Loguetown, 9 years after Gol D. Roger's execution
I was just thirteen years old, but with a bounty of 8 million berries, I was now unofficially the most-wanted man in Loguetown.
The gravity of my situation hit me like a tidal wave..., but I managed...somehow.
As I sat there in the crows' nest of the anchored merchant ship and weathered wave after wave of fear and panic, the damning newspaper still clutched within my hands, something shifted.
The initial terror that had gripped my heart was transforming into something else—determination, and in its shadow I felt it, that tiny spark of excitement. It was an odd sensation, considering the perilous circumstances I found myself in.
But there was something else...
Pride!
I, the little boy from Oykot Kingdom, had defeated Daddy Masterson, on his own turf no less, when he had me in his sights. Injured or not, I walked away and he was in the hospital!
My life had taken a wild turn, I might be on the run, and the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but I was also on the path to something new, something that was entirely mine to shape. And if I had to face the challenges of the Grand Line to find Whiskey Peak, then so be it.
The quiet and the darkness were the only compatriots I had left in Loguetown. The night sky above and the rooftops beneath would be the only witnesses of my passing.
...At least I hoped so.
I had outgrown the ship graveyard, from now on the whole of Loguetown was going to be my playground. That was certain now, I thought as I gazed down from the dock warehouse in its rafters I had built my temporary nest. My makeshift hideout, consisting of a few sturdy planks, provided the bare essentials, just enough to lie upon. It was far from comfort, but it would have to suffice, at least for a while. Until I gathered everything I needed to take my next step.
I knelt at the edge of the roof, my unseeing eyes on the cobbled roads and back alleys below. I needed a crew, or at least a ship to hide on, that would get me over the Red Line.
Sign on, bribe, or hide? What to do?
Unbidden, my thoughts drifted to the past and the time Kuro had managed to land us on Don Krieg's ship. I needed to look the part, I couldn't reek of desperation, and I couldn't look like easy pickings...Captain Gally, that two-bit scumbag, having taken advantage of my moment of weakness still rankled something fierce.
I had to become the man depicted on that damning wanted poster, the figure sketched within the unforgiving lines of the newspaper article. I had to transform into Butcher Boy Hadley—the boy who'd grown up on Don Krieg's ship, the protege of Captain Kuro, whose star was on the rise.
Now, it was all about "dressing to impress."
With newfound determination coursing through me, I traversed Loguetown, dashing across rooftops, navigating the moonlit landscape with a blend of finesse and speed. I was aware of a fancy boutique nearby, not far from my former workplace, my old haunt—the restaurant where I had served as a dishwasher.
It was time to break in, to seize what I needed to craft my new identity. As I gazed at the entrance of the boutique from the roof across the street, I mulled over the best way to slip inside undetected.
The front door and the big display windows were right at the wide road, streetlights nearby, and good visibility from a distance toward both sides. This was a bust, let's hope the back is more inviting.
A handful of seconds later I stood in the alley directly behind the shop, which was neatly nestled between two other buildings. An alley just wide enough for a small cart to roll through, crates and trash bins lined the walls, and feeble lights were few and far between, this already looked a lot more inviting.
Stealthily, I crept along the narrow alley, keeping to the shadows, my senses alert for any signs of movement or unwanted attention. For a split second, I almost forgot the last couple of years and imagined myself still under Kuro, where subterfuge and covert operations were the preferred methods.
The boutique's rear entrance was secured with a heavy wooden door, adorned with an ornate brass handle. A small window, shuttered from the inside, offered a glimpse of the pitch-black interior. My nimble fingers reached my pocket, retrieving two pieces of wire carefully prepared early this evening. One straight, the other L-shaped, fairly simple and straightforward, but crucial.
I inserted the thin metal pick into the lock, my touch gentle yet purposeful. My hands worked deftly, feeling for the telltale resistance that indicated the tumblers falling into place. It was a delicate dance, one that required precision and patience. I wasn't as fast as I used to be, but...
Moments later, a soft click echoed in the silent alley, and the lock yielded to my persistence.
I remained motionless and listened, as the short burst of unbridled concentration had taken my entire attention. A relieved sigh was stifled in favor of absolute silence and then I gently pushed the door open, first a hairbreadth, then a slit, until it was just wide enough for me to slip inside.
This had to be some kind of side room, perhaps an office or a little workshop because to my left I spotted what seemed to be a gap in a curtain that disrupted the total darkness I found myself in. An awkward but silent shuffle later I stood in the showroom, the air was thick with the scent of fine fabrics and delicate perfumes. Moonlight filtered through sheer curtains and display models, casting an ethereal glow on the rows of exquisite garments that adorned the racks.
This was the place where Loguetown's elite came to indulge in opulent attire, and it was here that I intended to create my new identity.
I moved with silent determination, my keen senses guiding me through the dimly lit boutique. It didn't take long for me to locate what I needed—an ensemble that would transform me from a fugitive into a sophisticated, wealthy patron of high society, an heir to nobility. With each piece I selected—a finely tailored suit, a crisp white shirt, a pair of polished leather shoes—the weight of my past seemed to fade. It was as if I were shedding one skin and adopting another, a transformation that would be my ticket to survival in this unforgiving world.
Clothes make the man after all.
The money in the register and the safe helped, too.
As I adjusted the final details of my newfound disguise, I couldn't help but reflect on the fragments of information I had picked up during my years on pirate ships and the more recent times spent above the bustling bar. The conversations of sailors, drunk on rum and eager to boast about their adventures, had occasionally provided me with valuable tidbits about the enigmatic Grand Line.
One such nugget of knowledge had stuck with me—a vague reference to a special navigation device required to safely traverse the treacherous waters of the Grand Line. Rumors spoke of these devices having the power to lead a ship directly to its desired destination, bypassing the chaotic and perilous routes that often befell those who dared to sail through those unpredictable seas.
I furrowed my brow, contemplating my next move. It was clear that if I wanted to make any headway in finding Whiskey Peak on Cactus Island, I would need one of these navigation devices. But where could I possibly obtain such a rare and specialized item in Loguetown?
I considered the possibilities. Perhaps there was a specialized shop tucked away in one of the town's less frequented corners, a place where sailors and navigators could procure the tools of their trade. Alternatively, the Marines might have a stockpile of these devices, given their interest in controlling the seas.
My instincts told me that the Marines were more likely to keep such valuable items under tight security, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I needed to explore every avenue available to me, no matter the risks involved.
Thoroughly satisfied with my choice of clothing I gingerly stripped back out of it and carefully put the outfit in one of the shop-branded bags along with the money I pilfered. Back in my 'workwear' and already missing the feel of fine silk on my skin I silently slipped out of the boutique and ventured back into the moonlit streets of Loguetown.
I had stumbled upon the existence of Second Voyage only through a combination of random hearsay and hours spent scouring the alleys and backstreets of Loguetown under the cover of night. In the darkness, whispers and mumbles of drunk sailors floated through the air like errant spirits, guiding me toward a shop that might hold the key to my elusive goal—a navigational device for the treacherous waters of the Grand Line.
The next morning, with the sun's first rays barely touching the horizon, I returned. I hadn't slept much, the anticipation of what I might find in the curious establishment keeping my thoughts turbulent throughout the night. I couldn't afford to miss this opportunity, not when the fate of my journey depended on it.
As I approached the shop's entrance, I noted the faded wooden sign swinging gently above the door now in the sunshine. It read "Second Voyage: Loguetown's Mysterious Treasure Trove." The sign seemed to groan under the weight of its own secrets, an emblem of the enigmatic wares that awaited me inside.
I paused, hesitating for a brief moment before pushing open the door. The shop's interior greeted me with an odd mix of wonder and skepticism. It was small, immaculately clean, and lit by the soft glow of lanterns that cast flickering shadows over the countless items on display. The air bore a faint whiff of a scam, like the lingering scent of a well-rehearsed con.
Behind the polished wooden counter stood Drake Garret, the proprietor of Second Voyage. His slicked-back blonde hair gleamed under the warm light, and a perpetual smile, a little too fake to be genuine, played on his lips. His eyes, half-closed, regarded me with a mix of curiosity and calculation.
"Welcome, my friend!" Garret's voice was oily smooth, a practiced pitch that instantly put me on my guard. I simply couldn't afford to be fleeced, or worse be ratted out to the Marines. "You've found your way to Loguetown's most enigmatic treasure trove. Here, you'll uncover the mysteries of the Grand Line like nowhere else."
I nodded, my lips forming a tight smile as I entered the store. I noticed the shop's eclectic collection—an array of pistols and swords, pirate hats that hinted at past glories, navigational devices that whispered of perilous journeys—all meticulously arranged on shelves and in glass cases. But there was something off about it all, something that whispered of fabrication rather than authenticity.
The owner's gaze followed my every move like a hawk circling its prey. As I browsed the wares, I couldn't help but notice that Garret was relentless in his pursuit of a sale. The moment I lingered near an item for more than a couple of seconds, the shopkeeper would pounce, weaving tales of legendary pirates and their exploits, each narrative more extravagant than the last.
"This here, my friend," Garret declared as I examined an antique-looking brass telescope, "once guided the mighty Captain John himself through the deadly waters of the Grand Line. A rare find, indeed."
Undeterred, Garret moved on to the next item—a scuffed and battle-worn cutlass. "Ah, the blade of the infamous Pirate Woonan. Can you imagine the battles it's seen, the treasures it's claimed?"
As I continued to peruse the shop's offerings, I couldn't help but feel that Garret was trying to sell me more than just merchandise. There was an intensity in the shopkeeper's eyes, a hunger for something beyond mere currency. I knew that I needed to tread carefully in this treacherous treasure trove, for not all treasures were as they seemed.
Among the cluttered assortment of items in Second Voyage, there were a few that genuinely looked the part—weathered and battle-scarred, as if they had indeed borne witness to the tumultuous seas of the Grand Line. I couldn't help but be drawn to them, the allure of the unknown tugging at my curiosity.
I picked up a pair of aged flintlock pistols, their grips worn smooth by countless hands, and examined them with a discerning eye. These weren't the exaggerated, gleaming firearms that Garret had spun tales about. These were the real deal, each nick and scratch telling a story of their own.
"How did you come by these?" I asked, my voice a cautious murmur. I was aware that genuine pirate weaponry wasn't something that was easily obtained, especially not in a shop like this.
Garret's eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and pride. "Ah, my friend, connections. I have connections with the most secretive corners of the Grand Line, where treasure hunters and relic seekers gather to trade in whispers and shadows. The kind of places that few dare to venture."
I listened, half intrigued and half skeptical, as Garret continued to weave his narrative. Some items, he explained, had been seized by the Marines and subsequently sold off at a bargain. Others had been acquired from successful bounty hunters who sought to maximize their profits. It was a complex network of transactions, shrouded in secrecy and intrigue.
As Garret spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the layers of embellishment and half-truths, there was a kernel of reality to his tales. The Grand Line was a place of mysteries and enigmas, and it made sense that its relics and artifacts would be equally enigmatic in their origins.
Still, I remained cautious. I couldn't afford to be swayed by the allure of these items, no matter how genuine they appeared. My primary goal was to find a navigational device that would guide me safely through the perilous waters of the Grand Line. Everything else was secondary.
After a few more minutes of more or less feigned interest in various items, I decided it was time to get to the heart of the matter. I approached Garret, who had been watching my every move with keen interest, and cleared my throat.
"Do you, by any chance, have a navigational device?" I asked, choosing my words carefully. "Perhaps a log pose, or even an Eternal Pose?"
At the mention of the navigational device, Garret's eyes visibly brightened, and a grin spread across his face. It was as if he had been waiting for this very question.
"Why, my friend," Garret exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, "you seem to be someone in the know, someone with vision and clarity. I do indeed have navigational devices that can guide you through the mysteries of the Grand Line."
With a flourish, Garret gestured toward the back of the shop, where a wide cabinet stood against the wall. It appeared to be a repository for the most coveted and valuable items in Second Voyage's collection.
"Step this way," he urged, his excitement palpable. "I believe I have just the thing you're looking for."
With an exaggerated gesture, Garret swung open the wide cabinet, revealing an array of small devices, each designed with a glass orb and a dainty needle. Some were fashioned into wristbands, while others were held in intricate casings. As my eyes scanned the collection, I noticed that the devices within casings bore names, presumably the names of islands or places.
My curiosity piqued, I leaned in closer to get a better look. There were dozens of these devices, each one marked with a different name. Names like Kyuka Island, Nanimonai Island, Little Garden, and Enies Lobby caught my eye, hinting at the vastness and diversity of the Grand Line's territories.
However, what truly stood out were two names that appeared to vastly outnumber the rest—Cactus Island and Hyokaido. The devices bearing these names were in abundance, as if they were the most sought-after or perhaps the most frequently needed destinations for those brave enough to venture into the Grand Line.
I couldn't help but be intrigued by the sheer number of devices labeled with Cactus Island and Hyokaido. It was an oddity that had me raising an eyebrow. Turning to Garret, I couldn't resist asking the question that had been gnawing at me.
"Why are there so many devices headed for Cactus Island and Hyokaido?" I queried, my curiosity evident.
Garret's laughter filled the room, a melodious sound that seemed strangely out of place amidst the mysterious atmosphere of the shop. He leaned closer, his voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone. "My friend, Cactus Island and Hyokaido are popular tourist destinations within the Grand Line. So, you see, they want customers, and they've partnered with establishments like mine to help weary travelers find their way."
I nodded, appearing satisfied with the explanation, but deep down, I was beginning to view Garret in a new light. Cactus Island, I knew, was more than just a tourist spot; it was a focal point for bounty hunters and a place where individuals like me had to tread carefully. The implications of these devices being so readily available for such destinations were not lost on me.
"And they get you to those islands?" I inquired, my voice now laced with anticipation. I needed confirmation that these would serve my purpose, I wasn't going to be deterred by some shady or potentially messy business practices.
Garret's smile never wavered as he nodded. "Indeed they do, my friend. Each one is attuned to a specific island or location, guiding you directly to your desired destination. No more fumbling through unpredictable routes. With these, you'll sail with confidence."
My fingers itched to pick up one of the devices, to feel the weight of my newfound advantage in this perilous journey I was about to undertake. But I had one more crucial question before I made my decision.
"And how much for one of these devices?"
"50 thousand berries for an off-the-shelf log pose like these and 200 thousand for Cactus Island or Hyokaido, a bargain because I like you," Garret answered with a wink and smiled as if he was now my best friend in the world. "A million for the others I'm afraid." he finished, sounding like it broke his heart to reveal the bad news.
I swallowed at those numbers...
Nonetheless, I needed one of these devices, and this seemed to be my best, perhaps even my only, option at the moment. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the money I had appropriated from the boutique earlier, placing it on the counter before Garret.
"Very well," I said, a note of determination in my voice. "I'll take a log pose and one of those devices for Cactus Island."
As Garret prepared the device for me, attaching it to a simple wristband, I couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries and secrets that lay hidden within Second Voyage. I was one step closer to my goal of venturing into the enigmatic waters of the Grand Line, but with each passing moment, the journey seemed to grow more treacherous and uncertain.
With one navigational device secured on my wrist and the other secured in a box, I nodded at Garret in gratitude. "Thank you," I said, my voice filled with genuine appreciation.
Garret smiled, that same enigmatic smile that had greeted me upon my arrival, and his eyes seemed to shimmer with secrets untold. "You've made a wise choice, my friend. May your journey through the Grand Line be filled with discovery and adventure."
A week had passed since I had acquired the log pose and the elusive eternal pose from Second Voyage, and the days had been a whirlwind of activity. I had remained busy, to say the least.
Over the course of that week, I had executed heists in the manner of a true cat burglar. A jeweler's shop had been my first target, followed by a pawn shop that held an assortment of valuables. And just yesterday, I had struck again, targeting another boutique on the opposite side of town. Each operation had yielded all the money I could lay my hands on, and my illicit actions had not gone unnoticed.
The increased Marine presence on the streets was undeniable. It seemed like they were doubling and even tripling their patrols, even during the night. I felt the noose closing in around my neck, and the urgency of my situation weighed heavily on my shoulders.
I knew that I needed to get away, and I needed to do it quickly.
Now, I found myself on the outskirts of Loguetown, a small distance away from the looming lighthouse that sat atop a large rocky cliff, surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Dressed in the fine attire I had stolen from the first boutique, I felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, armed with a dagger and a well-maintained pistole holstered at my side. A fine black suitcase, holding my precious eternal pose and a cool five million berries, rested at my feet.
I definitely wouldn't look out of place standing next to Kuro given his most recent bounty update.
The moonlit night sky bathed the landscape in silvery hues as I stood in the shadow of the lighthouse. I raised a brass spyglass to my eye, peering through the lenses to survey the nearby ports to the east and south. I needed a ship, and a crew for the plan that had been quietly simmering for the last couple of days.
I pulled out a stack of wanted posters from my coat pocket, each one studiously torn from various bulletin boards and walls across Loguetown. In my mind, I recalled Kuro's words— "here is every single pirate who is either too sensible or too scared to go one step further and up Reverse Mountain and into the pirate grave."
That was it. I didn't need someone sensible. I needed someone cocky, greedy, and ready for adventure. Someone who could be swayed by the promise of riches and the allure of the Grand Line. Someone who would be willing to take a chance, even if it meant venturing into the pirate graveyard.
I scanned the wanted posters one by one, taking note of the faces and the bounties associated with them. Some were familiar names, pirates who had once been infamous but were now relegated to the annals of history. Others were newcomers, eager to make a name for themselves in the world of piracy.
As I meticulously scanned the anchored ships, my keen eyes caught a sight that sent a jolt of recognition through me. Among all the no-names and has-beens docked at the eastern port, one distinctive flag stood out like a beacon in the night. It featured a serious bear head, unmistakably adorned with the classic crossed bones emblem behind it.
The ship belonged to none other than the Trump Pirates, a trio of young siblings who were just beginning to make a name for themselves in the East Blue.
"They might do," I muttered to myself, my eyes fixed on the ship. The Trump Pirates seemed like the sort who wouldn't back down from a challenge, and their youth made them less likely to be swayed by the caution that had gripped older, more seasoned pirates.
With my decision made, I made my way down the hill, keeping to the shadows as I approached the eastern port. My footsteps were light, and my movements were stealthy as I neared the ship belonging to the Trump Pirates.
The ship appeared to be average-sized, but it exuded a sense of sturdiness, something befitting a crew that was just starting to make a name for themselves. In the dim moonlight, it seemed like a vessel I could work with, one that would carry me toward the adventures and challenges that lay ahead.
It was the dead of night, and an eerie quiet had settled over the dock and the ship itself. The absence of any visible or audible guards played in my favor. With a calculated risk, I made my way up the plank that connected the ship to the shore, my steps measured and silent.
I reached the wooden double doors that marked the entrance to the captain's quarters. Standing there, dressed in my stolen suit and clutching my black suitcase, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of irony. It was as if I had transformed from a fugitive on the run to Loguetown's resident den-den company sales rep, about to peddle the sharpest knives and newest utensils.
The weight of the moment settled upon my shoulders, and I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. This was it—the first step toward a new chapter in my life, a journey into the unknown with the Trump Pirates as my potential partners. I pressed my hand against the door, ready to face whatever awaited me inside.
I mustered my resolve and gave two loud, resounding knocks on the wooden frame of the captain's quarters door. Then, I waited, the silence of the night hanging heavily around me like a shroud.
After what felt like an eternity with no response, I knocked again, this time with more force. My heart quickened, anxiety clawing at the edges of my mind.
Suddenly, I heard the ship come alive below deck. Muffled footsteps and hushed voices suggested that my presence had not gone unnoticed. I steeled myself for whatever awaited me behind that door.
A loud thud echoed from within the captain's quarters, and a deep voice rumbled, "Who dares?"
The door was ripped open, and before me stood a mountain of a man. His massive frame filled the doorway, and he glared down at me with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. This was my first encounter with Bear King, the towering figurehead of the Trump Pirates, and it was clear that he wasn't one to be trifled with.
I did something that I had practiced for hours, something I had learned from Kuro himself. I channeled his mannerism, the way he had acted under Don Krieg's command—cool, calm, unflappable. My gaze met Bear King's, whose surprise was steadily being replaced by anger before my very eyes, and greeted him with a business-like tone that cut through the quiet like a knife.
"Good morning, may I have a moment of your time?"
Before Bear King could respond, doors and hatches all around the ship opened, and a handful of the crew emerged, rubbing their eyes and clutching their weapons. Among them were Pin Joker, a swordsman with long black hair tied in a ponytail, and Skunk One, whose black hair was slicked back and neatly parted to one side, his pointed ears very distinctive. Their expressions shifted from confusion to alertness as they took in the unexpected visitor.
Skunk One's eyes widened, and he seemed to recognize me because I heard a quiet but very audible, "Butcher Boy."
Surrounded by sleepy but armed pirates, I remained composed, my fingers lightly resting on the suitcase containing the eternal pose and the five million berries. It was a delicate situation, and my words had to be chosen carefully.
Taking note of their recognition, I reasoned aloud, "If you recognize me as Butcher Boy, then you must also know of my associates, Don Krieg and Captain Kuro."
The Trump Pirates exchanged uneasy glances, their suspicion evident.
I turned my attention back to Bear King, who stood like a mountain before me, his anger, like a sleeping volcano, still simmering beneath the surface. "Bear King," I addressed him directly, "are you interested in more than just being a nameless pirate in the East Blue? Are you interested in untold riches and the kind of infamy that will echo through the ages?"
A grunt was my answer so I went on.
"I work for a coalition of pirates, an alliance of those who seek to establish a foothold in the Grand Line—a base of operations for upcoming endeavors. The Grand Line is a land of untold treasures and mysteries, and we aim to claim our share of it. But to do that, we need capable and ambitious pirates like you."
The pirates of the Trump Pirates exchanged glances again, this time with a glimmer of excitement in their eyes. The prospect of venturing into the Grand Line, with all its risks and rewards, seemed to be a tantalizing proposition.
Bear King crossed his massive arms over his chest, considering my offer. "Tell me more," he rumbled, his curiosity getting the better of his initial anger.
So I did.
And after a couple of words and two clicks of a suitcase later I finally presented him with my first present.
My second present, however, remained safely hidden in my breast pocket.