In a narrow river where the water ran shallow but swift, Sanji and Heavy locked eyes in a tense standoff.
The air crackled with menace—natural enough for sworn enemies—but beneath it simmered a petty clash of male egos, the kind that had nothing to do with their original feud. It was a pride as trivial as it was pointless.
Yet both men were dead serious, with no room for jokes or levity.
The rushing current lapped at their ankles, soaking their legs. Heavy ignored it entirely as he spoke first.
"You look like you can handle yourself a bit. But you can't beat me. Know why?"
As he posed the question, Heavy flicked his wrist with lightning speed. The jointed blade extended through the air, slicing effortlessly into the ground and walls, carving chunks of rock and sending sprays of water arcing gracefully before they splashed back down. It was a fleeting display, but it showcased his skill unmistakably.
Sanji's expression didn't flicker. He paid no mind to the flying droplets or the gouged stone, fixing Heavy with a cold, unflinching stare.
Heavy smirked, assuming his opponent was too terrified to speak. No one had ever bested his swordsmanship—an undefeated art, the pinnacle of mastery. He brimmed with unshakeable confidence in his own prowess. He couldn't imagine this unarmed fool stopping him.
Victory was assured. In high spirits, he continued.
"It's because I'm stronger than you. I've fought all kinds of swordsmen, and none have surpassed my blade. Not a single one. If you apologize now, I might let you go—"
"That doesn't matter to me."
Sanji raked a hand through his soaked hair, muttering with quiet fury.
"I don't give a damn how strong you think you are. What pisses me off is a delusional bastard like you strutting around like some ladies' man...!"
"What? Strutting, you say?"
"Before I kick your ass, let me make this clear: I'm the real ladies' man!"
It all stemmed from Heavy's boast that he never let a target woman escape. A bizarre rivalry ignited in Sanji's eyes, burning with an intensity he'd rarely felt before.
"Strutting? That's an insult I can't ignore. It's a fact—I'm the ladies' man. I'm far more dashing than you."
"Where? There's not a single thing you beat me at!"
"For starters, my face wins 10 to 0."
"Don't make me laugh! It's 100 to 0 in my favor, obviously!"
"Don't get cocky! How could a guy with those swirly eyebrows ever steal a woman's heart?"
"You're the one with nothing to brag about! What's with that hairstyle? And that long jaw!"
"Still, women flock to me! My win!"
"Shut up! You've probably spent your lonely life deluding yourself into thinking you're popular!"
"What an outrage! Just because your weird eyebrows keep you from getting any attention!"
"I'm way more popular! Yeah, way more than you!"
To any onlooker, it was a pointless squabble. But in the heat of their argument, they grew genuinely hostile, forgetting that it all started over Chopper.
Deciding who was more charming here and now was impossible.
The only way to settle it was through strength.
"Enough of your yapping...! I'll make you understand with force!"
"Bring it, you bastard. I doubt you can."
Heavy began swinging his sword with expert precision. The weapon could strike from afar while he stood in place, giving him absolute advantage. He extended the blade without closing in or retreating, keeping his distance.
The speed was decent, the trajectory wildly unpredictable.
With a clattering rattle, the sword lunged forward.
It came straight at Sanji's front, so he sidestepped lightly to evade.
No panic at the dodge—others had avoided the first strike before. But evasion alone meant nothing.
Heavy twisted his wrist instantly. The blade, coiling like a serpent's neck, responded to the slightest motion, writhing and veering off course to pursue Sanji.
It closed in from the tip, as if to wrap around him. Unpredictable attacks were its essence; few could react to sudden shifts in path. The false security of dodging the initial blow slowed reflexes.
By the time Sanji's eyes locked on the snake-like blade, it was inches away.
Heavy grinned in triumph.
"I'll tear you to shreds!"
The shout echoed—and in that instant, Sanji stomped the ground hard, leaping high and splashing water everywhere.
The blade had encircled from below, leaving the air above open. He spotted it in a flash and escaped upward with impressive speed. Heavy's eyes widened in shock.
Sanji twisted mid-air and landed safely.
Seizing the moment, Heavy swept the blade in a wide arc. The sturdy edge could carve rock; catching his foe would seal the win.
Perhaps rushing victory, Sanji simply crouched to dodge. The blade scraped the wall as it passed, and Heavy yanked it back in haste.
That panicked instant was fatal.
Spotting the opening, Sanji kicked off the ground and closed in on the defenseless Heavy. The speed surpassed imagination—faster than anything Heavy had experienced.
In the blink of an eye, Sanji was within arm's reach.
Without breaking eye contact with the frozen Heavy, Sanji swung his right leg.
The flying kick, fueled by his leap's momentum, promised excruciating pain. Heavy realized it on impact but was too late to react.
His body sailed through the air effortlessly.
"Flank Steak Flanchet Shoot!"
"Dobufwo!?"
The shock was too great for him to break his fall.
He crashed back-first into the ground, splashing water as he tumbled. After rolling a few times, he stopped.
Sanji's face remained stern. He wasn't even serious yet—to him, it was just a light tap.
But Heavy clearly felt otherwise.
Clutching his gut, he staggered to his feet, legs already wobbling.
"Ugh...!"
"What's wrong? That all you got?"
Sanji's icy gaze pierced him. It was natural to feel underestimated. Sanji had slipped through the attacks without breaking a sweat and landed the kick in a flash, as if it were nothing.
Heavy's composure crumbled into growing wariness and panic.
In his haste, he attacked without waiting.
The whistling blade arced down from above at Sanji. But Sanji judged it calmly—no real threat in speed—and evaded with a light step.
He seemed to harbor no fear or anger toward Heavy now.
Stared down with eyes that screamed disappointment, Heavy felt a chill of dread.
His mind unraveled further; he swung the sword in a frenzy.
"Uooaaah!"
The blade lashed out wildly in all directions, but Sanji's resolve didn't waver.
"I said, is that all?"
He'd never taken his eyes off it, yet he couldn't react again.
Before he knew it, a foot loomed before his face, and the kick slammed home without time to register surprise.
"Collar Meat Collier!"
"Obu!?"
The force whipped his head back, slamming the back of his skull into the ground with tremendous power. He collapsed into the water, sputtering as he coughed up swallowed river and lifted his head in confusion.
Beside him, Sanji raised his leg again.
"Shoulder Meat Epaule!"
"Bu!?"
The next blow.
Heavy, on all fours with hands in the dirt, tumbled back into the water. His face smashed the ground again, sharp pain blooming as blood trickled from his nose.
Just two hits, and he was already reeling.
Sanji waited for him to rise, muttering boredly.
"Never lost before? Means you've only fought weaker opponents."
"Guh, don't mock me! My true power is just beginning!"
"Then that's even worse. Don't spout off if you can't fight seriously from the start."
Heavy stood, reeling in his blade to charge with proper swordplay.
But before the attack landed, Sanji's kick struck first.
"Loin Meat Cotlet! Saddle Meat Selle!"
"Gwo!? Ouh...!?"
Two blindingly fast kicks hammered him, yet he still wouldn't fall.
"Breast Meat Poitrine! Thigh Meat Gigot!"
When the barrage ended, Heavy barely stood, consciousness fading as he swayed unsteadily.
Sanji turned his back deliberately to deliver the finisher.
Without warning, he unleashed a flurry of powerful side kicks.
"Mutton Shot!!"
No scream escaped.
Heavy, unconscious, couldn't defend as he was blasted away, embedding into a crumbling section of the rock wall. His body stuck there, not even falling into the river.
The fight over, Sanji felt no great emotion.
Victory was expected. An easy win.
He reached for a cigarette, then noticed his soaked clothes and sighed, giving up.
"Too bad for you. Compared to that directionally challenged idiot swordsman, you're not even worth the effort."
He walked away with a smirk.
No comparison needed. Yet he muttered it anyway.
"Oh, and I'm the real ladies' man."
With that, his interest vanished.
Scanning the area for a way up, he started walking. He'd done little, but somehow, his mood had lifted from before.
Zoro and Hot Dog faced off, each waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Hot Dog drew his weapon from behind his waist: a long chain with a spiked iron ball at the end, clearly suited for ranged throws.
Yet his build screamed close-quarters brawler.
Zoro dismissed it. Whatever the style, he had no intention of losing.
He unwrapped the cloth from his left arm and tied it around his head, as always. Focus sharpened—not that he needed it, but the ritual brought a satisfying edge.
The weapon excited him. He'd been itching to cut iron.
A good chance to test it, he thought, flashing a wicked grin.
"What're you smiling about? Scared stiff and laughing it off?"
"Nah. Just had something piss me off earlier."
He drew his swords smoothly— one in each hand, the third in his teeth. No probing this time; he'd end it quick if possible.
Power surged through him, wild and beast-like, ready to pounce.
"Sorry, but you might just be a punching bag for my frustration. Try not to make it that way."
"Don't underestimate me. Once you see my strength, you won't mouth off like that."
Silently, he shifted his right foot back, adjusting stance subtly.
Zoro caught it—the attack was coming.
As predicted, Hot Dog hurled the spiked ball straight at Zoro's head. No need to panic from the front. Zoro swung his dual blades up to deflect.
He meant to slice it clean, but the ball only nicked lightly.
Defended successfully, yet Zoro grimaced.
"What the—! Not done yet!"
Hot Dog swung wider, whipping the chain to spin the ball furiously.
The wind howled with terrifying force— a hit would be devastating, enough to instill fear just watching. But Zoro observed calmly.
The ball flew again.
Crude and straight. Expression unchanging, Zoro parried it upward.
The pattern repeated: swing, throw, deflect, repeat. Was it overconfidence, laziness, or a strategy? Hot Dog kept at it.
Zoro's face soured gradually.
The attacks were monotonous, but that wasn't the main issue. Each block was full force, aimed at cleaving the iron—yet it failed.
Iron wasn't easy to cut.
Realizing this anew, Zoro treated it as training, not just a fight.
On one parry, the pattern broke.
Suddenly, Hot Dog discarded the ball and charged forward, closing to Zoro's face and swinging a massive right kick upward.
Zoro's eyes fixed coldly on his foe, emotionless—yet inwardly pleased that the real fight had begun.
"I'll crush you! Take this!"
A heel drop from above.
Zoro stepped back minimally to evade; the empty kick smashed the ground, shattering it spectacularly.
But compared to what he'd seen before, it was nothing special.
"My kicks crush iron! One hit, and you're done!"
"Iron, huh..."
Muttering in disbelief, Zoro dodged the follow-ups. They came in a flurry but weren't fast or intimidating. Despite his size, the power lacked punch.
Tired of evading, Zoro halted.
Seizing the chance, Hot Dog leaped high, spinning as he fell to slam another full-force heel drop on Zoro's skull.
"This ends it!"
A few steps sideways escaped the path.
Looking up at the descending foe, Zoro jumped too.
They closed in mid-air, surprising Hot Dog. He'd planned to use his fall's momentum, but now his opponent was airborne, forcing a change in tactics.
That moment of hesitation decided it.
As Hot Dog fell and Zoro rose, crossing paths, Zoro unleashed a three-sword slash.
"Crab Gazami Hunt!"
"Guaaah!?"
The deep gash tore across his chest, slicing through honed muscle as blood sprayed.
Hot Dog's balance shattered; he crashed back-first, pain radiating from chest and back. Only then did he realize he was down, but shock from the counterattack left him too rattled to move.
Breathing raggedly, terror of death wiped the confidence from his face.
Zoro landed gracefully moments later, back turned without intent—just how it happened.
Hot Dog saw the opening but sensed no movement from Zoro.
Zoro's mind was elsewhere: how to cut iron. He'd tried seriously just now, leaving doubts.
He still needed more training.
As he pondered, Hot Dog rose and charged for a final shot.
"Iron's tougher to cut than I thought..."
"You turned your back! Die!"
"Give it up. I just gave you your last chance."
"Words won't save you now!"
Hot Dog raised his leg high behind Zoro.
Even after the move, Zoro reacted faster, spinning into a slash.
"Tornado!!"
"Gyaaaah!?"
The whirlwind cut severed Hot Dog's body, blood gushing as his massive frame flew, unconscious before hitting the ground headfirst. He lay limp.
Zoro sheathed his blades without savoring the win and yanked off the head cloth roughly.
"World's strongest, crushes iron. Sounds impressive—talk is cheap. But there's a guy out there with kicks way better than yours. Annoying bastard..."
He rewound the cloth on his left arm and strode off briskly.
Nothing more to say to Hot Dog—he wouldn't listen anyway, being out cold. Zoro glanced around carefree.
"Now, gotta find Usopp and Chopper. Where'd those idiots go? Lost again. What a pain. Guess I'll look."
He muttered in exasperation, sighing. No thought to his own predicament.
"We came from the south, so let's try east. Right side."
He headed right from his facing direction.
But he'd gotten everything wrong.
The Merry was docked on the island's east side—they'd come from the east. And now, Zoro was heading north.
Utterly mistaken in every way, he didn't suspect a thing.
With his extreme directional impairment, Zoro wandered lost, day after day.
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