Reverse Mountain, 9 years after Gol D. Roger's execution, roughly 13 years before a certain someone sets sail.

I clung desperately to the railing of the Bear Pit's poop deck, my knuckles white and my nails digging into the wood. The ship pitched and rolled violently, defying gravity as it hurtled down Reverse Mountain at breakneck speed. My throat ached from suppressing the urge to scream, yet I couldn't be entirely sure if I was succeeding in silencing my terror.

The scene that unfolded before my eyes was a surreal nightmare. The back of Bear King's massive head loomed above the chaos, his form a defiant silhouette against the tumultuous night. He stood resolute on the quarterdeck, one hand locked onto the wheel with a grip that spoke of desperation. His shouted orders, bellowed with all the strength his lungs could muster, were mercilessly devoured by the ferocious howling of the wind and the thunderous crash of waves against the hull.

The crew, our unfortunate companions on this reckless descent, fought for their lives. Some clung desperately to ropes, their faces contorted in terror. Others slid helplessly across the slick, rain-swept deck, their expressions twisted by a mixture of fear and disbelief.

The sight of men violently flung off the deck, or mercilessly swept away by the errant waves, still replayed before my inner eye like a haunting warning. Their screams, drowned by the relentless fury of the storm, echoed in my ears, serving as a grim reminder of the unforgiving water that surrounded us.

Chaos reigned supreme, an unbridled tempest that seemed to have a life of its own. The Bear Pit was like a fragile leaf caught in a monstrous maelstrom, tossed and turned by forces far beyond our control. With every bone-rattling shudder of the ship and each deafening crack of the waves, I couldn't help but wonder if this was the end. Would the ship be torn asunder, sending us all plummeting into the abyss below?

I clung to the railing with every ounce of strength I could muster, my fingers aching from the effort. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to hold on, to defy the chaos that sought to tear me away.

Yet, amid this maddening horror, there was a strange and exhilarating thrill that coursed through my veins. The relentless adrenaline surged, intoxicating in its potency.

The salty taste of the sea was thick in the air, and the stinging sea spray lashed at my face. The overwhelming emotions, a chaotic blend of pants-shitting fear and exhilaration, threatened to overwhelm my senses. Whether it was laughter or screams that escaped my lips, I couldn't decipher in the relentless cacophony.

And this was supposed to be only the starting line?!

Suddenly!

With a deafening splash that threatened to cleave the very ship in half, the massive carrack reached the bottom of Reverse Mountain. The torrential waters churned around us, a frenzied maelstrom of frothy turmoil. The sky above was a bleak canvas of dark, billowing clouds, and a biting drizzle felt like needles against my skin in the relentless, howling wind.

Yet, amid this tempestuous chaos, two beacons of light shone through the murky abyss. They pierced the obscurity like the guiding stars of legend, leading us toward open waters beyond the mountain's perilous grip.

But just as hope flickered in our hearts, an earth-shattering noise erupted, a cataclysmic roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world. Rocks the size of entire houses tumbled down the sheer slopes on either side of us, crashing into the churning sea with a deafening clamor.

The horror of our situation continued unabated, the mountain's wrath unforgiving, and our desperate bid for freedom far from over.

And then silence...

Seeing the slim chance of escape for what it was, Bear King, his colossal form hunched over the wheel, rose from his knees with a renewed vigor. His bellowing voice cut through the chaos, a rallying cry for his beleaguered crew.

"Ease the sails, you maggots!" he roared, his words carried away by the relentless wind but somehow reaching the ears of his scattered crew members. "All hands on deck!"

In a chaotic flurry, the crew sprang into action. Ropes were hastily loosened and sails were unfurled, all with a desperate urgency that belied their earlier panic. Each pirate fought against the raging elements, knowing that their very lives hung in the balance.

Bear King's unwavering determination and leadership inspired those around him. The crew worked as one, struggling against the tumultuous sea and the monstrous mountain that threatened to consume them. With each passing moment, we inched closer to the safety of open waters, but the tempest still raged, and the ordeal was far from over.

Again, that otherworldly noise, like the very earth splitting asunder, echoed through the world and vibrated deep into my core. It was a sound that seemed to defy the laws of nature, a reminder that we were mere intruders in the domain of titanic forces.

Yet, this time, there was a grim sense of relief. The earth-shaking noise heralded another avalanche, but this time it was behind us. Massive boulders tumbled down the slopes of Reverse Mountain, filling the abyss we had just traversed. The deafening roar of the rockfall, coupled with the agonized groans of the mountain itself, was a cacophonous symphony of destruction that threatened to consume all in its path.

But the Bear Pit, our sturdy carrack, had made it through. We had cheated death once more, and the prospect of escaping the clutches of Reverse Mountain seemed increasingly attainable.

As the trembling of the world gradually subsided, I took precious seconds to compose myself. My disheveled hair was hastily flattened. Snot and tears had mixed unceremoniously on my cheeks and were hastily wiped away with the sleeve of my once-pristine suit.

After a final deep breath to steady my racing heart, I summoned the resolve to move forward, to be the Butcher Boy again. I made my way down the steep stairs, gripping the railing for support.

"Well done, Capt'n!" I managed to call out congratulatory as I approached the giant of a man who had somehow kept our ship from becoming little more than driftwood. Bear King's massive form was slumped against the wheel, his chest heaving with exhaustion, seemingly not possessing the strength to respond. A quick glance at the main deck below revealed a bone-weary and traumatized crew, their faces etched with a mixture of relief, fear, and disbelief.

Refraining from mentioning the unknown numbers of men we had lost to the unforgiving depths of Reverse Mountain I moved past him and made my way into the navigation room where my precious eternal pose was safely stored.

Swiftly, I retrieved the precious device from a secured drawer and returned to Bear King's side. With a mixture of exhaustion and determination, I held up the eternal pose for both of us to see, the needle pointing resolutely in its chosen direction.

"Onwards, to fame and riches, Capt'n!" I exclaimed, my voice carrying a quiet urgency. I hoped my words would motivate the massive man into action. My own desire burned intensely to reach our destination, Whiskey Peak, and to get off this damn ship again.

Bear King's eyes locked onto the eternal pose, and a spark of renewed determination flickered within them. He nodded, a silent agreement to the course we had chosen. With the needle as our guide, the Trump Pirates began to rally, and the ship slowly regained some semblance of order.

As we sailed deeper into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, life aboard the Bear Pit began to regain some semblance of normalcy. The crew had endured a harrowing ordeal during our descent down Reverse Mountain, but now, with a clear sense of direction provided by the eternal pose, their spirits were slowly on the mend.

"Dig in, lads!" I heard the ship's cook, Mortimer, shout at the top of his lungs as he heaved a large cauldron out of the galley. He was a burly man with a walrus-like mustache, his apron stained with various culinary battles. I remained at the stove, my focus trained on a simmering sauce.

Over the last couple of days, I had managed to cook my way into the hearts and tummies of the crew. In a small attempt to express my gratitude for their efforts during our tumultuous descent, I had volunteered to assist in the galley. My culinary creations had varied from cabbage rolls to stir-fry, savory meat patties, and today, a simpler version of a cassoulet. To my immense relief, the crew loved it and accepted my actions as gratitude without a hint of doubt.

To further dispel any lingering suspicion, I made sure to eat with the crew. Mortimer, an amateur chef at best, gladly watched and offered his assistance to the best of his limited abilities, absolutely content to see someone else at work in the galley. However, there was one notable exception to this communal dining. Bear King, the captain of the Trump Pirates, dined alone. His solitary meals were a stark and daily reminder to everyone on the ship who called the shots around here.

As the remnant aroma of the cassoulet filled the air, and mingled with the salty sea breeze, my eyes wandered to the two big bottles of rum next to the silver tray meant for Bear King's meal.

Ensuring that I was well and truly alone and far from prying eyes or ears, I couldn't help but acknowledge the precarious position I had placed myself in. I had been playing a dangerous game since my arrival on the Bear Pit, and I had no intention of ending it so close to the finish line. Being stuck on board with a crew of murderous pirates gunning exclusively for me was not a fate I desired.

The large, succulent steak I had been preparing now rested on the nearby cutting board. My eyes flitted one last time to the door Mortimer had exited, ensuring that the cook was engaged elsewhere on the ship. Then my gaze shifted to the gorgeous, buttery peppercorn sauce, simmering in the pan.

With a quick, fluid motion, my hand flew up, reaching into my breast pocket, and I pulled out my ace, my trump card, so to speak. It was a small paper bag, its seal opened three days ago, and its contents almost used up. Twelve whole nutmeg seeds, finely ground into a fragrant, aromatic spice.

This seemingly innocuous bag of spices held far more power than one might imagine, something you learned from watching masters at work. A hint of it tended to be the final brush stroke to complete a fancy dish, too much and too frequently, however...

Since yesterday, there had been a notable change in Bear King's behavior. Instead of having his meals brought before him in his captain's quarters, he had ordered that they should be waiting for him in the navigation room. If I hadn't been waiting for any kind of reaction I might have disregarded it as an eccentric whim of the captain, but Bear King's behavior, his fatigue, and the detachment in his eyes—all these were signs that stoked my hope. Who knew what else he was trying to hide from his crew?

I had only heard, that nutmeg posing was supposed to be bad, potentially really bad, but the how's and why's, or even the specifics eluded me. For now, I kept my discovery to myself, biding my time and waiting for the right moment to play my hand. The Bear Pit was sailing further into the Grand Line with each passing day, and I needed to ensure that I had the upper hand when the time came to seize control of our destiny.

As I stood in the ship's galley, clutching the tiny paper bag containing the potent nutmeg seeds, I couldn't escape the swell of emotions that threatened to engulf me. Part of me, the part that had once adhered to a code of ethics and moral values, tugged at my conscience. It whispered, like an insistent ghost, that what I was contemplating was not only unethical but cruel.

But I pushed those thoughts aside, locked them away in a mental chest buried deep within the recesses of my mind. I couldn't afford to be held captive by my own sense of right and wrong. Not here, not now. These pirates, and their imposing captain, Bear King, deserved what was coming to them. They were ruthless, marauding mariners who would think nothing of plundering, pillaging, and leaving devastation in their wake. Unbidden, a picture of a hand under rubble flashed before my eyes.

My heart was pounding, a constant reminder of the risk I was taking. The scent of the sauce wafted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of the sea, and I couldn't help but think of the irony. It was as if the aroma of my own cooking served as an offering to the gods of retribution.

I had to keep my emotions in check, had to ignore the niggling voice of conscience that told me this was wrong. These were not innocent souls. They were pirates, and in the cutthroat world of the Grand Line, one either played the game or became a victim of it. Kuro would be proud.

The door swung open, and Mortimer returned to the galley, oblivious to the turmoil raging within me. I glanced at the bubbling sauce, the dish that would soon be served to Bear King, and I felt a twinge of remorse. But I swallowed it, burying it beneath layers of determination.

I couldn't help but notice subtle shifts in the atmosphere aboard the Bear Pit. Some of the crew, it seemed, were secretly pleased by Bear King's frequent and lengthy absences. Their expressions held a hint of relief, as if they welcomed the temporary reprieve from the captain's imposing presence.

It wasn't just the crew's demeanor that caught my attention. I observed with a watchful eye as Bear King's siblings, Pin Joker and Skunk One, engaged in hushed conversations with pensive expressions. Their close-knit bond was evident, and the change in Bear King's behavior hadn't escaped their notice. They exchanged glances laden with unspoken concerns, and it was clear that they were puzzling over their brother's altered state.

While part of me was relieved that my plan seemed to be unfolding smoothly so far, a sense of anxiety gnawed at my insides. The crew's interactions were like a precarious house of cards, and I feared that any misstep on my part could send it toppling down.

I had to tread carefully, ensuring that no one, not even the suspicious siblings, caught wind of my secret. The consequences of discovery were too dire to contemplate. As long as we were in open waters, with Cactus Island nowhere in sight, I needed to keep the tension at bay, maintain the illusion of camaraderie, and ensure that the crew remained none the wiser.

Watching Mortimer pick up the tray with the simple but truly gorgeous meal my eyes involuntarily wandered to the steak knife. When the time was right I would hand in my résumé...