Cold.
A bone-piercing chill surged through Carlchi's obese body, as if it had crawled straight up from the depths of hell.
His layers of fat trembled uncontrollably.
Fear.
A dense, suffocating fear wrapped tightly around his heart, making it impossible to hide—his expression, his eyes, even his breathing betrayed him completely.
Even as a Marine lieutenant who had long grown accustomed to throwing his weight around, Carlchi understood something with terrifying clarity:
He was standing at the edge of an abyss.
One wrong move—
And he would be finished.
This was the first time in his life.
The first time he had ever felt it so vividly:
Despair pressing down on his body.
Death breathing right against his face.
He already had one foot on the boundary between life and death.
"White clothes…"
"A wooden sword…"
"Aboy——a boy…"
Carlchi's lips trembled as his eyes, bloodshot and wide, locked onto the figure less than ten meters away.
A white-clad youth, holding a wooden sword.
Every detail matched.
Perfectly.
The information flooding his mind from the Marine base replayed again and again like a death sentence.
At this moment, Carlchi no longer cared about how absurd it sounded—that Smoker had been instantly defeated by a teenager.
He only cared about one thing.
Who exactly was standing in front of him right now?
"The clothes… the appearance… the age… even the wooden sword…"
"All of it matches the report!"
"So that means…"
"T-This boy… he's the one who instantly crushed Smoker?!"
"And now he's standing right here—right in front of my checkpoint?!"
For the first time ever, Carlchi truly felt how close death could be.
His position as a checkpoint officer had always guaranteed safety.
He never chased pirates.
Never fought.
Never risked his life.
It was the perfect post.
High authority.
Endless oil money.
Zero danger.
That was how his life was supposed to go.
But now—
The aura of death had descended without warning, hanging over his head like a guillotine.
"Why did you stop him?!"
"WHY?!"
"Which idiot dared to stop someone like him?!"
Carlchi's heart roared with fury.
He wanted to drag out the Marine who had stopped Ryukawa and skin him alive on the spot.
If not for that single action—
He wouldn't be standing here, feeling his soul being squeezed to death.
You didn't stop a person.
You stopped a walking calamity.
Cold sweat poured down Carlchi's face, soaking his Marine uniform completely.
He didn't even dare wipe it away.
Because he understood better than anyone—
The white-clad youth in front of him was not someone he could afford to offend.
Smoker.
Was Smoker strong?
Of course he was.
In Carlchi's eyes, a Logia user like Smoker was practically the pinnacle of power in Loguetown.
Carlchi himself had dreamed for years of obtaining a Logia Devil Fruit.
Which meant he knew, better than most, how terrifying Logia users truly were.
Yet Smoker had lost.
Not just lost—
He had been crushed in an instant.
One exchange.
That was all it took.
What kind of monster could do that?
Carlchi didn't dare imagine it.
And the worst part?
The Marine base had already issued a clear internal warning:
"If you encounter a white-cladboy holding a wooden sword—avoid him at all costs."
"Do NOT provoke him under any circumstances."
And now?
That very existence—
Was standing right here.
Blocked by his checkpoint.
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