I stood there watching two living catastrophes collide in the center of the clearing, and despite everything—the tactical situation, the mission parameters, the fact that we had places to be and enemies to fight—I couldn't look away.
CLAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!
The sound of Dorry's sword meeting Broggy's axe was like the universe deciding to throw a temper tantrum. Metal screamed against metal with enough force that I felt it in my bones, in my teeth, in parts of my anatomy that probably shouldn't be capable of perceiving sound waves.
VOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
The shockwave rippled outward from the point of impact, bending trees that had probably stood for millennia and kicking up dust clouds that briefly obscured both combatants from view.
'How far can someone go for their pride?'
The question materialized in my mind unbidden, unwelcome, carrying weight that had nothing to do with tactical analysis or mission planning.
These two giants—these legendary warriors of Elbaph—were trying to kill each other.
Not because of some grand philosophical difference.
Not because one had wronged the other in some unforgivable way.
Not even because they particularly disliked each other.
They were fighting to the death because admitting they were wrong, admitting they'd lost, was apparently worse than dying.
'A hundred years. A whole goddamn century of this. Longer than some civilizations last, longer than anyone should be able to hold a grudge, longer than it takes for empires to rise and fall. And they can't even remember what started it anymore.'
SLASH!
Dorry's sword came around in a devastating arc that would have cleaved a mountain in half.
BOOM!
Broggy blocked it with his axe, the impact creating another shockwave that made my ears ring.
CRASH!
"GEGYAGYAGYAGYA!" Dorry's laugh echoed across the clearing even as he pressed his attack.
"GABABABABABA!" Broggy answered with his own booming laughter, pushing back with equal force.
They were enjoying this. Despite the mortal danger, despite the century of accumulated wounds, despite everything—they were having the time of their lives trying to murder each other.
'You know, I always thought I had a lot of pride…' The admission came with difficulty, like pulling teeth without anesthesia.
But standing here, watching these two titans clash like natural disasters given human—well, giant—form, I had to acknowledge a fundamental truth about myself.
My pride was a candle flickering in front of a forest fire.
'I was ready to admit my methods were wrong. Ready to accept that Yukinoshita had beaten me at my own game. Ready to be changed by her influence, to let someone crack through the armor I'd built around myself.'
And I didn't regret it. Not really. Even now, transported to this insane world and fighting to survive long enough to get home, I didn't regret letting Yukino, Yui, Isshiki, and the Service Club affect me.
'Though I do spend an annoying amount of mental energy making sure I don't slip back into my old cynical self. Which, given current circumstances, is harder than it sounds.'
But looking at these giants—at warriors who'd dedicated a literal century to not backing down from a duel they couldn't even remember the reason for—I had to wonder if maybe my kind of pride was better.
'On the mention of that topic. What exactly am I so proud of, anyway?'
The question was uncomfortable in ways I wasn't prepared to analyze.
Back in my world, I'd been proud of my pariah state, my ability to survive socially isolated, my skill at reading people and situations. I'd taken pride in being the guy who saw through the social games everyone else played, then turned his back on it like it had turned its back on me.
'And what did all that pride get me? Eighteen years of loneliness, a handful of genuine connections formed only after I'd been forced into proximity with people who refused to let me wallow in my isolation, and a philosophy of life that was ultimately just elaborate self-protection disguised as wisdom…Tsk!'
The comparison to what I'd accomplished in this world was... uncomfortable.
Two years here. Two years of sailing dangerous seas, fighting pirates, collecting treasures and Devil Fruits. Two years of actually doing things rather than just observing and commenting from the sidelines.
'Not that you can measure worth like that. Being so great or whatever in a world where you have nothing or no one to care about shouldn't—in any way—invalidate everything that came before, especially when you cared about it more. But...'
But I couldn't help the comparison. Couldn't stop my analytical mind from running the numbers and reaching the deeply uncomfortable conclusion that I'd accomplished more in two years of desperate survival than I had in eighteen years of carefully managed existence.
'That's not how you determine the worth of things. That's not—damn it, stop overthinking this. Focus on the present.'
WHOOOOSH!
Broggy's axe came around in a horizontal sweep that would have bisected a building.
CRACK!
Dorry ducked under it with surprising agility for something his size, then drove his shoulder into the other giant's chest.
BOOM!
The impact sounded like two mountains colliding. Both giants stumbled back, readjusting their grips on their weapons.
'Well, it's not that being proud of yourself is bad.'
The thought emerged carefully, tentatively, like I was testing ice to see if it would hold my weight.
'It's just that most people have this groundless pride. This fragile, easily shattered confidence exists more as defensive armor than actual self-worth. The kind that crumbles the moment someone challenges it directly.'
I'd seen it countless times back in my world. People who acted confident, who strutted and postured and claimed superiority, but whose entire self-image would collapse if you just... pushed. Applied the right pressure to the right psychological weak point.
'I did that a lot, actually. Probably more than was strictly necessary or kind. Found people's weak spots and exploited them, told myself it was teaching them valuable lessons about authenticity and the dangers of false confidence.'
Looking back, I probably just enjoyed being an asshole while maintaining plausible deniability about my motivations.
CLANG!
The fight continued, neither giant giving ground despite the obvious toll it was taking.
SLASH!
Blood ran from cuts on both of them—wounds that would have killed a normal human instantly, but seemed to barely slow these legendary warriors.
BOOM!
'If someone asked me whether I'd stay on one island for a hundred years—or even just one year—fighting to the death with someone because I didn't want to admit I was wrong... I wouldn't even think twice before making the dogeza.'
The answer was immediate, instinctive, backed by every social survival instinct I'd developed over what is now more than twenty years of navigating the minefield of human interaction.
'Admitting you're wrong is free. It costs nothing except pride, and pride is the cheapest currency in the world to acquire. Just... be good at something. Accomplish literally anything. Boom, pride replenished, crisis averted, now you can spend it more.'
Nevertheless, even as I thought it, even as my rational mind laid out all the logical reasons why the giants' century-long duel was objectively stupid...
I couldn't help but find it admirable.
'To have something worth fighting for that long. To possess that kind of determination, that level of commitment to a principle—even if that principle is just "I will not back down"—that's not easy. That's not something most people can maintain for a month, let alone a century.'
SLASH!
Dorry's sword traced a glowing arc through the air, meeting Broggy's axe with devastating force.
BLOCK! CRASH!
The impact created visible ripples in the atmosphere, like reality itself was being stressed beyond its design specifications.
'It crosses the line from determination to fanaticism. By, like, a huge margin. Miles past reasonable dedication into territory that would make the most zealous folks uncomfortable. But...'
But it was still something I could respect. Something I could acknowledge as genuinely impressive even while simultaneously thinking it was completely insane.
'If I had even one-fifth of that determination—just twenty percent of their commitment to a single goal—I wouldn't need to worry about my motivation to get home at all.'
The thought hit harder than I'd expected. My quest to return to my world, to reunite with my family, to see Komachi again—that was supposed to be my driving force. The thing that kept me going through two years of danger and hardship.
'But I'm already wondering if it's worth it. Already calculating whether the cost of going home might exceed the value of staying. Already getting attached to this crew, to this world, to the possibility that maybe I could build something here instead of desperately trying to return to what I left behind.'
That wasn't determination. That was just... pragmatism. Self-preservation. The same social survival instinct that had served me so well back home, now working overtime to convince me that cutting my losses and accepting this world as my new reality was the smart play.
'The giants would never do that. They'd never calculate the odds, weigh the costs, decide that maybe backing down was the tactically superior option. They'd just keep fighting until one of them died or the world ended, whichever came first.'
BOOM! CRASH! SLASH!
Around me, my crewmates were watching the duel with expressions ranging from awe to fascination to what might have been concern.
Luffy's eyes were practically glowing, his grin so wide it looked painful. He was eating this up—two powerful warriors going all-out in a battle that had lasted longer than nations.
Zoro's hand was still on his sword hilts, his eyes tracking every movement of the giants' weapons. The swordsman was analyzing, learning, and probably already incorporating whatever techniques he was witnessing into his own style.
'He gets it too. The warrior's mindset, the refusal to surrender. Zoro would absolutely stay on an island for a century fighting someone if it meant becoming the world's greatest swordsman. He'd probably enjoy it.'
Vivi looked torn between admiration and horror, her expression suggesting she couldn't quite decide whether the giants were inspiringly dedicated or tragically stubborn.
'Fair assessment, really. Though given her own situation—two years undercover in enemy territory, risking death daily to save her kingdom—she's not exactly in a position to judge other people's excessive commitment to their goals.'
Even Karoo was watching intently, the duck's eyes following the massive weapons as they clashed again and again.
CLAAAANNNGGG!
Another impact, another shockwave. Dust and debris continued to fill the air, and I had to squint against the flying particles.
'Anyway, we need to move. We have objectives, timelines, enemies who are probably setting up their ambush right now while we stand here watching the world's longest argument contest.'
Then again, I couldn't quite bring myself to interrupt. Couldn't quite force the words out that would pull my crewmates away from this display of impossible determination.
'Because part of me—the part I don't like to acknowledge—wants to keep watching too. Wants to see how this century-long battle plays out, wants to understand what it's like to care about something that much.'
The giants separated again, both breathing hard but neither showing any sign of backing down. Their weapons gleamed in the sunlight, and their eyes held the kind of focus usually reserved for religious experiences or final exams.
"GEGYAGYAGYAGYA! Don't You Miss Elbaph, Broggy!!!" Dorry's laugh was like thunder celebrating its own existence.
"GABABABABABA! That's Why I Will Crush You Right Now And Return, Dorry!!!!!" Broggy answered, his own laughter equally thunderous.
They were having fun. Despite the blood, despite the century of accumulated injuries, despite the very real possibility that this duel would eventually kill one or both of them—they were genuinely enjoying themselves.
'That's... actually kind of beautiful, in a completely insane way. Finding joy in the struggle, pleasure in the contest itself rather than its conclusion. Most people can't maintain that kind of enthusiasm for anything longer than a few months, and these two have been at it for a hundred years.'
"We should get moving," I said, keeping my voice deliberately neutral. "We have things to do. Places to be. Enemies to deceive and possibly fight."
"But the giants—" Luffy started, his protest immediate and obvious.
"Will still be fighting when we're done with our mission," I interrupted, because someone on this crew needed to maintain focus on our actual objectives.
"They've been at this for a century. I don't think our presence or absence will significantly impact the outcome."
SLASH! BOOM!
As if to emphasize my point, another massive impact shook the ground. Dorry and Broggy showed no signs of stopping, no indication that they'd even noticed we were still here watching.
'They're completely absorbed in their duel. The outside world has ceased to exist for them. Nothing matters except this fight, this moment, this century-long expression of pure stubborn determination.'
"Hachiman's right," Zoro said, "We've got our own fight coming. Standing here watching won't help with that."
"But it's so cool!" Luffy's protest carried genuine disappointment, like we were dragging him away from his favorite entertainment.
"I know it's cool," I replied, surprised by how patient I managed to sound.
"It's incredibly cool. Two legendary warriors locked in a duel that's lasted longer than civilizations. Very impressive, very inspirational, potentially the most dedicated example of stubborn pride I've ever witnessed."
'And also completely insane, but I'm trying to be diplomatic here.'
"However," I continued, "our crewmates on the other side of the island are probably already moving. Nami, Usopp, and Sanji are executing their part of the plan. We shouldn't delay just because we want to watch the show."
Luffy's expression shifted as he processed this, his face scrunching up in that way it did when he was actually thinking rather than just reacting.
"Yeah," he said finally, his disappointment giving way to determination. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go! We have our own fight to win!"
'And just like that, our captain redirects from "I want to watch" to "I want to fight" with zero transition period. Sometimes his single-minded focus is actually useful rather than just concerning.'
Zoro was already moving, his hand leaving his sword hilts as he turned away from the duel. Vivi stood as well, Karoo waddling beside her with what might have been relief at leaving the massive combat zone.
'Good. Everyone's on board. Now we just need to navigate through a prehistoric forest full of dinosaurs toward an obvious trap set by enemy agents with Devil Fruit powers. Should be simple.'
CLAAAANNNGGG!
One final massive impact echoed behind us as we started walking away, and I couldn't resist glancing back one last time.
Dorry and Broggy were still at it, their weapons locked together, neither giving ground. Sweat and blood ran down their faces, but their expressions held nothing but fierce joy.
'A hundred years of this. A whole century of refusing to back down, refusing to admit defeat, refusing to let pride be the thing they sacrificed.'
I turned away, adjusting my wizard hat and letting my cloak settle around my shoulders.
'I'll never understand that level of dedication. My pragmatism won't let me. Yet...'
Yet I could respect it. Could acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, there was something admirable about caring so much about something—even if that something was just not being the one who said "I give up".
'Though staying on an island for a hundred years fighting the same person, I'm still saying no. Although it is going to depend on the person…'
———
Third Person POV: Mr. 3 and Company
———
On a high platform made entirely of white wax, sat two figures who appeared to be having afternoon tea while watching the distant spectacle of two giants trying to murder each other.
Mr. 3 held his teacup with elegant precision, his perfectly waxed—and questionable—hair not moving a millimeter as he took a delicate sip. His eyes remained fixed on the faraway duel, tracking the massive weapons as they clashed again and again with devastating force.
"Magnificent," he murmured, though whether he was commenting on the tea or the violence was unclear.
"Truly, this is a Primitivism artwork in its purest form."
Beside him, Miss Goldenweek munched on biscuits with the enthusiasm of someone who found everything equally boring. Her face maintained its characteristic apathetic expression, though her eyes also tracked the giants with professional interest.
The calm, almost serene atmosphere on the wax platform stood in sharp contrast to the two figures standing beside them.
Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine shifted restlessly, their body language screaming discomfort despite their attempts to appear composed.
The bomber's hands kept twitching toward his nose—his go-to weapon—while the weight-manipulator's parasol spun nervously over her shoulder.
"Will this plan actually work?" Mr. 5 asked, his voice carrying doubt he didn't bother to hide.
"The targets have already entered the island with the map, but—"
"There is no need for concern," Mr. 3 interrupted smoothly, not looking away from the distant battle.
"The medium has taken the bait. The rest is merely... procedure."
He said the word "procedure" like he was discussing a particularly satisfying meal he'd enjoyed years ago.
Miss Valentine's parasol spun faster as she spoke up.
"But even with Miss Goldenweek's ability, these pirates…."
She didn't continue; the reminder of their failure hung in the air like an accusation.
Mr. 3 finally lowered his teacup, setting it on the wax table with deliberate care. His expression remained perfectly composed, almost condescending in its calmness.
"The answer is quite simple," he said, his tone suggesting he was explaining basic mathematics to slow children.
"No one refuses free money when it falls into their hands. This is counterintuitive to people's most basic instincts."
Mr. 5's jaw tightened, his pride clearly still smarting from their previous encounter with the Straw Hats.
"Will that be enough?" he pressed, gesturing vaguely in the direction the pirates had gone.
"They have the princess with them—she's worth far more than any simple treasure could provide. Would they really risk everything for what's obviously a bait?"
Mr. 3's smile widened slightly, taking on an almost sly quality. He raised one hand, palm up, and his Devil Fruit ability activated with practiced ease.
DRIP! DRIP!
White wax began forming in his palm, taking shape with sculptural precision. Within seconds, he'd created miniature figures of the two dueling giants—perfect in every detail, down to the expressions on their faces and the way their weapons locked together.
"You see," Mr. 3 said, admiring his creation with obvious satisfaction, "unlike what most people believe, humans are far more emotionally inclined than most of us think."
He held the wax sculpture up to the light, turning it slowly so the others could appreciate the craftsmanship.
"This is why we appreciate art, and pay a lot of money for it," he continued, his voice taking on a lecturing quality. "Even though most people don't like the same art forms or styles. It's emotion that drives us, not logic."
Miss Goldenweek's eyes narrowed slightly—barely perceptible, but Mr. 3 caught it. Her apathetic mask had cracked just enough to show offense at what his words were implying.
"And of all the emotions that overpower logical and rational thinking, there is nothing like Greed!" Mr. 3 said, his smile becoming almost predatory.
"Greed is the antidote of logic, the bane of rationality. The greedier a person is, the less rationally they think."
"This is why even the most intelligent people can be fooled by skilled con artists. Not because the con artists are smarter, it is because their minds stopped working before they even realized, as greed had already taken over."
The pause that followed was pointed, deliberate.
Miss Goldenweek's glare intensified slightly—still maintaining her characteristic apathy, but with an edge that suggested Mr. 3 had touched a nerve.
"My apologies," Mr. 3 said smoothly, though his tone suggested he wasn't particularly sorry at all. "I'm not implying you're a con artist. Merely that you understand the principle."
The girl's expression didn't change, but the way she bit into her next biscuit was noticeably more aggressive.
Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine exchanged glances, their earlier concerns clearly not fully addressed. But something else was bothering them now—something more personal.
"Still," Mr. 5 said, his voice carrying an edge of wounded pride, "the enemies who defeated us will be taken down this easily? It seems..."
He trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought.
"Anticlimactic?" Mr. 3 supplied helpfully. "Beneath your skills as officer agents? A blow to your professional pride?"
The silence that followed confirmed his assessment.
Mr. 3 set down his wax sculpture carefully, then looked at his two colleagues with something approaching sympathy—though tinged with the kind of superiority that made sympathy feel like condescension.
"I understand," he said. "You want to take revenge and prove yourselves against opponents who bested you. This is natural, even commendable in its way."
He picked up his teacup again, taking another delicate sip before continuing.
"But consider this: is it more impressive to defeat an enemy through direct combat, or to dismantle them so completely through careful planning that they never even realize they've lost until it's too late?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge.
"The latter," Mr. 3 answered his own question, "is true art. The former is merely... violence."
Miss Valentine's eyes shifted to the distant giants, still locked in their century-long duel.
"Speaking of which," she said, clearly trying to change the subject, "what about them? If the Straw Hats are to be dealt with, what happens to the giants?"
Mr. 3's expression brightened noticeably at the question, like a professor whose student had finally asked something intelligent.
"Excellent question!" He gestured toward the battling titans with his teacup.
"The giants will be dealt with after we've concluded our business with the pirates. One group at a time—it's simply more efficient that way."
"Can we even defeat them?" Mr. 5 asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice. "They're legendary warriors. Captains of the Giant Warrior Pirates. Their bounties alone—"
"Are considerable, yes," Mr. 3 interrupted smoothly. "Which is precisely why we're taking a... strategic approach. But that discussion can wait. First, we address our current prey."
As if summoned by his words, a bird descended from the canopy above, landing on their wax table with practiced ease.
Its feathers were ordinary enough, but a closer inspection would reveal something unusual—a small blue-green circle drawn on its back, no larger than a coin.
Miss Goldenweek reached out mechanically, breaking off a piece of her biscuit and offering it to the bird. The creature pecked at the offering while she spoke in her characteristic monotone.
"The Straw Hats are getting close."
Mr. 3's smile widened into something that approached genuine pleasure. He stood from his wax chair with theatrical grace, the tip of his hair had already started flaming.
"Excellent timing," he said, tapping the wax platform beneath his feet with one shoe.
WHIRRRRR! GRIND!
The entire platform began descending like a massive elevator, the wax structure somehow maintaining its stability despite the movement. Within seconds, all four officer agents were at ground level, surrounded by the prehistoric jungle.
A group of lower-ranked Baroque Works agents stood waiting, their weapons ready and their expressions mixing anticipation with nervousness. These were the frontier agents—the disposable personnel who did the organization's grunt work.
Mr. 3 approached them with the air of a general inspecting his troops, though the comparison was generous given the quality of said troops.
"Are the preparations ready?" he asked, his voice carrying across the clearing with practiced authority.
One of the agents—braver or more foolish than the others—stepped forward and saluted.
"Yes, sir! Everyone is in position and awaiting your orders!"
Mr. 3's smile took on an almost artistic quality, like he was appreciating a sculpture he'd spent years perfecting.
"Perfect," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The guests will be arriving soon."
He looked around at the assembled agents, at Miss Goldenweek, who'd finished her biscuit and was now preparing her paints with mechanical precision, at Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine, who still looked slightly uncertain but ready to fight.
"Gentlemen, ladies," Mr. 3 announced, spreading his arms wide in a gesture that encompassed the entire clearing, "it's time to begin our art exhibition."
His voice carried the kind of satisfaction usually reserved for artists unveiling their masterpiece.
"Let's show these pirates what happens when they stumble into a gallery where they're not merely viewers..."
The pause was theatrical, perfectly timed.
"But the art itself."
———
Hachiman's First Person POV
———
I stopped walking.
The motion was abrupt enough that everyone behind me nearly ran into my back, their footsteps crunching to a halt on the prehistoric undergrowth.
'Something's wrong. Very wrong.'
My Hamon Pendulum had been sending out regular pulses for the last ten minutes, each wave of Ripple energy returning with detailed feedback about the terrain, the wildlife, the massive trees that had existed since before human civilization.
BZZZZT! PING!
But no humans. No conscious presences that registered as threats. No scouts, no lookouts, no advance warning systems.
'We're close. Around nine hundred meters from where the map indicates the ambush point should be. Close enough that any competent group would have surveillance in place and that we should have triggered some kind of response by now.'
"Hachiman?" Luffy's voice carried curiosity rather than concern. "Why'd we stop?"
I kept my gaze forward, watching the forest ahead through the filtered green light. My Mantra was stretched to its maximum effective range, searching for any hint of human consciousness.
Nothing.
"I'm not detecting anyone nearby," I said, keeping my voice level despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. "No scouts, no lookouts, no surveillance."
Zoro's hand moved to rest on his sword hilts, his body language shifting immediately from casual to alert.
"That's suspicious."
"Very," I agreed.
'Too suspicious. This is a coordinated ambush by Baroque Works agents—people who've been operating as a criminal organization successfully for years. They should have basic operational security. They should have scouts watching the approaches. They should have something in place to give them advance warning.'
Vivi had moved closer, Karoo waddling nervously beside her. The princess's expression showed growing concern as she processed what I wasn't finding.
"But we're close to the ambush location, aren't we?" she asked. "Shouldn't there be agents watching for us?"
"Exactly," I replied bluntly. "Which is why this bothers me."
'There are only two explanations. Either they've realized we're onto their trap and pulled back to their base, which my compass indicates they haven't done, because the four numbered agents are still at the ambush point. Or they have surveillance capabilities that exceed mine, which would be deeply problematic for reasons I don't want to contemplate right now.'
Luffy tilted his head, his straw hat casting shadows across his face.
"So what do we do?"
Zoro's voice cut in before I could answer, his tone carrying tactical thinking that I genuinely appreciated.
"You think they counter-tricked us? Went back to their base after realizing we spotted the trap?"
I shook my head slowly, still monitoring the area through my Mantra.
"I'm not sure. The four numbered agents—Mr. 3, Miss Goldenweek, Mr. 5, and Miss Valentine—they're still at the ambush location. But the lack of any supporting surveillance..." I trailed off, that uncomfortable feeling in my gut intensifying.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
'Understatement of the decade. My paranoia is screaming at me that we're missing something critical. Something that's going to bite us in the behind the moment we commit to this plan.'
The silence that followed was heavy with implications none of us wanted to voice. The forest around us continued its prehistoric symphony—distant roars, the crash of something massive moving through trees, the calls of creatures that had no business existing outside of paleontology museums.
But no human sounds. No voices, no footsteps, no signs of conscious observation.
Vivi broke the silence, her voice careful as she addressed me directly.
"Sorcerer-san... what did you have in mind for how we were going to act at the ambush?"
'Right. The plan I'd outlined earlier but hadn't fully detailed, because I was hoping to adapt it based on what we found during our approach. Except what we've found is absolutely nothing, which throws several calculations into disarray.'
I turned to face the group fully, my analytical mind organizing the tactical breakdown even as my paranoia continued screaming warnings.
"The original plan was to lure the enemy away from the ambush point," I explained, keeping my voice matter-of-fact. "We show up, pretend we've swallowed the bait completely. Act like we're heading directly for the treasure location marked on the map."
Luffy's grin widened. "And then?"
"Then we run," I said flatly. "Lead them away from the ambush site toward a clear area near a river I spotted earlier. Open ground, good visibility, near water in case we need an emergency escape route."
'Basic tactical thinking. Never fight on the ground your enemy has prepared unless you have an overwhelming advantage. Force them to adapt to your battlefield instead.'
"The moment they see Nefertari," I continued, watching the princess's expression carefully, "they'll follow. She's the primary target. Even if they realize the entire crew isn't present, they can't afford to let her escape. They'll have to pursue."
Zoro's expression showed approval, his hand still resting casually on his sword hilts.
"Force them to abandon their prepared position. Smart."
"If the enemy proves more dangerous than anticipated," I added, because someone needed to voice the possibility of failure, "we just keep running. Create enough distraction that the infiltration team can complete their objectives. Mission success doesn't require us to win a fight—it requires us to fake our deaths convincingly."
'Though "running away while being chased by Devil Fruit users through a prehistoric forest" ranks pretty high on my list of "situations I'd prefer to avoid". But you have to do what you have to do.'
"But if we can take them down by ourselves," I finished, "that's obviously preferable. Capture them, extract intelligence, use them as leverage or hostages if necessary."
Vivi was nodding slowly, her tactical mind clearly working through the implications.
Karoo just looked confused, which was fair—the duck was just a duck after all, making it understand human speech to this extent is a miracle.
But Zoro had caught something in my tone, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied me.
"So what changed?" he asked directly. "You had this plan. We're executing it. Why stop now?"
'Because I'm paranoid. Something feels wrong, and the enemy's overconfidence bothers me more than their actual capabilities.'
I reached into my cloak, pulling out the cursed map.
"The Baroque Works agents are more confident than I expected," I said, holding up the map so everyone could see it clearly.
"Too confident. This map—" I gestured at it, "—was their entire strategy. They left it on an abandoned ship, trusted that we'd find it, trusted that Miss Goldenweek's ability would compel us to follow it."
I paused, letting that sink in.
"And they were so confident in that strategy that they didn't bother sending a 'guide'. Didn't send scouts, didn't establish surveillance. Didn't take any precautionary measures to ensure the trap was working as intended."
'Which is insane. No competent organization operates with that level of absolute certainty about a psychological manipulation technique.'
Vivi spoke up, her voice carrying that diplomatic reasoning I'd started to recognize.
"Maybe they just misjudged? The map is very dangerous, after all. If it wasn't for you recognizing the manipulation, all of us would have been ensnared."
"That's exactly my point," I replied, and felt my frustration bleeding into my tone despite my efforts to remain analytical.
"The map is effective. Very effective. But no matter how confident you are in something, people still make small assurance gestures. Double-checking. Verification. Testing the lock even after you've already locked it."
'It's human nature. We don't trust our own judgment completely, even when we should. We second-guess, verify, confirm. Because the cost of being wrong is usually too high to risk on absolute certainty.'
I looked at each of them in turn—Luffy's curious expression, Zoro's alert wariness, Vivi's growing concern, Karoo's persistent confusion.
"This mission is important to Baroque Works," I continued. "Critical, even. They're trying to eliminate a spy, who is a very important figure in Arabasta and also discovered their leader's identity, from heading back to her kingdom with that information. The stakes couldn't be higher for their organization."
My hand tightened slightly on the map.
"And yet they're not taking even basic precautions to ensure the trap works. Just... trusting completely that their psychological manipulation will be effective. That level of confidence in the face of such high stakes? That's not normal. That's weird."
'That's terrifying, actually. Because it suggests either they know something we don't, or they have capabilities we haven't accounted for. Neither possibility makes me comfortable with continuing this plan as-is.'
The silence that followed was profound. Even Luffy had stopped grinning, his expression taking on that rare seriousness that emerged when he actually paid attention to tactical concerns.
Zoro's voice was thoughtful when he spoke.
"So you think there's something else? Another trap we haven't spotted?"
"I don't know," I admitted, and felt the honesty of it like a weight. "That's what bothers me. I don't know what we're missing, but my guts are screaming that we're missing something."
'And my instincts have kept me alive for two years in this insane world. I've learned to listen to them, even when I can't articulate exactly what they're telling me.'
My mind was racing through scenarios, trying to account for variables I couldn't identify. What could make Baroque Works so confident? What surveillance capability could exceed my Hamon Pendulum and Mantra combined? What—
"Then let's just keep going."
Luffy's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts like a rubber fist through common sense.
I turned to look at him, and the captain was smiling. Not his usual wide grin, but something smaller, more genuine.
"You're overthinking it, Hachiman," he said simply.
'Overthinking. Me. The guy whose survival strategy for the past two years has been "paranoid analysis of every possible variable." Yes, Luffy, I'm overthinking. That's literally my entire approach to not dying.'
"If something comes up," Luffy continued, stepping forward with that characteristic confidence that should have been annoying but somehow wasn't, "we'll deal with it when it happens."
I opened my mouth to argue—to point out that 'dealing with problems when they happen' was a reactive strategy that could get us all killed, that planning ahead was literally the difference between success and catastrophic failure, that—
THUMP!
Luffy's fist pressed against my chest, right over my heart. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to get my attention. To ground me in the physical moment rather than letting me spiral further into tactical anxiety.
"I already decided we're going with your plan," he said, and his voice carried that absolute certainty that made him simultaneously the most frustrating and most effective captain I could imagine.
"That's my responsibility as Captain."
His smile widened slightly.
"You trusted your judgment enough to make the plan. I trusted your judgment enough to agree to it. Now it's time to act." He paused, and his next words hit harder than I expected.
"So trust us to pull through when things go south. There's no reason for you to take everything on your shoulders."
'What…?'
The statement was so simple, so straightforward, so completely Luffy that I felt my brain short-circuit slightly trying to process it.
I looked at Zoro, who was smiling—actually smiling—with an expression that clearly said 'the Captain's right and you know it.'
Vivi's smile was gentler, more understanding, like she recognized exactly what internal battle I was fighting.
And Karoo... Karoo still looked confused, which honestly tracked. The duck had probably given up trying to understand human decision-making processes years ago.
'Simple. Straightforward. Annoyingly effective. The kind of leadership that shouldn't work but somehow always does because it's backed by absolute conviction and the willingness to take responsibility for decisions.'
"As expected from a shonen protagonist," I muttered, not quite under my breath.
But even as I agreed, my tactical mind couldn't completely shut down its survival protocols.
"Alright," I said, and felt something loosen in my chest as I committed to it. "We continue with the plan."
"I still need to make some insurance first," I added quickly, already turning toward Karoo. "Just basic precautions. Nothing complicated."
'Because trusting the crew doesn't mean being stupid about it. Trust with verification. Faith with backup plans. That's not contradictory—that's sensible.'
The duck looked up at me with those large, expressive eyes that somehow conveyed both intelligence and persistent confusion.
"Karoo," I said directly, keeping my voice firm but not threatening. "Your top priority is the princess. Understood?"
The duck nodded, its head bobbing in a way that suggested it understood this particular directive very clearly.
'Good. At least someone here has straightforward priorities.'
"The moment I give the signal," I continued, demonstrating a specific hand gesture—my left hand raised, palm out, fingers spread, "you immediately take Nefertari and anyone of us near her up into the sky. Your job is her safety, not engaging the enemy."
QUACK!
The sound carried determination, and I watched as Karoo straightened slightly, its posture shifting to something more alert.
I adjusted my wizard hat—because apparently that had become a nervous habit in this world—and did one final check of my equipment.
'This is either going to work brilliantly or blow up in our faces spectacularly. Possibly both.'
"Alright," I said. "Everyone else stays alert. The moment something feels wrong—wronger than it already feels—we abort and regroup. No heroics, no 'I can take them.' We fight smart, not hard."
"Yosh!" Luffy pumped his fist. "Let's go!"
...…
A/N: I wanted to start the battle in this chapter, but it got too long.
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