed "monster" had no courage, then Hina would not falter. Because she knew exactly what pirates did to girls like her.
"ALL HANDS, TO BATTLE STATIONS!" The ship's captain roared as he stormed onto the deck. He was a burly man in his fifties, his sea-weathered face carved with scars and salt, his voice carrying over the thunder of cannon fire. "Passengers, below deck! Sailors, bring out the crates! Roll out the cannons! This ship doesn't roll over and die—we fight!"
The deck erupted into motion.
Two men wrestled with a pair of heavy wooden crates, hauling them up and prying them open. Inside lay rows of cutlasses, ancient rifles, and even a few crossbows—old, but well-maintained. They weren't soldiers, but this ship had prepared for such nightmares. Another group scrambled to the gunports, rolling out the emergency cannons, their wheels thundering against the planks. With hurried hands, they loaded iron shot and powder, sweat dripping into their eyes.
"Fire when ready!" the captain barked.
The merchant ship growled to life. Cannons boomed from her belly, smoke belching from the ports as the first volley of iron screamed across the waves. The balls whistled past, splashing against the hulls of the pirate ships, some bouncing harmlessly off their reinforced prows. But one struck true, splintering wood and drawing a howl of rage from the enemy crew.
Cheers rose from the merchant sailors, though their voices were strained, their fear thinly veiled. They were merchants, not warriors—but tonight, they would fight like lions.
Hina pushed herself to her feet, her chest heaving as she stared at the frenzied defense. Men armed themselves with rusty cutlasses, others with muskets that looked older than their fathers, and still more grabbed anything sharp at hand—belaying pins, fish-gutting knives, even broken planks. The smell of powder filled the air, acrid and heavy, mingling with the salt spray and the rising stench of fear.
The ship groaned again as another pirate volley raked the water, cannonballs slicing dangerously close. One tore through the sail, fabric ripping apart with a deafening crack. Hina clenched her fists. She couldn't stand by. She wouldn't.
She sprinted toward the captain, who was overseeing the defense with calm but grim determination, his cutlass gleaming at his side.
"Captain!" she called, breathless but fierce. "Give me a weapon. I'll fight."
The man turned sharply, his weathered eyes narrowing. "What are you doing above deck, girl? Get below before you're cut in half!"
"Hina is not afraid!" she shot back, chest swelling with conviction. "If pirates take this ship, Hina knows what happens to girls like her. Hina would rather die fighting than cower like prey."
The captain froze. For a heartbeat, he saw not a girl—but a spark. The fire of someone who would rather burn out than be broken. His heart clenched. She was too young, far too young, but he knew the truth of her words. If those pirates boarded, her fate would indeed be far crueler than any blade or cannonball.
His hesitation lasted only a moment. Then, with a grim nod, he reached into the crate beside him and pulled out one of the better rifles—polished wood, oiled steel. He pressed it into her hands, along with a pouch of powder and rounds.
"Keep it steady. Aim for their deck, not the sea." His voice was gruff but not unkind. Then he unsheathed a cutlass, sharp and gleaming. He handed it over as well, the blade far too large for her frame but deadly all the same. "If they board… use this. And don't hesitate."
Hina's small hands gripped the rifle, the weight of it pulling her arms down for a moment. But her resolve steadied her. She slung the pouch across her shoulder and took the cutlass in her other hand. The steel gleamed against the setting sun, a promise of defiance.
She nodded, her voice firm. "Hina will not hesitate."
The captain gave her one last look—half pity, half respect—before turning back to his crew. "READY THE NEXT VOLLEY!"
The air trembled with cannon fire once more, iron tearing across the sea as the merchant ship fought tooth and nail to hold its ground. The pirates drew ever closer, their own cannons barking in fury, their decks swarming with men wielding hooks, muskets, and blades. The ocean boiled with the violence of iron and fire.
And amidst it all, Hina stood with weapon in hand, her young heart pounding, her resolve steeled. She had no idea where the strange young man had vanished, nor what storm he carried within him. But as the waves raged and the pirates closed in, she knew one thing: if this ship was to fall, it would not fall without her.
The air hung thick with gunpowder smoke, every breath carrying the sting of ash and salt. For half an hour the ocean had thundered with the relentless roar of cannon fire as the merchant ship traded desperate volleys against three predator galleons. The defenders had fought bravely, their borrowed cannons belching fire, but the truth was cruel and undeniable — this ship was built for trade, not war.
Another deafening blast split the air. A chain shot howled across the waves like some iron banshee and slammed into the mainmast with a sickening crack. Timber screamed. The mast shuddered, split, then collapsed with a groan that shook the very bones of the vessel. Men scrambled, ropes snapped, and sails crashed into the deck in a tangled shroud.
"Damn it all!" the merchant captain cursed, his weathered face grim as the mast's remains smoldered. "She's crippled… we won't outrun them now."
His first mate, pale beneath the grime, asked breathlessly, "What do we do, Captain?"
The captain's jaw tightened. He had seen this before — the chase always ended this way when prey lacked teeth sharp enough to bite back. He raised his voice above the din. "Signal flares! Fire them into the sky! There's a base not far from this route — if fortune hasn't abandoned us entirely, a Marine patrol will see it!"
The first mate snatched a flare gun from a crate and scrambled to the rail. With shaking hands, he fired three bursts of crimson flame into the evening sky. They arced high, trailing sparks before exploding into blood-red blossoms above the battlefield.
The crew on deck glanced up for only a heartbeat, hope flickering in their eyes — then another cannonball screamed across the waters, tearing through the aft railing.
From high above, perched in the crowsnest whose rightful occupant had long since abandoned his post, Smoker watched it all unfold. The chaos below played out in stark detail beneath the young man's sharp gaze. His observation haki painted the battlefield with clarity no human eye could match — the trembling heartbeats of frightened sailors, the steady pulse of Hina's resolve, the hungry rhythm of the pirates closing in.
He drew on his cigar, the tip glowing like an ember against the darkening sky, and exhaled a slow plume of smoke. The corner of his mouth curled into a faint grimace.
"Idiots," he muttered. "Clinging to hope that Marines will swoop in like saviors. Don't they know? No one's coming to save them..."
Yet his eyes lingered on the pink-haired girl. Hina. She was small, fragile compared to the hardened men around her, yet her spirit burned brighter than most. Smoker had once been like her — naïve, convinced that justice carried weight in a world ruled by monsters. But those years were long gone.
The pirate ships cut through the surf like wolves closing on a stag. Grappling hooks flew, biting into the railings with metallic clanks. Ropes went taut as planks were shoved across. The clash was inevitable.
"Stand your ground!" the captain bellowed. "Load muskets! Arm yourselves, lads — for your lives!"
The deck became a storm of motion. Sailors hauled out muskets and crossbows, blades long-rusted from disuse, and braced themselves by the rail. The smell of powder filled the air again as a ragged volley erupted, musket fire answering the pirates' battle cries.
And among them stood Hina. Her shoulder rose and fell with controlled breath as she lifted the rifle the captain had entrusted her. She sighted down the barrel, lips pressed tight. Then, bang. A pirate climbing the ropes screamed as the shot tore through his thigh, sending him crashing into the waters below.
Reload. Aim. Bang. Another man howled, dropping his cutlass as his arm went limp. Every shot struck true. Her hands were steady, her eye unerring. But she aimed to maim, not kill. Her heart recoiled from taking life, even when it was hers in danger.
The men around her saw it — her precision, her fearlessness. The sight of a teenage girl standing shoulder to shoulder with them, taking down pirates twice her size, lit a fire in their hearts. Cheers erupted between volleys. They rallied around her, voices rising, courage fanned into flame by her defiance.
But courage could not change numbers. The pirates swarmed like locusts, their bloodlust unchecked. More grapples, more planks. Dozens poured onto the deck, blades flashing, muskets roaring. The merchant crew fought desperately, blades clashing, bodies slamming into one another in chaos. The cries of the wounded rose into the night.
Hina's rifle cracked again and again, each shot deliberate, measured — until the barrel clicked empty. A cutlass was pressed into her free hand, and she didn't hesitate. She slashed, parried, stumbled, then rose again, her shoulder screaming in pain as a pirate's sword nicked flesh. Blood stained her blouse, yet she stood firm.
But the tide was too strong.
One by one the sailors fell. Muskets clattered to the floor, cutlasses were wrenched from trembling hands. The deck ran slick with blood and seawater. The last volley fired into the pirates' ranks was drowned out by a war cry as the enemy surged over the defenders like a wave.
And then… silence. The survivors and even the ones below deck were forced to their knees, bound at the wrists, the deck around them littered with splintered wood and fallen men.
The pirate captain strode forward, boots thudding heavily on the blood-stained planks. He was a giant of a man, his beard matted with sweat, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. He laughed, a sound like gravel grinding.
"Not bad," he sneered, glancing at the bodies of his fallen. "Four dozen of my men cut down by a bunch of sailors and passengers. Heh… but I see why now."
His gaze fell on Hina. The girl knelt, bruised and bloodied, her right arm limp at her side where a blade had pierced her shoulder. One eye was swollen near shut, her lip split. And yet — her chin remained high, her spirit unbroken.
The captain crouched, his massive hand gripping her jaw, forcing her face up toward his leer. "Such fire… for one so young. You'll make an excellent salt wife."
Hina's eyes, sharp even through the pain, burned with disgust. And then, with all the strength she could muster, she spat in his face. The deck went still. The crew, the bound sailors, even the circling pirates froze for a heartbeat, the audacity of the act echoing louder than cannon fire.
The captain's grin faltered, a vein pulsing in his temple as he wiped the spit slowly from his cheek.
"You've got spirit, girl," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "Let's see how long it lasts."
From above, Smoker exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing.
"Tch. She's either braver than sense allows… or she's just as reckless as me."
And for the first time since the ambush began, the young man's hand drifted toward the hilt of his jitte.
The pirate captain's grin widened as he loomed over the bloodied girl. He enjoyed this part — the silence before breaking a captive's spirit, the sickening anticipation that always hung heavy in the air. His thick, calloused thumb traced her jawline, his breath foul with rum as he whispered mockingly.
But then—
"Captain!" a voice cracked from the starboard rail. The interruption was sharp, urgent.
The captain snarled, whipping his head toward the fool who dared distract him. "What is it, you dog—?"
The words died in his throat.
On the horizon, cutting through the dusk like a blade of ivory and steel, loomed a Marine battleship. Its hull was pristine white, its sails billowing with the insignia of justice. The vessel was no lumbering merchant craft — it was war-forged, bristling with rows of black iron cannons and gleaming with disciplined order. Its bow crashed through the waves with unrelenting momentum, the setting sun behind it casting the ship in a halo of molten gold, as though justice itself had descended upon the seas.
The sight froze the pirates. Their jeers turned to murmurs, then to curses as realization spread. It was too late to flee. With their grappling lines tangled, their planks deployed, and the merchant ship's mast collapsed, escape would be suicide.
The pirate captain's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he calculated, the cruel amusement in his face replaced with a razor's edge of focus.
On the ruined merchant ship's deck, battered survivors raised their heads. The captain of the merchant crew, slumped against the mast stump with his left arm crudely bandaged by a mocking pirate, squinted through sweat and blood. His right sleeve was soaked crimson, the bandage barely holding against the steady drip of his severed stump. His breathing was ragged, his skin pale, but when his gaze caught the approaching Marine battleship, a hoarse laugh escaped his cracked lips.
"Heh… about damn time," he wheezed, forcing himself upright despite the agony that lanced through him. "Justice sails… at last…"
The sailors around him stirred, hope flaring in their tired eyes. Men who moments ago had slumped in despair now lifted their heads, whispers spreading like wildfire.
"The Marines…"
"We're saved…"
"They'll drive these bastards into the sea—"
Even Hina, her body battered and one arm limp at her side, felt her chest swell as she saw the symbol painted on those sails. Her swollen eye shimmered with renewed light. For a heartbeat, she looked every bit the future Marine she dreamed to become — a girl who had found faith in the embodiment of justice.
The pirates, however, bristled like cornered wolves. Some snarled, gripping their blades tighter, while others cast nervous glances at the sea, as though weighing whether to dive into the depths and take their chances.
The pirate captain spat to the side, his face twisting into a grimace. "Damn Marines… they always show up when the fun begins." He released Hina's chin with a shove that nearly sent her sprawling. Straightening, he raised his voice, sharp and commanding. "Stand firm, you dogs! One ship won't stop us! We've bloodied worse than Marines before!"