After the tense and hasty Marine meeting came to an end, Smoker initially intended to catch up with Garp to ask more about the recent naval battle. But as he walked through the hallway and saw Tashigi standing alone, he changed his mind and approached her instead.
Tashigi immediately turned with alert eyes when she sensed someone drawing near.
She wasn't wearing her usual colorful sunglasses today, and as her eyes met Smoker's, he noticed something that made his brow furrow — her gaze was full of fear, followed by surprise.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Tashigi hesitated. She didn't answer, but instead took out a pack of cigarettes, shook it, and pulled out two—offering one to Smoker.
He accepted. But he quickly noticed how badly her hand was trembling, like she were trapped in the dead of winter.
Smoker wasn't one to smoke often, but he lit the cigarette anyway and stood beside her, quietly puffing smoke into the hallway air.
After a long pause, Tashigi reached up with her gloved left hand and gently touched her forehead.
"I've been having nightmares lately."
"Nightmares?" Smoker looked at her, surprised by the unexpected response.
"Every time I close my eyes and try to sleep, I dream of Davy Jones."
"I've already seen a psychologist. It didn't help."
She looked clearly exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes — she hadn't been sleeping well.
Smoker lowered his gaze in thought. He knew his longtime comrade well. Tashigi wasn't the type to be haunted by nightmares just because of a defeat in battle.
So the reason had to be something else.
"It's one of his strange powers," Smoker exhaled a ring of smoke, eyes narrowing as he looked out over the bustling street below. "He planted fear in your heart."
He didn't need proof. As long as the logic held up, Smoker would accept the conclusion. Sometimes, even if it didn't, reality didn't care.
Tashigi bit the filter of her cigarette lightly, her eyes cast downward. After a long silence, she pulled the cigarette from her lips and crushed it out against the wall. The last wisp of smoke faded.
"Smoker."
"What is it?"
> "Do you think… that man really is the 'Deep-Sea Reaper' of legend — Davy Jones? Otherwise, how do you explain those powers?"
A legend? Smoker shook his head. That kind of thing — hundreds of years old — who could say for sure?
"The world's a big place," he replied vaguely. "Maybe there are people out there who didn't eat a Devil Fruit, but still gained… unnatural abilities."
Tashigi brushed her long pink hair over her shoulder.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I know you're not going to let this go."
Smoker took a long drag and finished off the cigarette. Then he, too, crushed it against the wall.
"Vice Admiral Garp took all the blame for what happened. But I can't stand the helplessness I showed out there."
"You're going to the Grand Line?"
"Of course." Smoker folded his arms, staring into the distance. "Even if I have to chase them to the ends of the world, I'll capture Davy Jones and his crew, drag them to Impel Down, and wipe away this disgrace!"
"Marine HQ isn't going to let you walk out of Loguetown that easily. Especially not while you're under punishment."
"Then they'd better stay out of my way. They should worry about their own mess — the Grand Line's already in chaos!"
Tashigi shook her head with a sigh.
"In that case… I'm going with you. I'll help hunt down Davy Jones and his crew."
Smoker looked at her, clearly surprised.
She pressed her lips together and said:
"The therapy… it wasn't completely useless. The doctor told me that to overcome fear, you have to face it. The more you understand something, the less power it has over you."
Smoker didn't press further. He nodded.
"All right. Then we'll do it together."
"Yes. But… we should let Vice Admiral Garp know."
"Go ahead."
With that brief exchange, the two comrades — bound by smoke and a shared past — had made their decision: to abandon the safe, upward path of the Marines, and walk a road the World Government would see as rebellious.
Meanwhile, on the Grand Line...
The Terror Ghost, despite having withdrawn its storms and fog, was still enduring the brutal weather conditions of the Grand Line — its ever-changing nature in full force.
Blizzards, scorching sun, vortex-filled seas, and sudden, eerie calm — all within hours.
Unpredictable and unstable.
With regular compasses rendered useless, the ship had unknowingly drifted far from its original course and into uncharted waters.
Fortunately, food supplies were plentiful, and Hatchan, in charge of cooking, was in no rush or stress.
After drifting aimlessly for some time, the crew finally spotted a coastline in the distance.
Everyone on board let out a quiet sigh of relief. Staying cooped up on the ship—especially with Captain Davy Jones always nearby—wasn't exactly relaxing.
The land up ahead was a comfort. A moment to breathe.
Soon, the vague coastline came into clearer focus, revealing an island with a strange silhouette.
The most prominent feature was a giant cactus-like mountain covered in massive spikes — almost like needles.
From a distance, they could also make out a moderately sized town, its buildings scattered across the terrain.
Standing at the bow, Davy Jones surveyed the island for a moment before giving his orders.
"Alvida. You'll gather intel on this island."
"Yes, Captain," she replied, tipping her hat with a flirtatious smirk.
"Buggy, go buy materials and tools. The top priority is finding a Log Pose."
"You got it, Captain!" Buggy tapped his red nose excitedly, clearly eager to leave the ship.
"Kuro, Hatchan, get food supplies. Focus on goods that store well."
"Aye, Captain."
"Yes, sir!"
After Hatchan agreed, he cheerfully wrapped his arm around Kuro's shoulders — the same man who had once nearly chopped him to pieces — and said:
"Hey Kuro, looks like we're partners again!"
Hatchan thought they had a pretty good rapport. After all, they'd gone shopping together more than once.
Kuro clearly did not share the sentiment.
He lowered his head, adjusted his glasses, and tried not to shudder as he felt Hatchan's suction cups clinging to his suit. It took everything in him not to slice him on the spot.
The crew gathered their gear and prepared to disembark.
The Terror Ghost sailed into a small cove, hiding behind one of the giant cactus spines. The crew stepped off the ship via a gangplank and entered the town — splitting up to carry out their missions.
But they weren't alone.
From the trees, hills, and rooftops… countless eyes were watching.
As the crew scattered, those eyes followed, splitting into separate shadows to tail them.
All the gathered intel quickly flowed into the center of the island — a town known as Whiskey Peak.
In a cozy room within the town, sunlight filtered in through a carved wooden balcony door. Four people sat around a round table.
"Another rookie pirate crew just landed," said a young man with a crown atop his head, looking impatient and greedy. "It's been ages since we've had work. Feeding this many mouths ain't easy."
"No rush," replied a middle-aged man with an overly curly wig, shaking his head. "Mr. 9, we need to figure out who these pirates are first. Miss Monday, any progress?"
A tall woman dressed in a black-and-white nun outfit—Miss Monday—flipped through a stack of bounty posters. After a moment, she found several and threw them onto the table.
Mr. 9 casually picked one up.
It was Alvida — "Iron Mace" — with a bounty of 15 million Berries.
He picked up another. It was Buggy the Clown — 25 million Berries.
"Not bad, for newbies just entering the Grand Line," the crown-wearing man mused, raising an eyebrow. The number "9" tattooed beneath his eye shifted slightly as he smirked. "Still, they should be easy to deal with. They're from the East Blue, after all."
Veterans of the Grand Line knew better than to equate bounty size directly with strength — it often depended more on what someone had done than how strong they were.
"Our scouts say there are more than just these few," said Miss Monday, arms crossed. Her nun's robe couldn't fully hide the powerful muscles beneath.
Mr. 9 waved dismissively.
"Just a few more recruits, right? Mr. 8, I say we hit them now. If they catch wind and run off, we'll have no choice but to go hunt the Island Whale at Twin Cape again."
Mr. 8, the man with the curly hair, was still staring at the last bounty poster, brows furrowed.
"Davy Jones. 50 million Berries… That's really high. And the name… it sounds familiar…"
"Ah!" gasped a voice.
The long-haired woman known as Miss Wednesday flicked her blue ponytail and widened her eyes.
"The newspaper!"
Everyone turned to her, surprised, as she quickly dug through a pile of old papers.
She pulled one out and pointed excitedly.
"'East Blue's Fastest Rising Threat—Could This Be the Legendary Dread Lord of the Deep?!'"
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