The North Blue stretched vast and unforgiving, its waters dark beneath overcast skies. In the Kingdom of Lubnir, the port town of Srilan bustled with the usual chaos of dock workers, merchants, and less savory types. At the harbor's edge, a Marine ship bearing the insignia of the 113th Branch sat anchored, its white hull stark against the weathered wooden piers.
A column of Marines marched through the narrow streets toward the town center. Their boots struck the cobblestones in uneven rhythm, and the townspeople who noticed them quickly found reasons to look elsewhere. At the head of the formation walked a young man whose captain's epaulettes caught the pale afternoon light.
The tavern they approached reeked of stale beer and unwashed bodies even from outside. Two Marines jogged ahead and shoved the doors open with practiced efficiency.
Captain Finn stepped inside.
The noise hit him first. Raucous laughter, shouted arguments, the clatter of dice and cards. Dock workers with calloused hands nursed cheap drinks while smugglers muttered in corners. A few local thugs played at looking dangerous near the back. This was exactly the kind of establishment where filth pooled in every shadow, where men who couldn't afford to be seen in daylight conducted their business.
Finn's eyes swept the room with calculated precision. His lips curled slightly. "Tsk. No pirates."
A Marine moved to his side, keeping his voice low. "Captain Finn, the middleman Blennet is over there." He gestured toward a corner table where five burly men sat hunched over their drinks.
Finn studied them. Scars crisscrossed their exposed arms. Their shoulders were broad, their postures aggressive even in rest. The kind of men who'd learned violence young and never forgotten the lessons. Not pleasant company, but exactly who he'd come to find.
"Looks like the trip wasn't wasted after all," Finn murmured.
He walked forward without hesitation. Conversations died in his wake like candles snuffed by wind. Chairs scraped as people shifted away. No matter how rough this crowd pretended to be, they understood what the white coat and Marine insignia represented. Justice. Authority. The kind of trouble that didn't end with a fistfight in an alley.
The low-level thugs who terrorized ordinary citizens always showed their true colors when facing the Marines. Loud and aggressive with the weak, but skittish as alley cats when confronted by real power.
Blennet, a thick-necked man with a nose that had been broken more than once, was laughing at something one of his companions said. He didn't even glance up as Finn approached.
Finn pulled out an empty chair and sat down as if he'd been invited.
Blennet's laughter died. He looked at Finn with narrowed eyes. "Marine? I don't remember inviting you for a drink."
"Five days ago, you moved a shipment. It included a famous blade called Sōzai." Finn's tone was conversational, almost pleasant. "Where is it now?"
One of Blennet's men, a mountain of muscle who looked about two meters tall, leaned forward with a sneer. "Hey, Marine. We don't have to answer your questions. We don't know what you're talking about. We're legitimate businessmen, protected by the Kingdom of Lubnir!"
Finn turned his head slowly to look at the man. The thug puffed out his chest, trying to look imposing. Compared to the short blond hair Finn, who stood just over 1.8 meters in his standard-issue uniform with an unremarkable sword at his waist, the difference in size was obvious. Finn looked almost ordinary, the kind of Marine you'd pass in a hallway without a second thought. His only distinguishing feature was that he was, perhaps, a bit more handsome than average.
The slap came so fast the sound registered before the movement.
CRACK.
The big man's head snapped to the side. A vivid red handprint bloomed on his cheek. His eyes went wide with confusion, as if his brain couldn't process what had just happened.
"Don't raise your voice when I'm not speaking to you," Finn said, examining his palm with mild interest. "I have a temper, and I really hate loud noise."
Behind him, Marines filed into the tavern in a coordinated sweep. Within moments, they'd herded the other patrons toward the door. Protests died before they could form. The dock workers and petty criminals recognized a losing situation when they saw one.
Soon, only Blennet's group remained, surrounded by two dozen Marines in a tightening circle. The tavern owner cowered behind his bar, face pale.
Finn picked up a half-empty bottle from the table, weighing it thoughtfully in his hand. "I'll ask again. Where is Sōzai?"
Sweat beaded on Blennet's forehead. He licked his lips, caught between two kinds of fear. "Sir, someone's already claimed that sword. Powerful people. I can't afford to cross them. Please, don't put me in this position..."
"Ahh." Finn sighed like a teacher disappointed with a student's wrong answer.
"You choose…. poorly"
He brought the bottle down on Blennet's head.
Glass exploded. Cheap wine and bright blood ran together down Blennet's face. He screamed, hands flying to his skull, his chair tipping backward from the impact.
"In other words," Finn said, shaking wine from his fingers, "you think you can afford to offend me?"
Blennet's men surged to their feet, murder in their eyes. Muscles tensed. Hands drifted toward weapons.
But they didn't move. Not really. And that hesitation told Finn everything.
"Fight," he said simply, already walking toward the bar.
The Marines descended like a storm.
Twenty trained fighters against six thugs wasn't a fair fight. It was a beating. Fists and rifle butts rose and fell in brutal rhythm. The sound of impact, of breaking bone and torn flesh, filled the tavern. Blennet's men tried to fight back, but they were dock muscle, street brawlers. The Marines fought with discipline, coordination, overwhelming force.
Finn settled onto a barstool and smiled at the trembling owner. "Don't get me wrong. We're Marines. We represent justice. As long as you haven't done anything evil, you won't be harmed." He gestured to the bottles behind the bar. "I'll have a drink. Something good, if you have it."
The owner's hands shook as he retrieved a better bottle from the back shelf and poured with exaggerated care.
Finn placed a few Bailey notes on the counter, more than the drink was worth, and sipped thoughtfully.
Behind him, the beating continued. Blennet's voice rose in desperate pleas. "Captain! Captain! Stop! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
Finn swirled his wine, watching the light play through the amber liquid. He said nothing.
The Marines didn't stop.
The screaming eventually faded to whimpers, then to nothing but labored breathing and the occasional whine of pain. When even those sounds grew faint, Finn spoke.
"Bring him here."
Two sergeants grabbed Blennet under the arms and dragged him to the bar like a sack of grain. A trail of blood marked his path across the floorboards. His face had swollen into a grotesque mask. Both eyes were nearly shut, his lips split, his nose clearly broken. Blood matted his hair and soaked his shirt.
Through puffy eyelids, he could barely make out Finn's silhouette.
Finn poured the rest of his wine over Blennet's head. The alcohol found every cut, every split in his skin. Blennet shrieked.
"This is your last chance," Finn said, voice perfectly calm. "Give me what I want."
"The dock!" Blennet gasped between sobs. "Boss Vinier's ship! He's... he's with the Donquixote Family! The sword is there! Please!"
His head lolled forward. Unconscious.
Finn waved a hand. The sergeants tossed Blennet into the corner like garbage.
"Gather everyone," Finn ordered, standing and adjusting his coat. "We're going to the docks. I want to see Sōzai on our ship before sunset."
"Yes, Captain Finn!" The Marines snapped to attention in perfect unison.
Outside, the afternoon sun was already sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. A lieutenant fell into step beside Finn, his expression troubled.
"Captain," he said quietly, "that man mentioned the Donquixote Family. Should we be concerned?"
The Donquixote Family. They'd appeared in the North Blue only two years ago, but they'd spread like wildfire. Weapons, drugs, smuggling, protection rackets. If there was money in it, they wanted a piece. They'd become a significant force faster than anyone thought possible.
Rumor had it their leader was just a kid. A teenager playing at being a crime lord.
Finn knew better. He knew things about the future that no one else did, knowledge from a life before this one. He knew that the Donquixote Family's leader would one day become a Warlord of the Sea, one of the Seven Pirates sanctioned by the World Government itself.
But that was then. This was now.
"We're Marines," Finn said with a slight smile. "Since when do we fear criminals?"
The lieutenant opened his mouth to respond, but Finn was already walking away, his pace unhurried but purposeful.
As he approached the ship, Finn's thoughts turned inward. Sōzai wasn't just a famous blade. It was a tool, a stepping stone. With it, he'd have better equipment for the challenges ahead. More importantly, it would give him leverage, something to distinguish himself when the time came.
He'd spent seven years in this world. Seven years clawing his way up from nothing, learning how to survive in a reality where people could punch through buildings and monsters roamed the seas. Seven years in the North Blue, far from the centers of power.
But he had no intention of staying in this backwater forever.
His goal was Marine Headquarters. Marineford. Once he transferred there, once he wore the Headquarters uniform instead of this Branch insignia, his world would change. The Donquixote Family wouldn't dare touch him. Even Doflamingo himself, future Warlord or not, wouldn't be stupid enough to cause trouble at Marineford.
The Headquarters was where legends were made. Where true power resided.
And Finn fully intended to become a legend himself.
He looked out at the darkening sea, toward the docks where Vinier waited, unknowing. A small obstacle. Nothing more.
"Let's go claim what's mine," he said.