Far from the trade routes, in the middle of an endless stretch of ocean, a lonely shard of land jutted out of the waves — little more than a jagged rock crowned by a patch of sand and seaweed. It was the kind of place no map bothered to mark, a forgotten islet adrift in the blue immensity.
Upon it sat a lone figure.
Jinbei, far younger than the man who would one day be hailed as the Knight of the Sea, rested with his legs crossed, his massive frame rising and falling with the rhythm of his deep breaths. Salt clung to his skin, his gills flaring faintly as he exhaled. He had swum for days, threading the ocean's veins to reach this place — no ship beneath his feet, no crew at his side. Only the ocean had carried him, vast and unyielding.
Beyond the horizon lay the waters of the Donquixote Family. Their dominion stretched like a shadow across these seas, their influence both feared and loathed. To wander into their territory on a vessel was to invite death. The wreckage of countless ships bore silent testimony — hulls split, masts charred, crews erased without a trace.
It was no exaggeration to call it a graveyard.
Jinbei had heard the whispers: that the Donquixote Family wielded weapons unlike anything the seas had known, beams of energy that could incinerate a ship adrift before its crew had time to scream. Even the World Government gave those waters a wide berth.
That was why he had chosen the sea itself. The deep was his armor, its currents his shield. If their cannons spat fire at him, the water would swallow the blasts before they reached his body. And if he needed to vanish, no machine could outpace a fishman in his element.
Still, the journey weighed on him. He sighed, lowering his gaze to the rippling waves.
Tiger-nii…
His thoughts pulled him back to Fisher Tiger, the man who had been more than a captain — a brother, a guide, the blazing sun the Sun Pirates orbited around. Tiger had left the crew in Jinbei's care, his words sparse but heavy.
"There's something I must do. Something only I can do. I may not return."
No further explanation. No details, no reassurance. Just that. Jinbei's fists tightened on his knees. He had not told the others. The crew believed their captain had gone to see to some matter, that he would return soon with the same warmth in his eyes and the same laughter on his lips. Jinbei had let them believe it. To tell them the truth would mean shattering what little certainty they had left.
But Jinbei carried that weight alone. He bore it like an anchor chained to his chest.
The sea breeze tugged at his short, bristling hair. His eyes traced the line where the horizon blurred into the sky, a faint shimmer where the Donquixote family's true home lay, Dressrosa. Every instinct told him to turn back. That no good could come of venturing into the dominion of monsters whom even the world government seemed to fear.
But he had no choice. The safety and future of their entire fishmen race demanded it. The Sun Pirates lay hidden far behind him, outside the reach of Donquixote weapons. He had sworn he would protect them in Tiger's absence, and to do that, he had to brave these waters himself, alone.
Another sigh rumbled in his throat, heavier this time, his tusked jaw clenching as memories of Tiger burned in his mind.
"You carried us this far… and left me your dream to protect. How am I supposed to keep it alive when you might already be gone?"
The sea gave no answer. Only the waves lapping against the rock, and the cry of gulls circling overhead. For the first time in his life, Jinbei felt the vastness of the ocean not as freedom, but as loneliness.
And yet, beneath it all, the fire still smoldered. The will Tiger had lit within him. Whatever awaited in those cursed waters — whether death, torture, or the wrath of the Donquixote Family — Jinbei would endure it. For the crew. For his brother. For the sun that still shone behind the clouds of doubt.
"You are bold," my voice cut through the sea breeze like a blade of frost — soft, almost gentle, yet carrying with it an edge that made the air itself shiver. "To step into our waters, knowing full well the kind of hostility our two sides hold."
Jinbei froze.
He hadn't sensed a thing. Not a ripple of intent, not the faintest hint of presence. And yet, there I stood — close enough that the sand between us bore both our shadows. For a fishman, a warrior whose instincts had been sharpened in the brutal gutters of Fishman District where ambush meant survival, such a lapse was unthinkable. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. He had been caught completely off guard.
Jinbei launched himself forward without a backward glance, every muscle coiled with instinct rather than thought. His hands moved in a blur, the practiced forms of Gyojin Karate already flowing into an attack before his mind had even registered the intruder's face. The sea surged behind him, ankle-deep water lapping at his calves as though awaiting his command. With a guttural roar that carried the weight of both defiance and desperation, he struck — not caring who or what stood before him, only that it would be crushed beneath the might of the ocean at his back.
The sea at his back surged as he roared, instinct overpowering thought.
"Gyojin Karate Ōgi: Buraikan!"
The ocean obeyed his command, rising like a wrathful dragon. A torrent of water thick as a fortress wall surged forth, its roar deafening, a strike that could obliterate a war galleon as though it were driftwood. The air itself trembled under its weight, sea spray scattering like shattered glass under moonlight.
And yet—
"…Gyojin Karate, is it?" My chuckle was almost bored, my feet planted firmly into the sand. I raised my fist slowly, lazily, as though the very concept of danger had no meaning. "It's been a while since I practiced it myself."
Jinbei's eyes widened. That stance—
"Karakusagawara Seiken."
The words left my lips like a verdict. My fist, simple and unhurried, drove forward. The air detonated. Ripples spread outward like concentric rings, and then the world itself seemed to fracture. Jinbei's roaring dragon of seawater froze mid-lunge, its body unraveling under the invisible quake of my strike. In the span of a heartbeat, his overwhelming torrent was reduced to nothing — vapor, spray, and silence.
Jinbei's chest tightened with disbelief. Impossible…! That was my strongest form…! No human—
But his thought was cut short as the shockwave ripped through what remained of his attack and slammed into him like a divine hammer. The force tore him off his feet, lifting his massive body clean into the air as though he were no more than driftwood. Pain exploded across his ribs, the breath ripped from his lungs as he sailed helplessly backwards.
He hit the sea with a thunderous splash.
The ocean should have been his sanctuary. Its depths his shield, its currents his allies. The instant his body touched water, Jinbei's instincts screamed one thing— Dive! Dive deep! Escape while you can!
But before he could sink so much as a hand's breadth, the world changed.
A pulse spread from me, unseen but undeniable. Haki — overwhelming, absolute, merciless. It poured outward like an invisible tide, and even the sea itself bent beneath its weight.
The water, Jinbei's eternal home, no longer embraced him. It became heavy, suffocating, solid. His body felt pinned in liquid iron. His limbs strained, his gills flared desperately, but not even his fishman strength could move him an inch deeper. The ocean that had always obeyed him now belonged to another.
And finally, his eyes lifted. He saw my face. Standing on that lonely scrap of land, posture relaxed, as though the clash had been nothing more than a passing distraction, was a young man with golden blonde hair stirring faintly in the breeze. Calm eyes, cold yet steady, looked down on him with the weight of inevitability.
Donquixote Rosinante. Jinbei's heart sank.
This wasn't strength. This was something beyond. A human — wielding Gyojin Karate with a mastery that dwarfed even his own. A human — whose very will smothered the sea itself, rendering the home of fishmen into a prison.
For the first time in years, Jinbei felt helpless. And in that helplessness, as he hung suspended in the water like prey caught in a net, he understood one truth with terrifying clarity. Against this man, even the ocean offered no escape.
I shifted my stance, one hand carving through the air in a smooth arc while the other snapped forward with sharp precision. The sea answered at once, as though my will was its command.
"Gyojin Karate: Kaibyaku Hashira!"
The water behind Jinbei erupted with a deafening roar, coalescing into a towering column that twisted upward like a serpent uncoiling from the abyss. The surge struck him square in the back, not to crush, but to carry — hurling his massive frame skyward with unstoppable force. The ocean itself became my lasso, launching him from its embrace and onto the small patch of land where I waited.
"Cough…! Cough…!" Jinbei hacked violently, seawater spilling from his mouth in ragged bursts as his chest heaved. Each breath tore at his throat like fire, his gills flaring wide in a frantic attempt to draw in air. He rolled onto his side, sprawled across the wet sand, the remnants of the ocean he once commanded dribbling from his lips — no longer a master of the sea, but a fishman nearly drowned in it.
"You are either brave… or truly foolish, Jinbei-san."
My voice carried across the salt-heavy air, calm yet cold enough to sink into the marrow. "Or perhaps it isn't your courage at all. Perhaps it is Fisher Tiger, pushing his luck, thinking we would spare you for the sake of what once bound us. Was it recklessness that brought you here… or arrogance?"
I took a step forward, each word falling heavier than the last.
"Did you think my brother jested when he declared your entire race an enemy to the Donquixote family? Every fishman outside our banner is marked as hostile. If it had been anyone else attempting to slither through our waters, their bones would already be resting at the bottom of the sea."
The air thickened as I spoke, not with hatred, not even with anger — but with something far more suffocating: neutrality. A merciless, detached neutrality that weighed on Jinbei's chest more than any grudge could. The truth was clear in my gaze. The only reason he was still drawing breath was because he was Jinbei.
I had not intended to cross paths with Jinbei today. My course had been set elsewhere — toward Garp and Kuzan, who were even now making their way into Donquixote waters. But midway, Shyarly's message reached me. A fishman, unaligned with us, had been spotted attempting to slip into our territory. A trespasser. A fool.
So, I made a detour. And here he was. Jinbei. Sitting on a scrap of rock adrift in the middle of our domain, resting as though the sea itself would shelter him. I regarded him quietly, letting the weight of silence press in before my words finally broke it.
"Tell me, Jinbei-san… what should I do with you?" My tone was even, void of heat, yet it cut deeper than a blade. "Your people seem to mistake our mercy for weakness at every turn. Or was our message not clear enough for the fishfolk of Fishman Island?"
Jinbei exhaled heavily, a sigh that carried the sound of resignation. He straightened his back, sitting properly on the sand, his massive frame seeming smaller under the burden of inevitability. He knew there was no escape. To fight here would be to die. But still, he had something left to try — a duty heavier than his own life. If this was his fate, then so be it. At the very least, he would bear it alone.
"Rosinante-kun…" Jinbei's voice was steady, though his gills flared faintly with the tension coiled in his chest. "The fishmen had no involvement in this. This was my decision, mine alone. I came not with hostility, but only to ask for a chance… to speak. If there is punishment to be had, let it fall upon me. Not upon the Sun Pirates. Not upon Fishman Island."
I studied him in silence. His resolve was real — of that, there was no doubt. At length, I sighed.
"Very well. You make a point. I cannot punish an entire island for your own reckless impulse." My gaze sharpened, cold and unyielding. "But answer me this, Jinbei-san. Since the day the Donquixote family allied with the Ryugu Kingdom, have we ever treated you with anything less than sincerity? Tell me true—was there ever a moment when we betrayed that trust?"
Jinbei's lips parted, but no answer came. Instead, his mind dragged him back to a memory burned deep into his bones. He remembered the square. Fishman District to Ryugu Palace had shuddered on that day.
The plaza was packed shoulder to shoulder with merfolk and humans alike, the air thick with dread. He remembered the ship — a Donquixote vessel — whose crew had grown bold, drunk on arrogance and greed. They had tried to snatch mermaids from the street like wares to be sold, confident that their banner would shield them.
But the Donquixote family had answered. Not with apologies. Not with excuses. With blood.
Every last man of that crew had been dragged into the plaza. And there, before the eyes of fishmen and humans both, they were butchered. Flayed alive, their screams echoing across the coral towers. Their severed heads, mounted high on spikes, dripped red into the cobblestones. Even those who had not lifted a hand in the crime — the ones who merely stood by and watched — were executed without hesitation. Complicity was guilt. Silence was guilt.
Jinbei had watched, wide-eyed, the square trembling under the storm of violence. It was not justice. It was not mercy. It was a message. The Donquixote family had declared, in blood and terror: Fishman Island is under our protection and our allies'. To touch them is to die.
And the world had believed it. From that day forward, no pirate nor any ackey flying the Donquixote flag dared look at a mermaid with hunger. Even whispers — those quiet grumblings of discontent from within the Donquixote pirate crew itself, men who sneered at the notion of treating fishfolk as equals — had been silenced. They were hunted down, one by one, dragged into the open, and made into examples.
It was brutal. It was merciless. But it was also sincerity, in its purest, most terrifying form.
Even among the fishmen, voices had murmured with awe. For all their brutality, the Donquixote family had done what no treaty, no promise, no empty words of humans had ever done before: they had kept their word. They had spilled their own blood to uphold their bond. And in that unflinching cruelty, a strange kind of respect had taken root.
Jinbei shuddered faintly as the memory ebbed, his eyes downcast. The image of severed heads dripping onto the plaza stones had never left him. Not in all these years.
He looked back up at me, and his voice was quiet. "No… Rosinante-kun. Never once did you betray us."
I let his words linger in the air for a long, drawn-out silence. The sea breeze carried only the sound of waves breaking against the rock, as though the ocean itself waited for my judgment.
Finally, I spoke.
"Then you understand," I said evenly, my voice calm but edged with steel. "When we forge bonds, we do not treat them as ornaments. They are not promises to be broken when convenient. They are iron. They are blood."
I stepped closer, the sand crunching faintly under my boots.
"That day in the plaza — when our own men dared dishonor the pact with Fishman Island — we carved the lesson into their flesh. Not because we wished to please the fishfolk. Not because it was good. But because betrayal, in any form, cannot be allowed to take root within the Donquixote family. If we would punish our own with such brutality, Jinbei-san…" My eyes narrowed, glinting with a quiet, merciless certainty. "…then you should know what awaits those outside of it."
The weight of my words pressed down, not in rage, but in simple truth. Neutral. Unflinching.
Jinbei felt it in his bones. This was the price of sincerity. The Donquixote family did not deal in half-measures. An ally was a brother, sheltered beneath their iron wing. An enemy was carrion, bones for the tide. And there was no middle ground.
His throat tightened, though he forced himself to hold my gaze. He had walked here knowing the danger. Knowing that a single misstep could doom not only himself but the fragile thread of trust his people had left.
Jinbei clenched his fists, the coarse sand grinding into his palms. His jaw tightened, words dragging out of him like anchors from the deep.
"Rosinante-kun…" His voice was low, gravelly, yet heavy with sincerity. "I do not deny your sincerity. Nor can I deny the fact that it was us who betrayed that trust. But perhaps… there was more to the truth behind why Otohime-sama did what she did."
His eyes darkened, storm clouds of conflict churning within them. "…Perhaps she feared what that sincerity costs. For to stand with you is safety… but to falter, even for a moment, is annihilation."
For a heartbeat, I was silent. Then a sharp laugh tore from me, cutting through the sea breeze like broken glass. It was not warm laughter — it was hollow, biting, merciless.
"So that's what we're calling it now?" My smile was cold, my tone sharper than the edge of a blade. "Forging a bond — an act of convenience? A shield to hide behind when it suits you, and a burden to be discarded when it does not?"
I stepped closer, the sand shifting under my boots, my presence pressing down on him with the weight of a storm.
"Your ancestors would roll in their graves if they heard this pathetic excuse to spare your queen of blame. Your race held onto a promise for centuries — because it was a pact, because it was sacred. And you, Jinbei-san, a man of honor, would cheapen that into convenience? No. You are better than this. Don't lower yourself just to cover for another's mistake."
Jinbei's face hardened, but guilt still flickered in his eyes — guilt I could read as clearly as words on a page. My Observation Haki laid his soul bare before me. He wanted to protect Otohime, to frame her decision as naivety rather than betrayal. He clung to the idea that she had acted only for the future of her people. Noble, perhaps. But betrayal is still betrayal.
"She knew," I said, voice flat, unyielding. "Otohime knew exactly what it meant when she entertained that offer from the World Government. She chose to weigh our trust against her dream. Tell me, Jinbei — is that how trust works among your kind? Is it something built on convenience? Something to barter with when a brighter path is dangled before you?"
Jinbei flinched, his broad shoulders tensing. "Rosinante-kun… maybe… maybe she was overwhelmed. Maybe she feared—"
I cut him off with a raised hand, my words slicing through his defense before he could shame himself further.
"Listen to yourself, Jinbei. You still don't understand." My voice dropped, calm and heavy, the way waves sound before they break upon the rocks. "The Ryugu Kingdom broke our trust. That fact cannot be changed, no matter how many excuses you paint it with."
I took a step forward, the pressure of my presence bearing down like the sea itself.
"And Neptune… Neptune came to Dressrosa afterward. Do you know why? Not because he felt guilty. Not because he wished to atone. He came because he feared for his wife's life. He feared what we would do if the truth reached us through our own channels. He came from fear, not honor. Even now, not one of you has come forth to sincerely admit your mistakes. Not one of you has looked us in the eye and accepted blame. Not Neptune. Not your queen. Not even you, Jinbei-san."
I leaned closer, my voice dropping into a whisper sharp enough to cut flesh.
"You are only here because of what you fear might happen if we truly turn hostile toward Fishman Island. Not because you wish to admit the fishmen were in the wrong. Tell me — am I wrong?"
Jinbei's silence was his answer. His fists trembled, the veins on his arms straining, but no words came. Because there were no words that could deny the truth.
I straightened, my eyes narrowing. "Do you know how many times we've shown mercy to your people, Jinbei? How much patience we've given, far beyond what any other crew — any other family — would have endured?"
My tone hardened, a hammer striking against the anvil of memory.
"First Fisher Tiger. He turned his back on us, shattered the bond we built, and left you behind in our hands. Still, we let it go. Then your brother, Arlong." My voice sharpened, venomous steel. "That fool drew blood against my own family on Fishman Island. Do you know what would have happened if it were anyone else? If it were Kaido? If it were Scarlett? They would have burned your island to ash, slaughtered every last soul, and salted the sea with your bones just to set an example. But what did we do? We spared him. We let him live. We swallowed the insult for the sake of the bond we swore."
Jinbei's throat tightened. He remembered. He knew.
"And then… Otohime." My voice turned heavy, resonant with disappointment rather than fury.
"She opened her hand to the World Government. She weighed our trust against their promises. And yet even now, we did not strike. Even now, we let it pass. How many times, Jinbei? How many chances should we give?"
I turned, looking out toward the endless ocean, my cape fluttering in the salt breeze.
"At every turn, we forgave. At every betrayal, we showed restraint. Our patience has been exceptional. More than you deserve. But understand this, Jinbei — patience has an end."
I looked back at him, my gaze sharp and final.
"The time for forgiveness is over. The time for excuses is over. The fishmen must face the reality of their actions. I pity the innocents, those who had no hand in these betrayals yet must suffer for them. But that is the nature of this world. The sins of the few drown the many. That is the law of the sea."
I let the silence stretch, the weight of my words crashing down heavier than any wave.
"Now, Jinbei-san," I said at last, my tone cutting like ice. "After everything I've told you… do you still believe we should give the fishmen another chance?"