"It's just like being in prison."
Buggy's upper body floated in mid-air as he wiped down the ship's mast with a rag, muttering while glancing at the dark, murky waters all around.
"If not for the little bit of light shining down from above, we wouldn't be able to see a thing. The seabed's a real ghost of a place."
Once the Terror Ghost had stabilized in the water, the crew—everyone except Hatchan—moved from their initial panic to a later stage of curiosity.
Most of them had never experienced such an underwater voyage before.
Buggy, however, was reminded of the time long ago when he followed Captain Roger to Fish-Man Island. He never imagined that in the blink of an eye, more than twenty years had passed.
Hatchan was endlessly excited and energetic, swimming freely through the ship's ghostly green water barrier into the sea, bringing back several fat fish to treat the crew to extra meals.
But after a full day and night of sailing, the initial thrill faded. One by one, the crew began to feel varying degrees of boredom and discomfort.
The lighting here was dim, the air lacked any freshness, and—worse yet—there were several Devil Fruit users aboard who despised seawater and could not move about freely like Captain Davy Jones or Hatchan.
Eventually, Buggy was the first to lose patience.
He flew back to the deck, tossed his rag into the bucket, and then drifted over to Alvida, who was mopping the floor.
When she saw Buggy coming, Alvida paused, curious.
Buggy leaned in conspiratorially. "Hey, how about we go to the captain together and suggest surfacing for a bit of fresh air?"
"If you want to go, go yourself."
The moment she heard what he was getting at, Alvida turned her head away, uninterested.
At that moment, she took off her hat, tied her long black hair into a ponytail, rolled up her sleeves to reveal smooth, pale skin, and continued diligently cleaning.
Buggy, baffled, pressed her.
"Don't you think it's too oppressive and suffocating down here?"
Nearby, Mikita—who was cleaning the windows—chimed in: "I think it's pretty unpleasant too."
Normally always smiling, even she couldn't muster a grin now.
"I know. I feel the same," Alvida said, letting out a sigh. As a Devil Fruit user herself, she could easily empathize with them. "But just bear with it for now. Listen."
The three Devil Fruit users stood still, straining their ears. From the captain's quarters came the sound of an organ—its tone eerie and sinister, like skeletal hands crawling out to clutch at them.
"Listen to what?" Buggy asked, puzzled.
"Can't you tell? The captain's in a good mood right now."
Alvida, as one of the earliest crew members aboard, knew Davy Jones' tastes well—and what mood certain pieces of music indicated.
"He probably likes being down here in the deep. Let's wait another day, then bring it up to him tomorrow. That'd be the right time."
"You sure know how to kiss up to the captain." Buggy plopped down on the deck, staring up. In the faint light, his red nose looked like an overripe tomato.
Still mopping, Alvida shot back: "That's why I told you—if you want to go, go yourself. I'm waiting until tomorrow."
Buggy shook his head and turned to Mikita. "What about you? Want to come with me?"
"Yaha…" Mikita gave an awkward laugh beneath her yellow hat. "Better not. I'm still new here…"
"One by one, no guts at all." Buggy jumped up, dusted off his pants, and went back to the bucket, wringing out the rag with extra force.
Alvida watched his back and gave a scornful little laugh before resuming her work.
If anyone had the guts, now would be the time to go to the captain's quarters—not just run their mouth about it.
Before long, Hatchan climbed up from the lower decks.
The moment his head appeared, Buggy asked, intrigued: "Hatchan, has Crocodile woken up yet?"
Since Captain Davy Jones had decided to spare Crocodile's life, they had bandaged his wounds. Hatchan had just been down delivering food to him.
"Not yet." Two of Hatchan's six arms were holding a piece of bread in one hand and an orange in the other. "He didn't even eat what I brought yesterday."
"Maybe he's already awake, just pretending to be out cold—plotting how to take us out," Buggy said in an ominous tone. "He's still a big-time pirate, after all. Even if he lost to our captain once, he might be looking to reclaim his pride."
Hatchan tilted his head up in thought for a moment, then shook it. "No way. I'm pretty sure he's lying in the exact same position as last night."
"All the more reason to be careful," Buggy said with a smug grin. "He's probably faking, waiting for you to let your guard down during a delivery so he can take you hostage and force the captain to release him."
Buggy added gravely: "But knowing the captain, he'd never give in to threats. He might just deal with you and Crocodile both in one go."
"Ah?!" Hatchan stumbled back in shock.
"Don't listen to him," Alvida said, putting her mop away and wiping her hands on a clean rag. "The captain wouldn't let you die. Don't you remember? We all owe the captain a debt. Until it's paid, he's not letting us die so easily."
Hatchan patted his chest in relief. "That's good. That's good."
Buggy frowned, spreading his hands. "That's what you're focusing on?"
"What else?" Alvida crossed her arms.
Mikita watched them banter, their tone light and almost playful—nothing like a group forced aboard the Terror Ghost. Instead of being grim and hopeless, they even seemed to find humor in their situation.
Could it be that they had already given up trying to escape Davy Jones?
She thought back to the scene of the Terror Ghost descending from the sky, and now here it was, deep beneath the sea. Perhaps it really was true—no matter where they went, they couldn't escape the ship, much less the man commanding it.
She was beginning to understand Alvida, Buggy and Hatchan's attitude.
Since coming aboard, Mikita had never dared to ask the others whether Davy Jones was really the same as the one in the terrifying legends—but judging from what she'd seen, the resemblance was disturbingly close.
Suddenly, Kuro—the lookout at the bow—walked over.
"Shift change?" Alvida asked in surprise.
She was supposed to take over the next watch at the bow, and a quick glance at her watch told her it wasn't time yet. She frowned.
Kuro shook his head. "There's something up ahead. I'm going to tell the captain."
He strode straight to the captain's quarters without the hesitation of Alvida or Buggy, knocking on the door.
The organ music inside ceased. Then came Davy Jones' voice.
"What is it?"
"Captain, I've spotted something ahead—looks like the ruins of a tall tower. Do you want to take a look?"
Moments later, the door opened. Davy Jones stepped out in his tricorne hat, nodding to the crew before walking toward the bow.
Through the ghostly green barrier, he soon saw the shadowy bulk looming ahead.
With a thought, he directed the Terror Ghost to skillfully shift course, circling closer.
It was indeed a towering structure, tilted into the seabed.
They could make out the brickwork of its walls and the square windows—packed close together like little rooms—resembling countless human mouths frozen mid-scream on the ocean floor.
But the tower was enormous. Even at the Terror Ghost's speed, it took nearly a quarter of an hour to circle only partway around it.
Soon, Davy Jones noticed a gaping, gate-like opening near its base. It yawned in darkness, small fish darting in and out.
"Captain," Kuro asked at just the right moment, "this tower's strange. Shall we go in and take a look?"
"Let's," Davy Jones nodded.
Kuro turned and exchanged glances with the others. No one objected.
The Terror Ghost descended toward the tower's gate and, like a massive whale, barely squeezed through.
Inside, the space was even darker than outside.
Disappointingly, it was empty—save for a spiral stone staircase winding upward along the walls.
Hugging the wall, the Terror Ghost slowly began to ascend.
At first, it was nothing but darkness and silence. Then, higher up, points of light glittered like stars, illuminating their path ahead.
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