"Got it."
The moment they heard that, the crew knew exactly what it meant—
Shanu was going to hog the fight again.
Since the captain had decided to handle it himself, there was obviously no room for anyone else to step in.
Kuina sighed, sheathing Wado Ichimonji with little enthusiasm before turning back toward the ship.
The rest followed one after another, all grumbling softly—
Not a single one tried to talk Shanu out of it.
Not a single "Be careful, Captain."
Crocodile's brow twitched.
What was with these people?
Why were they so calm?
Shouldn't they be panicking?
Shouldn't they be rallying together, shouting courage at each other, getting ready to fight to the death?
The worst of all—
that orange-haired girl—had even looked back at him with pity after Shanu said he'd fight alone.
What the hell is going on?!
Crocodile's chest burned with anger.
He'd taken this seriously. Especially that man, Shanu.
A bounty over 100 million right after leaving the East Blue, a man who'd even taken down a Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral—Onigumo—like it was nothing.
A troublesome brat indeed.
He couldn't afford to underestimate him. That's why he'd chosen this battlefield—
Whiskey Peak, a place where most of the terrain was desert.
And in the desert, the Sand-Sand Fruit user was an undisputed king.
"No one has ever defeated me in the desert," Crocodile said darkly, raising his right hand, his index finger glowing faintly with golden grains.
"And no one has ever escaped my grasp here."
If these nobodies wanted to mock him, then fine—they'd pay for it.
"Desert Sunflower!"
The ground beneath the port instantly began to turn to sand.
Within moments, a massive whirlpool of quicksand formed under everyone's feet.
But just as the vortex began to swallow them—
"Geppo!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Kuina, Zeff, Nojiko, Smoker… all shot into the air, stepping on nothing but air itself.
Even Nami burst into flames, transforming into a blazing firebird that flapped easily over the deadly whirlpool.
"Whoa, Nami!" Nojiko blinked in surprise. "You can fly now? When did you learn that?"
"I've been able to for a while," Nami replied midair. "But it burns through stamina like crazy. I can't go far—it's way less practical than Gepppo."
"That idiot Warlord really doesn't know when to quit," Nojiko muttered. "The captain said it'd be a one-on-one, but he still attacked us."
"Seriously," Zeff added gruffly, "if the captain hadn't told us to stay out of it, I'd have already kicked him halfway to Alabasta."
They all laughed and chatted as they stepped through the air, casually heading back to the ship—
completely ignoring the deadly sandstorm beneath them… and the Warlord whose face was turning an ugly shade of green.
"Feeling a bit like a clown, aren't you?"
Shanu's voice cut through the swirling wind.
Crocodile turned to see the black-haired youth grinning, white teeth flashing.
"Don't worry," Shanu said with a smirk. "You've only just arrived in Gotham."
Whoosh—!
Before Crocodile could blink, the boy vanished.
Where—?
Crocodile's face tightened. Not daring to underestimate him, he instantly turned into sand, scattering his body into countless golden grains.
But then—
"Too slow."
The cold voice came from behind.
Crocodile felt a hand clamp down on his neck before he was slammed into the ground with bone-shattering force.
What—how?!
He'd already turned to sand! He shouldn't have been touched!
BOOM!
The back of his skull smashed into the desert floor. His vision went black, his ears rang violently, and his body skidded across the sand like a rag doll, carving a trench dozens of meters long.
Through the spinning haze, he caught sight of something—
a black, inky aura rippling across Shanu's fists.
"Armament Haki?!"
Impossible.
There were barely a handful of people in Paradise who could use that.
How could some rookie who'd just crossed Reverse Mountain wield it so effortlessly?!
"You look surprised," Shanu said casually.
"Guess staying in Paradise too long made you forget what it feels like to have your face punched in."
Crocodile staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth, staining his collar—and his cigar.
He spat out the half-burnt stub, lit another, and stared at Shanu with pure killing intent.
"I'll admit," he growled, "that caught me off guard."
He sneered. "Didn't think you'd mastered something like that. But Haki…?"
He raised his left arm. The golden hook and the limb itself darkened, covered with a heavy, obsidian sheen.
"In the New World, even the small fry can use it. So what?"
"Whoa," Shanu said, half-mocking, half-genuinely amused.
"So you do know Haki?"
And that surprise—it was genuine.
"Of course I do!"
Crocodile snapped, veins twitching. "I've fought Whitebeard, kid! You think I wouldn't know Armament and Observation?!"
He took a drag of his cigar, the smoke curling into the storm around them.
"So if you think Haki alone can take me down, you're making a big—"
BOOM!
His words were cut short as a black fist smashed toward him.
He barely had time to react before his head burst apart into a cloud of sand.
But when Shanu's strike passed through empty air, the sand reformed a few meters away.
Crocodile's grin returned, cigar still clenched between his teeth.
"See that?" he taunted.
"Earlier, you caught me off guard, but now that I'm serious—you'll never touch my real body again."
"Is that so?"
Shanu's voice echoed faintly through the storm. "Funny. Because my warm-up's just getting started."
His body crouched low, muscles tensing like coiled springs, every fiber humming with focus.
Crocodile's Observation Haki flared to its limit.
"Soru!"
The ground exploded.
Crocodile's pupils glowed red for an instant as he sneered, "Got you!"
His hook-arm suddenly twisted and extended, snapping forward like a striking viper, its tip wrapped in Armament Haki as it stabbed toward the empty air behind him—