Disclaimer: One Piece is the property of Eiichiro Oda. Many of the characters in this story are property of me. Do not use this story or its characters without my permission. Thank you.
The final round! An epic fight was about to break out! The Marines had crowded around the ring and clamored for the match to start at last! Their patience had all but ended! The towns people sat up in the stands provided by the folding accessory equipment attached to the port side of the Marine battleship that had hosted the previous battles, all bored and simply talking among themselves. Only two younger people in the crowd were intent on watching, and even they weren't very excited.
"Hey Araly" Don said, "isn't Bard up next?"
"Yup" Araly said apathetically. Don nudged her with a grin.
"Well, aren't you excited?" he asked.
"I would be" Araly said "if there was anything to be excited about..."
"Alright, all you lovely people!!!" the announcer bellowed. A boisterous marine with a cleft chin and control over a loudspeaker Den Den Mushi system, the only true requirements to being an announcer among the rest of the Marines. "This is it! The final round! Great fighters from all across the West Blue were gathered here for a grand martial arts tournament! But now, we stand with the two most powerful fighters from all over the sea! In one corner, haling from this very island, standing in the breeze of his hometown spirit! BARD D. SAMEKAWAAAAA!!!" A roar of applause and cheering echoed out from the Marines. Even they had been swept away by Bard's ceaseless performance, easily trouncing all of his competitors in this 32-man single-elimination by knock-out-only tournament.
"He's amazing!" a Marine shouted.
"He'll be a great Marine someday!" and older, bigger Marine called. The townspeople, all but one, just sat and clapped. Bard's own mother was the only one verbose and brave enough to stand and cheer for her son.
"Go get 'em, Bard!" she cheered, her voice blasting tenderly over all the others that cheered. "Do your best!" Bard walked out from his corner of the ring, a sectioned off portion of the stone walkway of the harbor where the Marine ships were docked, and pumped his arms up. The complimentary Marine robe he wore blew off his shoulders to a strong gust of air and revealed his stunningly muscular structure to the Marines. To add to their amazement, he was unscathed. All those previous matches and he was completely unhurt. Not a mark or scratch or anything at all!
He stood with his arms up, flexing them and tilting p one leg to flex on the balls of his feet. He smiled wide with an air of arrogance, so much so that even the Marines downwind began to lose their appreciation.
He poses a lot some of them thought. A general apathy that mimicked the townspeople was gathering in the Marines, but a single voice that called higher than the wind and the waves from the stands kept Bard from caring about the disdain he sensed.
"Go, Bard!" his mother called, waving from her seat. "Kick butt! You've almost won!"
"Could you be less verbose, Mrs. Samekawa?" Araly's mother pleaded. She sat down and laughed to herself.
"I'm sorry" she apologized. "That's just my only son out there, and he's nearly won! How can't I get excited?" The haggard woman leaned forward and let out a scowl.
"Not to be insulting" she said, "but doesn't your son's behavior bother you at all?"
"No" Mrs. Samekawa replied in immediate response. "He's just a boy, having his fun."
"This is his fun?" she asked in shock. "Fighting? Beating other men into crumpled piles of blood and bone?"
"He hasn't gone that far yet" Mrs. Samekawa said.
"Mom" Don said to the side, "one of those fighters Bard beat was a woman, you realize."
"Eh!?" she said in pure shock. "Which one?"
"The one with the least beard" Don said "and the most clothes." And all the while, as the pre-fight preparations were underway for Bard's opponent, Araly just settled herself to working on some random stitching and seaming on a garment in her lap. It was deep black and the sun on it warmed her legs to the point where she was sweating.
"I wonder if they're handing out drinks up here...." she wondered.
"Alright!" the announcer Marine began, now in a much more militant tone. "We have just been informed that the champion, the absolute dominator of this tournament thus far, has finally given us the ready sign!" Bard stopped posing with a start and looked around in confusion.
"Wasn't that me?" Bard said, breaking cool. "Aren't I the best one here?"
"Not yet, kid" a Marine called, catching Bard's attention. "First you've gotta beat this guy!"
"Who?" Bard asked. "The boxer kid?"
"Not just any boxer, young Bard!" the announcer called.
"You can hear me!?" Bard called back in surprise.
"Hailing from and island" the announcer continued "famous for its generations of incredible fighting linage, a place where the most powerful boxers of the entire world are trained, where the school has never known defeat, not in its near hundred-year world-wide circuit existence! The impossible shall meet the incomparable today! The young upstart, self-trained strongman Bard will come face to face with the most powerful man on this side of the globe! The divine fists of the West Blue!" In he entered, a beastly man standing as tall as Bard plus a few inches, his short-cropped hair cresting just above Bard's bustling golden waves. His arms were long, his legs were thick, his torso was marked with ages of training, the structure of a man who was born a warrior and never stopped to become one, muscular enough to redefine Bard as a weakling by comparison.
His eyes were squint and his lips were thin and tightly pursed and his nose was flat to his face save for the tip that pointed out as a tiny jut of flesh and cartilage harder than bone. His brows were thick and flat across his manly carved brow. His chin had a perfect cleft cut and the tone of his face was such that his muscles were easily seen through his powerfully worked flesh. His eyes were blue...and blank. Void of all emotion. All he had to speak was in his fists, which were bound up with tape. He and Bard met at the center of the ring, facing off close enough for their bare toes to touch. Bard stayed grinning, his body ready for war, and glared up at his new opponent with a dastardly inward smirk.
"ROCK EE-ALI!!!" Rock flexed his amazing, godly carved arms and tore his fleece robe to pieces instantly.
Finally Bard thought. Now all my warming up pays off!
The fight would go on until the observers, Marine captains operating in the West Blue, called the fight on one of several predetermined reasons. A victory constituted a knock-out, a willful submission by the loser or a technicality. The technicality currently in play was that if one contestant killed another, or made the direct attempt to kill their opponent during the match, or if any weapon or advantageous device were used during the fight, that person would be disqualified and placed under arrest for interfering with a Government sanctioned and controlled event. Other than that, the fights could go on for as long as it took for someone's body to completely give out and lose all consciousness. Those were the only rules. Any style, so long as it was kept in control of any lethal blows, was allowed. Both of these men knew that, and even still, one of them was walking back to place with his arms up in the straight boxing guard.
Not too shabby Bard thought, facing his enemy from across the ring. He's going simple for this. Good. I guess I will too, keep my energy up to a max for the match. And so, against any other stream of logic he may have been able to come up with, he took an identical boxing pose but with one leg forward. He paced slowly to the center of the ring once the match began and his opponent did the same. Suddenly, at the same moment, they both took a hop in the same direction, strafing in a wide circle meters away from each other. Bard grinned behind his fists. Rock was showing no emotion.
Knew it Bard thought. The principals of any boxing lie in body control, but since they're always on guard near each other, their footwork is their greatest asset in movement. In some martial arts balance replaces footwork, or even agility or maybe even the ability to move without taking the same kind of step twice! Boxing requires perfect, solid balance on the balls of one's feet. To be flatfooted is to lose the advantage!
"You aren't the only one" Bard said "that knows how to fight!" Bard rushed in with short dashing hops. Rock retreated twice for Bard's six dashes and was caught in Bard's first major attack. First a straight swing into his guard. His arms were hard as rock, completely tense in defense. Bard smirked at this and leaned back. Rock kept blocking but leaned forward. Bard ducked forward and shot an arm up, trying to break through his guard, but Rock slid his elbows together and defended. Bard's fist had turned into a hand and he forced Rock's body to bend backwards.
If he's too tense Bard thought his whole body'll be vulnerable. His arms connect to his shoulders, and from there his chest, the core of all punching muscles! If I force up one part, all the connected, hardened parts go up together! Bard ducked down once more, brought his arms in tight to his chest, his fists knotted tight but loose and controlled, right under his chin where his excited grin showed. He began a short-range, rapid-speed flurry of punches to Rock's abs, right where the stone-hard muscles of his six pack met the exposed underside between his ribs. Rock's face went unchanged for the whole attack, despite the bravado of Bard's rush. Bard dashed out with a meter-long hop and kept his his guard. As expected, Rock had jabbed his elbows down just after Bard retreated and was glaring.
He threw. Bard pushed forward and leaned away from the punch, inside Rock's guard. Rock drew back and turned his body forward, following after the next powerful fist he threw at Bard. Bard leaned back and slowed his advance by stepping out. Rock's other arm was drawn in with such force that he nicked Bard's back and prompted a split-second of indecision and pain. Rock took ful advantage to turn himself to Bard once more, aligning their centers with a slide of his foot. Bard clenched his teeth and made the first move. A square blow to the side of Rock's face. Rock countered but was dodged by the desperate lean of Bard's head. Bard stepped in with his arm drawn back and low, then gave a grave uppercut to the same beat-upon part of flesh that Rock had just sustained so many blows to. His hand didn't budge past Rock's ribs, quite against the initial plan.
What the!? Bard thought. Rock stepped back and punched as he made his retreat. Bard took it straight to the face and staggered a step before regaining himself and retreating. A blow right to his cheekbone. Any closer and he would've hit right where my jaw connects. I'm glad he didn't. The last thing I want to get is punch-drunk this early! Okay! Bard loosened his stance, and his fists, opting for a more energetic and flowing pose. He hopped to and fro, side to side, inch to inch. One hand was up and half-gripped near his mouth. The other was forward, pulling his body, a flat open palm and tightly pressed fingers to make a solid slicing hand. The wave of his hand's motion seemed to flow like the gentle current of the sea.
"The fist that cuts waves!" Bard shouted. "Samekawa-Ken!!"The spectators were curious now. In the sudden bursts of action they had seen a new respect had been granted to Bard, and an equal hope of victory had been placed in his opponent as well.
"Samekawa-ken?" an elder of the village spoke. "Fist of Shark Skin? Mrs. Samekawa, do you know of this technique?"
"OOOOO!!!!" she awed, her mouth wide and round. She clutched her teeth together and began to shake with excitement, and dread. "I knew it! I knew letting Bard read books would bring him no good! He must have found his father's diary!"
"What!?" the elder exclaimed.
"Bard got a hold of that!?" another man shouted.
"I didn't even know he kept one!" a woman announced. "Such a book is dangerous!"
"I didn't think any harm would come of it" she admitted, still shaking and carefully observing. "He never kept anything I thought was dangerous in it. I only saw him write in it before Bard was born and when I was pregnant. It's possible, though, that he wasn't just recording his life....I found out, from Bard, little by little, that he was learning a martial art that he was reading from a book. I only saw him with the book once, but I was forced to explain what it was. My husband must have developed a fighting style....I can't say if he named it that or if it's just Bard showing off again...."
It's that the whole town thought.
"....But I know it's something that shouldn't be used in a tournament." At her finish a startling revelation shook the crowd. Bard was in possession of a terrible, possibly illegal technique, and he didn't know it. He just went in fighting, his flat hand weaving through the air like a shark hunting its prey through the water, and struck Rock right in his side, straight between the ribs, while his guarding hand caught and diverted his counter attack all on a single graceful motion.
A wave crashed at the harbor and sparkling ocean dew kicked up from below. The Shark Fist had been revealed, Bard's greatest weapon, disabling Rock's movements long enough for an all-out berserk of punches and kicks to his rock-hard frame, all to which Bard let out a fearsome scream.
"ORYAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!"
The rush continued! Against all odds, and betting pools, Bard was beating Rock Ee-Ali! For each successful blow Rock managed to land, powerful yet few though they were, Bard returned the favor with an energetic succession of what seemed to be an expenditure of his infinite combat energy. He would stun Rock with a knife-hand jab to his ribs then proceed to pummel him with knees, elbows, shins and fists. Once he met a powerful guard he backed away and played the counter-dodge game, avoiding Rock's attacks while throwing his own at close range. The audience was captivated with the hypnotic pattern of the fight. It was predictable, granted, but that didn't make it any less tense.
Neither fighter had any signs of duress or fatigue. The fight had gone on for three hours already and the ocean was getting rough. The people on the bleacher stands attached to the boat were safely let onto solid ground as the giant boat started rocking for and aft in the undulations of the sea.
The manager of Rock, the greatest boxing fighter in the West Blue, was clutching his greatly decorated fist on the sidelines. A potbellied, spoiled shell of a man with flabby arms and legs that used to be cut to the West's greatest prime of fighting youth, he stood up from his seat and pursed his lips, gritting his gold-studded teeth and glaring through huge novelty shades at the display.
"Perhaps his reputation too far preceded him" a man said. Great and huge, captain Mars Young of the Marines sat with the manager in his private rain hut, set up in case of rain. He leaned back in his seat, which creaked under his strong weight, and grinned under his manly beard. "He should have been training to run more marathons to keep up with it, I think!"
"Shut up!" the manager roared, tossing his fedora into the sea, revealing his balding head and the cornrows tied together at the back of his neck. "Dammit! Get me another hat!" His demand had somehow met with supply, and he was handed a new, flashy velvet hat. "He's the toughest in the sea, stronger than this kid for sure! You're just not seeing it!"
"Of course I'm seeing" Mars said. He leaned forward again and placed his arm across his knee. "What I'm seeing is something brilliant. That kid, Bard, has got this match under his total control. He's started a loop that Rock can't break, even though he could at any time."
"Seriously!?" the manager shouted. "That's it then! I'll give him my special, secret sign!"
"Shackles!" Mars roared. Three Marines were upon the man clasping heavy iron shackles around his wrists, ankles and around his neck, all of them bound by chains to the stone ground. "We can't have any outside interference besides encouragement. In the heat of battle a Marine has to be able to give his own orders, whether he likes it or not. His superiors can't control him all the time. It doesn't work like that. We're not puppeteers. We're mentors, teachers, guides to raise the strongest army so we can protect anyone, anywhere. That's what this is about, to find the strongest men for the Marines, men who can protect anyone, anywhere, without their orders on a sheet of paper."
"Well how's a karate tournament supposed to do that!?" the manager asked.
"Okay" Mars began, "first of all, I'm gonna kick you so hard you're ass will be wearing a size seventeen boot!" The manager cringed and tightened his guard up. "Secondly, everyone who's been here had something to protect. Honor, heritage, prestige, ego. These two are no different. One fights for the respect and honor weighed upon his shoulders by a prestigious and famously influential school. The other boy is protecting something more personal. He's protecting what seems to be the pride of this village, an entire gathering of people who trust him, believe in him, and know without a doubt that he'll win. He's protecting everything he's ever gained from them, and although that may sound selfish of him, just look at what he's doing. He's tooling that punk's ass!" It was obvious which way Mars was biased. The manager had a certain dreadful lump lingering in his throat, but he knew what to do. He struggled himself up to his shackled feet and shouted across the ring.
"Kick his ass, Rock! Kick it until he's wearing your size eighteen boot!!!" Something flared up in Rock and at his planned counter he backed away. Bard continued rushing in, cutting a path like a shark through water with his blade hand swimming forward, while Rock continued to retreat. Rock took a different stance now, his right arm up and his left arm down and cocked back, the Southpaw! Bard kicked himself away just in time and avoided a full-bodied punch aimed straight for his face. Bard was hopping around again, this time inching himself hop by hop to the left while Rock carefully, slowly slid himself to his left, creating a constant circle.
"You can't just knock me into the ocean, man" Bard said. Rock grinned. The first show of any emotion on his face, but it was so hard Bard barely caught it.
"I don't plan on it" Rock said, issuing the first indication of his ability to talk. His voice was deep and mysterious, a voice as hard and powerful as the stone he seemed to be carved from. "I plan on breaking you down!"
"I'll take a bite outta you!" Bard said with a vicious growl. The dull roar of the tired crowd failed to reach him now. He was lost in a world of fighting. The adrenaline had blocked his ears. Now all he could hear was the cotton-dulled sound of him hitting Rock so hard that skin broke. Both of them had broken somewhere, slightly. Rock's chest had a cut but Bard's knuckle was bleeding. He licked it, endured the sting of the fresh saliva salting his wound, and began his furious hand-stab barrage. He leaned his whole body in with his right arm, letting his piercing attack carry all his weight with each jab as he advanced.
"HERE IT IS! SHARK ATAAAACK!!!" Rock didn't care for the angry theatrics. He just blocked his best and countered when he could. They danced in this blurry battle around the ring for a full minute, a minute longer than the repetitious three hours had seemed for Captain Mars. When they finally broke away Bard was panting and grinning, his body low and both his hands sporting thin streams of blood. He hadn't trained the Samekawa-ken enough. The tips of his fingers were ripe red and his fingers were shortened as they had pushed back into the joints. Bard grabbed the fingers of his right hand and pulled them. A sick cracking blasted out, loud enough for all to hear and cringe at, while he just smiled. Rock cracked his knuckles and set himself up, now a proper high-low guard, left hand up defending, right hand low and cocked to jab, right leg back, body twisted at the hips.
"You're going down" Bard said as he stood up. No more theatrics. He took a similar pose, but without the swimming of the shark fist. He just had a tight hand, clenched to a fist, wringing in and out, one finger at a time. "I'll send you to the bottom of the ocean!"
"I'm a decent swimmer" Rock said. "You may have to go down with me to make sure I drown!" And there it was. The ground between them got heavy and cracked. Power was in the air, the pure stench of raw power. The souls of two men living for battle clashed with an echoing bang as their mimicked attacks connected! Fist met fist, just as cannonball would serendipitously meet cannonball, in two simultaneous running-start punches. Knuckles were moved at the blow. They pushed off of each other to repeat but Bard sneered. He jut forward his middle finger as it sailed in to meet Rock's fist. Only too late did Rock notice out of the sharp corners of his eye as Bard's pointed fist jabbed right between the knuckles of his ring and middle finger. The gap was wide enough on the boxer's tough fists to allow an aching pain as Bard's finger and pushed past the knuckles and nearly split the joints of his hand apart.
If it's not fatal Bard thought, then it's legit! That was his only thought. He next stomped down, just next to Rock's foot, and crunched his body down with a snarl. Rock caught up with Bard and stopped what would be a devastating uppercut with a solid headbutt straight down. The fighters staggered two steps from each other and reengaged. Bard threw a kick and Rock threw a punch. They met, retreated, reposed, and started over, just punching and kicking and trying to fight past each other, working no advantage other than strength, both so involved that the dread of their onlookers and the fear of the Marines failed to reach them.
