The clearing sits tucked between two limestone ridges, hidden from the prying eyes of King's Basin by walls of jagged rock and tangled mangrove roots. The ground here is soft with fallen leaves and damp earth, the air thick with the mineral smell of wet stone and the distant crash of waves against the harbor walls. A single shaft of afternoon sun cuts through the canopy overhead, illuminating the scene below like a spotlight on a stage.
Atlas Acuta drops his burden without ceremony.
Monkey D. Luffy hits the ground with a thud that sends a puff of dust spiraling into the air. His body bounces once—boneless, limp, utterly unconscious—before settling into a sprawled heap. His mouth hangs open, a bubble of snot expanding and contracting from his nose with each slow, peaceful breath. His limbs splay at angles that would be uncomfortable for anyone else, but the Pirate King sleeps on, blissfully unaware.
Atlas cast a hulking silhouette across the prone figure, copper guard hairs rippling beneath fractured light. Through vertical-slit pupils, azure irises registered the comatose corsair not as a threat, but as inert carrion beneath contempt.
"I can't believe he slept through that," Atlas mutters, his nud swishing behind him with irritation.
Marya Zaleska stands a few feet away, her fingers wrapped around the brim of a straw hat. The hat is battered, worn thin in places, and carries the faint, almost imperceptible hum of something ancient—a presence that clings to the woven straw like a scent. She holds it carefully, almost reverently, though her expression remains intentionally neutral.
She turns to Trafalgar Law, who stands with his arms crossed, his spotted hat casting his tattooed features into shadow.
"How do we wake him?"
Law glances over his shoulder. "Penguin."
A figure emerges from the cluster of Heart Pirates gathered near the treeline. Penguin—stocky, perpetually exasperated, with a hat that looks like a penguin's head—rushes forward, a massive leg of meat clutched in both hands. The meat glistens with fat, still warm, and the smell of roasted pork wafts through the clearing.
Marya raises an eyebrow. "Really? More?"
Law nods, his expression unreadable. "Yeah."
Atlas steps back, moving to stand with Aurélie and Galit Varuna. Aurélie holds herself rigid, arms locked across her chest, while a blade of sunlight flashes through her silver hair and leaves her steel-gray gaze cold and unwavering. Galit's impossibly long neck coils into a loose S-curve as he watches, his emerald eyes darting between Luffy and the meat.
Penguin approaches the unconscious pirate, the meat held out like a peace offering. He glances at Law, uncertainty flickering across his face.
Law nods. "Go ahead."
Penguin takes a breath—steadying himself, like a man about to do something profoundly stupid—and waves the meat under Luffy's nose.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then Luffy's nose twitches.
His mouth opens, wider than should be anatomically possible, and snaps shut around the meat and Penguin's arm. His teeth sink into the roasted pork with a wet crunch, and his body—still unconscious, still sprawled on the ground—begins to chew with mechanical, dreamlike rhythm.
Bepo steps up beside Law, his large form radiating anxiety. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Isn't he going to be really mad?"
Law nods. "Yeah."
Marya looks back, and sunlight ignites the gold rings in her eyes. "That's why we're doing it here. Less things for him to break."
Shachi claps Bepo on the shoulder, grinning. "See? We've thought of everything."
Bepo's ears droop. "If you say so..."
The scream comes without warning.
"OUCH!"
Everyone's heads snap around.
Penguin is hopping on one foot, his arm flailing wildly. Luffy—still unconscious, still chewing—has somehow latched onto Penguin's forearm with his teeth, his jaw working with the same mechanical rhythm. The pirate's eyes remain closed, his face peaceful, but his teeth are locked.
"GET HIM OFF! GET HIM OFF!" Penguin shrieks, shaking his arm with increasing desperation. "WHY IS HE STILL ASLEEP?! HOW IS HE STILL ASLEEP?!"
Shachi doubles over, clutching his stomach. Tears stream down his face. "He's—he's still chewing! Look! He's eating your arm like it's meat!"
"IT'S NOT FUNNY!"
Bepo covers his mouth with both paws, his shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I can't—"
Marya watches the chaos unfold with the faintest quirk of her lips. She turns to Law, her voice dry. "What kind of sedative did you give him?"
Law smirks. "The kind that works."
Marya answers with a matching smirk, then looks back at Penguin as he finally yanks his arm free. The limb is red, throbbing, and scored with teeth marks. He cradles it against his chest and glares at Luffy with the fury of a man bitten by a sleeping monster.
"I hate him," Penguin mutters. "I hate him so much." Shachi wipes his eyes, still giggling. "Next time you get to feed the meat jaws of death."
Marya walks past them, her boots crunching against the fallen leaves. "Let me give it a try."
Penguin steps aside, still cradling his wounded arm. "Careful. He's like a piranha."
Luffy is sitting up now, his eyes still closed, his jaw still working. The meat is gone—completely devoured—but his mouth continues to chew on nothing, his expression blissful.
Marya bends over him. She raises her hand and, with a flick of her wrist, plucks him in the middle of his forehead.
Luffy jolts.
His eyes snap open—wide, wild, confused—and both hands fly to his head. "WHAT THE—"
Marya straightens, the straw hat still in her hand, and saunters over to sit next to Law on a nearby boulder. She crosses her legs, her expression serene.
Penguin stares at her, his mouth hanging open. "Why didn't you do that in the beginning?"
Marya shrugs. "I just wanted to see you get your hand bitten off."
Penguin sputters. "That's—that's not—"
"Your face was funny."
Shachi bursts out laughing again.
Luffy's eyes dart around the clearing, his head swiveling like a weather vane in a storm. His hands pat his head, his chest, his pockets—searching for something that isn't there.
"SANJI!" he calls out. "NAMI! ZORO! ANYONE!"
Marya clears her throat.
Luffy's head turns. His eyes land on her—on the straw hat twirling lazily between her fingers—and something shifts in his expression. Recognition. Confusion. And beneath it all, a flicker of something darker.
His hand reaches up, touching his bare head. When his fingers find nothing but hair, his eyes widen.
"GIVE ME BACK MY HAT!"
His arm stretches—stretches, impossibly, absurdly—and snatches the hat from Marya's hand. He pulls it down onto his head, both hands pressing it firmly in place like a child protecting a beloved toy.
"WHERE'S MY CREW?!"
His eyes land on Law. The confusion in his face hardens, sharpens, crystallizes into something cold. His shoulders tense. His hands ball into fists.
"Hey, Law." His voice drops, low and dangerous. "What did you mean when you said we were enemies?"
Law meets his gaze without flinching. "Just what I said, Straw Hat."
The air grows heavy. The Heart Pirates shift uneasily, their hands drifting toward their weapons. Bepo's ears flatten against his skull. Shachi and Penguin exchange a look.
Marya clears her throat again.
Luffy's gaze snaps to her. "Hey, wait. You were on that island too."
Marya stands, her movements slow and deliberate. "I was."
"Where is my crew?"
"They're of no interest to me." Marya's voice is calm, measured. "You're the one I need."
Luffy's knuckles crack. His Haki—that invisible pressure that radiates from him like heat from a furnace—begins to build. The leaves on the ground stir, rustling as if caught in a phantom wind. Bepo takes a step back. Galit's neck coils tighter.
"Tell me where my crew—"
Luffy stops.
His eyes go distant. Unfocused. His head tilts slightly, as if he's listening to something no one else can hear.
And then—he sees it.
A vision. A flash of something that hasn't happened yet.
Marya's hand, moving with the same fluid grace as Mihawk's. A single, precise strike. Luffy's arms, severed at the wrists, falling to the ground.
He blinks.
The vision shifts.
Another movement. Another strike. This one aimed at his legs—a sweeping cut that would take him off his feet, leave him helpless. He sees it with perfect clarity: the arc of the blade, the trajectory, the inevitable result.
He blinks again.
A third vision. A thrust aimed at his chest. The blade—Nisshoku, though he doesn't know its name—driving forward with the kind of speed that makes evasion impossible. He sees himself impaled, pinned, stopped.
Luffy's breath catches.
He's seen Mihawk fight. He remembers Marineford, and the final battel with Buggy and Blackbeard—remembers the terror of that blade, the way it cut through everything, the way it seemed to know where he would be before he moved.
And this woman—this stranger—moves the same way.
He blinks a third time, and the visions fade.
His eyes narrow. "Hey. Why do you fight like Mihawk?"
Marya's expression doesn't change, but something flickers behind her golden-ringed eyes. Something guarded. Something careful.
"You say his name," she says, "as if you know him."