The screaming continued, high-pitched and genuinely terrified in a way that cut through the peaceful aftermath of our whale encounter like a rusty knife through flesh.
"KYAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US!"
'Can we have five minutes of peace? Five minutes. That's all I'm asking for. Just enough time to enjoy my coffee and contemplate the philosophical implications of promises without someone screaming bloody murder.'
I turned toward the source of the panic—our two supposedly-unconscious captives who'd apparently decided that maintaining their cover wasn't worth whatever was making them scream like their lives depended on it.
Which, judging by the genuine terror in their voices, might actually be the case.
"WE'RE GOING TO DIE! PLEASE! ANYONE!"
'What now? What fresh hell has decided to introduce itself to our crew?'
My eyes tracked upward, following their line of sight toward the sky, and I found the source of their panic.
A bird. A very large bird, flying directly toward the Going Merry with the kind of purposeful trajectory that suggested this wasn't a social call.
Except that's not just a bird.
As it got closer, the details became clearer and considerably more bizarre. The creature wore what looked like a pilot's helmet and sunglasses—actual sunglasses on a bird, because apparently that's normal in this world now.
On its back rode another creature that my brain struggled to categorize. An otter, maybe? Though calling it just an otter felt like a massive oversimplification. It too wore sunglasses and what appeared to be a jumpsuit.
But it wasn't the absurd appearance that made my combat instincts flare to life. It was the package the vulture clutched in its talons—wrapped like a gift, but with a fuse trailing from it that the otter was actively trying to light.
'Oh. Oh, that's a bomb. That's definitely a bomb. Because why would strange animals just fly toward us without explosive ordinance?'
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!!!" I shouted, my hand already moving to my pistol.
The effect was immediate. Around me, my crewmates shifted from peaceful relaxation to combat alertness.
WHOOSH!
The vulture dove toward the Going Merry, specifically toward where Mr. 9 and Vivi were tied up on the deck. The otter on its back finally got the fuse lit, the thread sparking to life.
FWSSHHH!
They're targeting the captives. Which means they're targeting our ship by extension.
"USOPP!!!!" I barked, trusting our sniper to have the best angle.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—I saw him hesitate. Saw the conflict play across his face as his natural cowardice warred with his growing sense of duty to the crew.
Then his expression hardened with determination that would have been admirable if it wasn't so desperately needed right now.
THUNK!
His slingshot came up with practiced speed, the leather strips pulled back with a special ammunition already loaded.
PING!
The projectile streaked through the air, intercepting the bomb mid-air before it could reach our ship.
KAAAAABOOOOOMMMMM!!!!
The explosion was deafening, a massive fireball blooming in the sky above us like a miniature sun. The shockwave hit hard enough to make the Going Merry rock, and I felt the heat wash over us even from this distance.
'Good shot. Excellent shot. Now for the follow-up because that vulture is still flying and presumably still armed.'
"DON'T LET IT GET CLOSE!!!" Zoro's voice cut through the ringing in my ears.
The vulture and its passenger had been thrown back by the explosion, their controlled flight pattern disrupted into a chaotic tumble.
But even as I watched, they regained their balance mid-air, wings spreading to catch the wind as they executed a banking turn.
'Coming around for another pass. Professional. These aren't just random animals—they're trained, coordinated, and clearly have a specific target in mind.'
My pistol was already in my hand, and I took aim with the kind of focus that two years of survival training had beaten into my reflexes.
"EVERYONE START SHOOTING!!!" I commanded, squeezing off my first shot.
BANG!
The bullet streaked toward the vulture, and I followed it immediately with three more shots in rapid succession.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Around me, my crewmates responded immediately.
THUNK! THUNK!
Usopp's slingshot sang out again, his shots tracking the vulture's erratic flight pattern with surprising accuracy.
BANG! BANG!
Sanji had emerged from the kitchen, his cigarette somehow still in place despite the chaos coming out and returning. His pistol came up smoothly, and he fired with the kind of casual competence that suggested he'd done this before.
Even more surprisingly, I heard the distinctive sound of another pistol being drawn behind me.
'Zoro actually pulled out his gun willingly. Miracles do happen.'
I glanced back to see the swordsman's expression—frustrated, annoyed, and clearly wishing he could just cut the damn bird in half instead of resorting to firearms.
BANG! BANG!
His shots were accurate despite his obvious preference for close combat, each bullet tracking the vulture with lethal intent.
'Meanwhile, our fearless captain is too far away to help, still standing on Laboon's head, admiring his artwork. And Nami...'
A quick scan showed our navigator had taken cover behind one of the tables near the lighthouse, her face pale but her eyes tracking the fight with sharp attention.
The vulture banked hard, trying to maneuver around our barrage of bullets. The otter on its back was reaching into what looked like a bag or pouch, pulling out more objects that were definitely explosive in nature.
FWOOSH! FWOOSH!
Two bombs arced through the air toward us, their fuses already lit and sparking.
'Shit!'
BANG! BANG!
"SNIPER!!" I called out, trusting our sniper to handle the immediate threat while I kept pressure on the vulture itself.
THWIP! BOOM!
The first bomb exploded mid-air as Usopp's projectile struck it dead center. He'd switched to what I recognized as one of the Mini Bazooka rounds I had given him before, turning his slingshot into a portable artillery piece.
THWIP! KABOOM!
The second bomb followed immediately, another perfect interception that filled the sky with fire and smoke.
'Good. But seriously, how many of these does he still have? He should have run out of them long ago.'
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I continued firing, my shots forcing the vulture to veer and dodge rather than maintain a steady approach. The creature was skilled—I had to give it that—twisting and banking with the kind of aerial agility that made it a difficult target.
But we had numbers, coordination, and the home-field advantage of being on a stable platform.
Until finally, one of my bullets grazed the vulture's wing.
SQUAWK!
The bird cried out in pain and frustration, its flight pattern disrupted for just a moment.
BANG!
Zoro's shot hit the otter's weapon—some kind of close compact weapon with a throwing mechanism—and the impact sent it spinning out of the creature's grasp.
SPLASH!
The weapon fell into the water far below, and I could see the otter's expression shift from determined to panicked behind those ridiculous sunglasses.
'Lost their main armament. That's our opening.'
"Keep firing!" I ordered, my pistol tracking the vulture as it tried to gain altitude and distance. "Don't let them recover!"
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The combined fire from multiple shooters created a wall of lead that the vulture couldn't safely navigate through. More bullets grazed its feathers, and one caught its tail.
SQUAWK! SQUAWK!
The bird banked hard, abandoning whatever attack run it had planned in favor of simple survival. The otter on its back was gesturing frantically—probably urging retreat because staying was clearly suicide at this point.
WHOOSH!
The vulture gained altitude rapidly, its wings beating furiously as it climbed away from our effective range. Within seconds, it had disappeared into the distance, fleeing with the kind of speed that suggested this wasn't the first time it had needed to make a tactical retreat.
"Hold fire," I said, lowering my pistol but keeping my eyes on the sky. "It's gone."
The silence that followed was deafening after the chaos of combat. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of waves against the Going Merry's hull and the distant call of Laboon somewhere behind us.
"What..." Usopp's voice cracked slightly, adrenaline still flooding his system. "What the hell was that?!"
"A very well-trained attack bird with explosive ordinance," I replied dryly, holstering my pistol. "Which raises several concerning questions about who trained it and why."
Zoro appeared at my side, his pistol already put away and his expression dark with suspicion.
"Those two," he said, jerking his head toward where Mr. 9 and Vivi were still tied up. "That thing was targeting them specifically."
"Yeah," I agreed, turning to face our captives with the kind of cold attention that made people very nervous.
'And we just prevented that assassination. Which means we're now involved whether we want to be or not. Wonderful. Just wonderful.'
A few minutes after the vulture attack, Luffy had finally finished his... artwork.
I used the term loosely.
Very loosely.
What he'd painted on Laboon's forehead could charitably be described as "abstract." Less charitably, it looked like someone had given a bucket of paint to a child and told them to express their feelings about geometry.
"There!" Luffy declared from his perch on the whale's head, his voice carrying across the water with absolute satisfaction.
"That's our promise mark! Now you can't bash your head against the Red Line anymore, whale! Not until we meet again and finish our fight!"
[BUOOOOOOOHHHHH!!!]
The whale's bellow was different this time—not pain or sadness, but something almost like agreement. Understanding, even.
'A mountain-sized whale just agreed to a promise based on abstract art and a fistfight. This should be the Grand Line brand of madness.'
"Usopp, Zoro," I called out, already moving toward where our captives were still tied up. "Help me transport these two to the platform. We need to have a conversation about attack vultures and who might have sent them."
"Alright," Zoro replied, his expression suggesting he was looking forward to this interrogation.
"Do we have to?" Usopp whined, but he was already moving to help. "Because, you know, they weren't targeting us from the start."
"But they still did, and we now could be on their target list," I replied. "Which is why we're going to ask them about it."
Between the three of us, we managed to haul Mr. 9 and Vivi—still bound and looking considerably more anxious than before—from the Going Merry's deck to the platform next to the lighthouse.
Sanji followed with the food he'd prepared earlier, because apparently even interrogations required proper catering in his world.
'At least the man has his ethics straight when it comes to food, even if everything else about him is questionable.'
We gathered around the table where Crocus had been sitting earlier. The old man watched our little procession with amusement, his flower-shaped hair somehow making him look even more ridiculous as he observed the proceedings.
Luffy finally joined us, having somehow climbed down from Laboon's massive head without falling into the ocean. He immediately zeroed in on the food Sanji had prepared, his eyes practically glowing with hunger.
"Food!" he declared, diving into the meal with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't just been painting a whale's forehead.
'Priorities. Our captain has very clear priorities, and food ranks somewhere between "adventure" and "punching things."'
The rest of us turned our attention to the bound duo, who were doing their best to look innocent despite the fact that someone had just tried to kill them with explosive-laden birds.
"So," I said, my voice conversational but carrying an edge that made both captives tense.
"That was interesting. Attack animals with bombs. Very professional. Very deliberate. Care to explain why someone wants you dead badly enough to send trained assassins after you?"
'Start with the obvious question. See if they're stupid enough to try lying about something we all just witnessed.'
Mr. 9's theatrical demeanor had completely evaporated, replaced by genuine nervousness. His eyes darted between the various members of our crew, clearly calculating whether cooperation or continued silence was the better survival strategy.
"I..." he began, then stopped. "We can't say."
'Wrong answer.'
My hand moved to my pistol, drawing it with deliberate slowness. The hammer came back with a distinctive CLICK that seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
BZZT! CRACKLE!
I channeled Hamon into the weapon, golden energy flowing through the metal and making the entire pistol glow with supernatural light.
The effect was immediate and dramatic—exactly as I'd intended.
"If you don't feel like talking," I said, my voice dropping to something cold and precise, "I have ways to convince you otherwise."
CRACKLE! FLASH!
I let the Hamon flare more intensely. The visual effect was spectacular, and I could see both captives' eyes widening with genuine terror.
'Theatrics. Sometimes the best weapon is the one that makes your enemy too scared to resist.'
"DE-DE-DE-DEVIL FRUIT USER!!!!" Mr. 9 screamed, his voice cracking with panic.
"Devil Fruit!" Vivi echoed, her disguised voice climbing several octaves.
'Wrong, but I'm not about to correct them. Let them think I'm a Devil Fruit user.'
"We-We really can't talk about it!" Vivi continued, her composure completely shattered. "Ple-Please! If we say anything, they'll—"
"They'll what?" I interrupted, letting my Hamon aura expand slightly. The golden energy began to emanate from my entire body, making my cloak flutter despite the lack of wind.
"Kill you? Someone just tried to do that anyway. So clearly, your loyalty to whoever's hunting you isn't being reciprocated."
CRACKLE! FLASH!
The effect was appropriately intimidating. Both captives were practically vibrating with terror, their faces pale and sweating.
'Push a little harder. Make them understand that cooperation is their only viable option here.'
"If you're really that loyal to whoever tried to kill you," I continued, my voice taking on an almost clinical quality, "then I suppose I can send you to the afterlife after I extract the information I need. My ability has... interesting effects on the human nervous system. It can make people very talkative."
'Technically true, though it doesn't work on everyone. Only the weak-willed people.'
"He's really into the role, isn't he?"
I heard Usopp whisper behind me, his voice carrying that mix of awe and concern that people got when they couldn't tell if someone was acting or genuinely unstable.
"Do you think he's into these things?" Nami replied, her voice thoughtful.
"I mean, given his whole style and everything..."
'WHAT?!'
The comment hit harder than I'd expected, genuine annoyance flaring through the cold interrogator persona I'd been maintaining.
'The person questioning my aesthetic choices is currently wearing MY hat on HER head! The audacity! The hypocrisy! The sheer—'
I had to physically stop myself from turning around and demanding my hat back right there in the middle of an interrogation.
'Focus, Hachiman. You can work on that problem later. Right now, you have information to extract and a reputation to maintain.'
But the anger was real, and I let some of it bleed into my expression as I turned my attention back to the captives.
"I'm not playing games here," I said, and now the edge in my voice was genuine irritation rather than calculated threat. "You're going to tell us what we want to know, or—"
"Oi," Crocus's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "That bird and its companion— they were from your organization, right?"
Both Mr. 9 and Vivi's heads snapped toward the old man, their expressions shifting from terror to surprise.
"You..." Mr. 9 began, then stopped. "How do you..."
'Interesting. The old man knows something.'
Luffy paused mid-bite, food still hanging from his mouth as he looked between Crocus and our captives.
"Mmf?" he asked intelligently, then swallowed. "You know something, old man?"
Crocus sighed, settling back into his chair with the air of someone who'd dealt with this kind of nonsense before.
"It's been bugging me," he admitted, his expression thoughtful. "These runts keep showing up, causing trouble. So, I asked around—called in some old favors, contacted people who are good with information."
'People who are good with information. An old man living in a whale's stomach has enough connections to gather intelligence on secret organizations. Sure. Why not.'
"And?" I prompted, genuinely curious despite myself.
"They're part of a secret organization," Crocus explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "The kind that dabbles in all sorts of underground work. Bounty hunting, assassination, smuggling, information brokering—the usual criminal enterprise portfolio."
"A secret organization?" Usopp's voice cracked. "Like... spies? Assassins? That kind of thing?"
"Yes, exactly that kind of thing," Crocus confirmed.
"What's the name of this organization?" Nami asked, her navigator's mind already working through the implications.
"That's the thing," Crocus replied with a slight smile. "They're keeping their name secret. Very hush-hush operation. But they're active throughout the Grand Line, recruiting skilled individuals wherever they can. I wanted to ask these guys more about them, but this happened."
"So why did they attack their own members?" Nami pressed, her question cutting to the heart of the matter.
It was Zoro who answered, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that meant he'd figured something out.
"Because these two probably got excommunicated," he said, his eyes fixed on Mr. 9 with sharp attention.
"Isn't that right... Mr. 9?"
The effect was immediate. Mr. 9 went even paler, sweat beading on his forehead as he realized that someone on this crew knew more than they should.
'Wait. Does Zoro know about this organization? About their naming conventions and membership structure?'
I turned to look at our swordsman, seeing him in a slightly new light.
'Of course. These people recruit throughout the East Blue. They would have tried to recruit the famous pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro. He must have turned them down, but not before learning enough to recognize their members.'
The silence that followed was heavy with implication. Both captives looked at each other, some unspoken communication passing between them.
Then Mr. 9 did something I didn't expect.
He bowed his head.
"Please," he said, his theatrical effect completely gone, replaced by genuine desperation. "We need your help. We need you to take us back to our hometown—Whiskey Peak."
"Aren't you asking a lot from us?" Nami said, her voice carrying appropriate skepticism. "Why should we help people who won't even tell us who's trying to kill them?"
"Because we don't have any other choice!" Vivi's voice cracked, her carefully maintained disguise slipping further.
"We lost our ship. We can't navigate the Grand Line alone. And with the organization having excommunicated us, we can't ask them for help either."
"We'll repay you," Mr. 9 added quickly. "We swear to repay the favor, we will even tell you anything you want to know. Just please, get us to Whiskey Peak."
'Interesting offer. But also, suspiciously vague about what kind of information or favors they could provide.'
"You can start now," I said, my voice still carrying that cold edge, "tell us everything you know about this mysterious organization that wants you dead."
"We can't!" Vivi protested immediately. "If we talk, if we reveal anything about them, they'll—"
"They'll kill you?" I interrupted. "In case you missed it, they're already trying to kill you. The 'keeping silent to stay safe' ship has sailed, crashed into a whale, and exploded."
"But..." Mr. 9 struggled to find an argument. "If we talk, we'll be in even more danger. All we want is to lay low, disappear for a while until things calm down."
'Lay low in their hometown, the first place their organization will search for them. Sure, that makes perfect sense and isn't at all suspicious.'
It was very clear that these guys would try to mend up with the Baroque Works again by striking some kind of a deal.
I was about to point out the obvious flaws in their plan when Luffy spoke up, his voice carrying that casual authority that somehow made absurd decisions sound reasonable.
"It's okay," he said, having finished demolishing the last of Sanji's food. "We'll take you there."
'No. No no no. We are not doing this. We are not getting involved in whatever mess these two have created for themselves.'
"Luffy," I said, keeping my voice level with supreme effort. "We don't need to get involved in their problems."
"We don't have a specific destination in the Grand Line anyway," Luffy replied with a grin. "So it's fine! We'll just drop them off at their island."
'That logic. That circular, impossible-to-argue-with logic that makes me want to slam my head against something hard.'
"Are you sure about this?" Crocus asked, looking at Luffy with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"If you go to their island, you will have to take the route it is on. You'd be committing to that specific path."
"Huh?" Luffy tilted his head, his confusion genuine and complete. "What are you talking about, old man?"
'Ah, right, he doesn't know. Why would our captain know anything about basic Grand Line navigation? That would require paying attention to information.'
Crocus sighed, the sound carrying decades of experience dealing with reckless pirates.
"As you navigate through the Grand Line," he explained with the patience of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student, "you move from island to island using a Log Pose. Because of their proximity, routes emerge. These routes form seven different paths, all starting from Reverse Mountain."
He gestured broadly, as if sketching invisible lines in the air.
"Each route takes you through different islands. Eventually, all seven routes converge into a single path—the route that leads to the final island of the Grand Line."
The crew leaned forward, suddenly paying attention with the kind of focus that important revelations commanded.
"The final island?" Nami breathed, her cartographer's soul clearly stirred.
"Yes," Crocus confirmed, then paused for dramatic effect that would have done any theater actor proud. "The last island of the Grand Line. The place that only one crew in recorded history has ever confirmed the existence of."
The silence was absolute, everyone holding their breath for the revelation they knew was coming.
"Laugh Tale," Crocus said, the name hanging in the air like a promise and a challenge. "The final island. The place where the Pirate King himself once stood."
"LAUGH TALE?!" The crew's collective shout was loud enough to probably disturb Laboon.
"Is that where the One Piece is?!" Usopp was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Who knows?" Crocus replied with a mysterious smile. "Although that is the most likely theory. Nobody has ever reached there to confirm it."
'Laugh…Tale.'
The name hit me like a shock wave, completely derailing whatever annoyance I'd been building about Luffy's decision.
'Not Raftel, but Laugh Tale.'
My mind raced through the implications. In the manga, the island had been called Raftel—or at least, that's how it had been pronounced. But here, in this reality, Crocus had clearly said Laugh Tale.
'Wait. Could the two names be the same? In Japanese, they'd be written almost identically. ラフテル could be romanized as either Raftel or Laugh Tale, depending on interpretation.'
But if it was intentionally Laugh Tale...
"Our never-ending, everlasting, traveling Laugh Tale," I murmured, the words of the ancient pirate song surfacing from memory.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Crocus's head snapped toward me, his eyes widening with surprise that quickly transformed into something else—amusement, nostalgia, and perhaps a hint of confirmation.
"BWAHAHAHA!"
He laughed. Actually laughed, the sound rich and genuine and carrying undertones I couldn't quite identify.
'He knows. He knows something about that connection. The pirate song and the island's name—there's a link there that he recognizes.'
"Well, well! Aren't you a sharp one!" Crocus looked at me with an enigmatic smile, his expression seeming to confirm something without actually saying anything.
Then, before I could ask the questions forming in my mind, he turned back to Luffy.
"Are you still okay with taking the route where Whiskey Peak is located?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Luffy barely hesitated. "Yeah! And even if I don't like the route later, I can just change it, right?"
"I guess you can," Crocus admitted.
'And there goes any chance of avoiding this mess.'
"I approve," Sanji announced, his eyes literally transformed into hearts as he gazed at Vivi. "I could never refuse a request from such a beautiful lady!"
'The hopeless cook and his predictable behavior. At least he's consistent.'
I turned to Zoro, hoping for some voice of reason, some pushback against this obviously terrible decision.
He just shrugged.
"Captain's decision," he said simply. "Not much we can do about it."
'Wonderful. Just wonderful. Even the usually pragmatic swordsman is going along with this.'
Nami and Usopp exchanged glances, clearly having no strong opinion either way. Without them objecting, I'd be the only voice of dissent.
'And being the sole objector never works out well. It just makes you look like the difficult one while everyone else proceeds with the terrible plan anyway.'
My hand moved to the Barbossa sword's handle, activating its power as I gestured with my other arm—a deliberate misdirection while the sword's ability did the actual work.
WHOOSH!
The ropes binding Mr. 9 and Vivi unraveled, controlled by the sword's power but appearing to respond to my hand gesture.
The theatrical presentation was intentional—let them think it was some kind of Devil Fruit power rather than a mystical weapon's ability.
Both captives looked shocked, their eyes widening as they stared at me with new wariness mixed with gratitude.
"Fine," I said, my voice carrying reluctant agreement. "We'll take you to Whiskey Peak. But if your organization tries anything against us, I'm holding you both personally responsible."
'And I know exactly what's waiting at Whiskey Peak. If it is like what I remember from the manga, it will be a big plot involving Baroque Works. This is going to be a disaster.'
But it wasn't entirely bad news. Going through a civil war or not, a royal family is a royal family, there are two things they have that could be very useful.
Moreover, if we were taking this route, it meant we'd eventually reach the island I needed to visit anyway.
'Skypiea.'
The sky island where something that could be very helpful to me awaits. If we're going this direction anyway, I can at least make sure we don't skip that destination.
Mr. 9 and Vivi exchanged glances, some unspoken communication passing between them. Then they both broke into what could only be described as comically sly smiles—the kind that suggested they thought they'd just pulled off some clever deception.
'They think they've manipulated us into helping them. Adorable. Let them think that. Let them believe they're in control.'
My crewmates, for their part, looked delighted that I'd agreed.
"Alright! Then we're done here! Let's set sail and go to that Whiskey Peak!" Luffy's grin was bright enough to rival the sun.
"YEAH!" the crew chorused, their enthusiasm infectious despite my reservations.
But my mind was elsewhere, still circling back to Crocus's reaction to my muttered lyrics.
'His surprise, his amusement, the way he looked at me like I'd just revealed some hidden knowledge...'
It was then that things clicked together.
The pieces were starting to come together, forming a picture I'd been too distracted to see clearly before.
The evidence: An old man living inside a whale at the entrance to the Grand Line.
Someone with enough connections to gather intelligence on secret organizations.
Someone who possessed detailed knowledge about Laugh Tale, the island only the Pirate King's crew had confirmed.
Someone who'd mentioned being part of a famous pirate crew.
And his reaction to the lyrics of an ancient pirate song that might share its name with the final island.
'Could he be...?'
The thought crystallized with sudden certainty.
'This guy. This old man with the ridiculous flower hair. Could he be one of Gold Roger's crew members?'
It made a disturbing amount of sense.
'But I can't just ask him directly. "Hey, were you part of the most infamous pirate crew in history?" isn't exactly subtle. And if he wanted us to know, he would have said something.'
So, I filed the information away, adding it to the growing list of things I knew but couldn't openly acknowledge.
'For now, it doesn't matter. Whether he's a former Roger pirate or just a very knowledgeable old man, we're about to leave anyway.'
Luffy was already moving toward the Going Merry, his excitement palpable as he prepared to finally begin our Grand Line adventure properly.
"Come on, everyone! Let's go! Adventure awaits!"
'Adventure. Right. That's one word for "sailing directly into a trap set by a criminal organization." I can think of several other words, most of them involving profanity.'
But despite my reservations, despite knowing this was probably a terrible idea, I found myself following my captain toward the ship.
'Because that's what I do now, apparently. Follow a rubber-brained idiot into obviously dangerous situations while hoping my paranoia and preparation can keep everyone alive.'
We made our way back to the Going Merry, the massive whale watching us with that enormous eye. Luffy stood at the bow, waving enthusiastically.
"OI! LABOON!" he shouted. "Remember our promise! Don't bash your head anymore until we come back!"
[BUOOOOOHHHHH!!!!]
The whale's bellow was different this time—less mournful, more... hopeful? Could whales sound hopeful?
'Apparently, they can. Along with understanding abstract concepts like promises and rival relationships. Grand Line wildlife is weird.'
Crocus watched us prepare to leave, his enigmatic smile never wavering.
"Be careful out there," he called out as we began moving the ship away from his platform. "The Grand Line isn't kind to the unprepared."
"We're prepared!" Luffy shouted back, his confidence absolute and completely unearned.
'We're really not. We have a decent ship, some skill, and a lot of luck. Against what the Grand Line will throw at us, that's barely adequate.'
But we were committed now. The Going Merry's sails caught the wind, and we began moving away from Reverse Mountain, away from the strange old man and his whale friend, toward whatever chaos awaited us at Whiskey Peak.
Mr. 9 and Vivi stood near the bow, looking relieved and slightly smug—still convinced they'd successfully manipulated us into helping them.
'Let them have this. They'll figure out soon enough that they've traded one problem for a whole different set of complications.'
I found a spot near the stern, watching Reverse Mountain and Laboon shrink behind us. The massive red wall of stone that bisected the world, the impossible waterway we'd climbed, the mountain-sized whale with its tragic story of broken promises.
'We just left all that behind. And ahead of us...'
…
A/N: On time for once! Damn, I missed this!!
Anyway, Thank you all for reading!! Hope you enjoyed this one!
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