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

All in all, it was a supremely messy affair, and not at all as elegant as I had hoped. The warm blood of the two lieutenants coated my left hand and slowly began to trickle down my sleeve. It was an unpleasant feeling, but one I could endure for the sake of my mission.

Underneath the disgust, however, was a feeling of incredible relief as I watched the body of Bear King simply crumble before my eyes. No struggle, no surprises, as he joined his brothers on the ground. Their daring venture into the Grand Line had come to an abrupt and decisive end. For them, it became the fabled pirate grave.

As the realization of what had just transpired began to sink in, the marketplace erupted into chaos. Rustling, shocked gasps, and shouts reminded me of my precarious position. An elegant side flip over the lifeless bodies and away from the crowd brought some distance between me and the immediate danger, namely the rest of the crew.

The crew members who had moments ago been reveling in their newfound paradise were now in disarray, their cheers turning into screams of confusion and fear.

Trying my best to channel my former Captain, 'Admiral' Krieg, I shouted at the top of my lungs for the men to shut the hell up. I aimed for a mighty roar, but the lungs of a teenager in puberty were simply not meant for such things. So, an awkward shout it was.

"Calm the hell down, and you might live to tell the tale!" I offered as loudly as possible, making sure even those at the fringes of the chaos would hear me. "Make a mess, and you will join them," I warned, not as loudly but with the added benefit of a bloody dagger in my hand. The flintlock in my right, without a bullet, was nothing more than a fancy club, but it added to the illusion of authority.

The crew hesitated, caught between the shock of their leader's sudden demise and the fear of the teen responsible for it. I took advantage of their uncertainty and quickly assessed my surroundings.

"Remember," I spoke calmly, holding up and shaking the bloody dagger for emphasis, my tone suggesting that I was damn serious. I wasn't concerned with my volume; the final warning would make its way around the group without a shadow of a doubt. What I was concerned with were the following proceedings. What now? Was there some kind of secret handshake?

"No funny business while I go and settle things," I said distractedly, my gaze surveying the nearby town. I would need to find someone in charge, someone in the know. It was essential to establish myself as a trustworthy member of this community if I had any hope of continuing this...whatever this was.

I was about to turn, eyes on what seemed to be a saloon by the market square...

And that was the exact moment when things went sideways.

I barely had time to react; the morning mist hadn't fully dissipated yet, and only in the corner of my eye did I notice something racing on the ground toward me. My heart pounded in my chest as I instinctively tensed, ready to evade whatever danger was hurtling my way.

My feet were about to leave the ground in a desperate leap when something white caught my ankle. For a terrifying moment, I thought a huge white snake had gotten hold of me. The vice-like grip was so sudden and so strong it nearly dislocated something in my leg when it stopped me dead in my tracks.

Years of experience and instinct saw me change my hold on my dagger to a reverse grip in a heartbeat and slash downward, desperate to decapitate the white beast. The blade connected with a satisfying squelch, and I felt a surge of triumph—momentarily. My triumph turned to confused horror in a matter of heartbeats.

This wasn't a beast, I realized, eyes widening, because whatever it was quickly enveloped the dagger and my hand. I was left trapped and in an awkward position, my arm contorted as I struggled against the unseen force constricting me.

Panic welled up inside me as I fought against the unseen assailant. The mist seemed to thicken, making it difficult to see beyond the immediate vicinity. I tried to pry my hand free, but whatever had ensnared me had a grip like iron, unyielding and unforgiving.

I cursed under my breath, my mind racing for a solution. My free hand fumbled for the flintlock at my side, but before I could even think about using it, the unseen force yanked me off my feet. I was lifted into the air, dangling like a marionette, my struggles futile against the strength of my mysterious captor.

And then, just when I thought things couldn't get any stranger, they did.

"May I ask what this commotion is all about?" A male voice asked, breaking through the mist. Through the hazy veil, a young man stepped into view. He was thin, with glasses perched on his nose, and of average height. But what caught my attention and nearly made me forget my dire situation was his distinctive feature—a black ponytail that was on fire.

I blinked in disbelief, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. His ponytail was indeed engulfed in flames, yet it didn't seem to harm him in any way.

Struck speechless by the sudden turn of events, I couldn't help but notice that the white 'stuff' that ensnared me seemed to be originating from his hands.

Before I could say anything, another man came running through the mist. Panting heavily, he came to a skidding stop in front of the man. "Here, Sir," he said, catching his breath, and presented what looked like a thick ring binder. "The sail belongs to the Trump Pirates, East Blue, Sir."

Wordlessly, the man, who seemed to be some kind of leader, took the offered item and casually flipped through it until he found what he was looking for. "Butcher Boy Hadley, eight million berries," he commented after a quick glance in my direction, seemingly confirming my appearance with what I presumed was my wanted poster.

Desperate not to let this encounter spiral any further out of control, I shouted the first thing that came to my mind. "I'm looking for a job!" My voice carried through the mist, and it earned me a raised eyebrow from the man with the burning ponytail.

"You are a bounty hunter, aren't you?" I asked, not as calm as I had hoped. My heart raced, and I could feel the white, mysterious substance creeping up my leg, inching ever closer.

The man's gaze became eerily flat. "This place got recommended to me!" I shouted quickly, my words coming out in a rushed jumble. "Ms. M told me to go here!"

"Ms. M?" He began in a questioning tone. "Who... Ms. M! I see." Recognition dawned on his face, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Middle-aged, auburn hair, glasses, talks a lot," I quickly rattled off the features that had stuck in my mind, feeling that I was on the right track. My hope was that this Ms. M, whoever she was, had connections with these individuals who clearly held some sway over this island.

The crew of the Trump Pirates seemed content to watch the entire play because I had yet to hear a sound from them.

Motions restricted by the stuff holding me, I awkwardly jerked my head in the direction of the lifeless bodies of Bear King and his two lieutenants. "My letter of application," I explained, using a term I had heard multiple times whenever Chef Portnoy was looking for another cook or waiter. "Ten Million Berries for all three of them, the captain and his two brothers."

The man with the burning ponytail regarded me for a moment, a wry smile playing on his lips. It was clear that he found the situation highly entertaining. "You certainly have a unique way of applying for a job," he remarked, his tone amused. "They call me the Loan Shark, and it's three million if we are lucky, by the way," he finished drily, and despite good signs, my thoughts ground to a halt.

'Excuse me?' I had practically slept on those three bounties.

"Given your reaction, I assume you never dealt with bounties, yes?" the man, this Loan Shark, asked as the white material that had kept me suspended retreated and dropped me roughly on the ground where I quickly scrambled back to my feet, desperate to keep up appearance.

With a sigh, the young man continued, "The first lesson, I guess. It is typically common practice to capture criminals alive rather than kill them. You lose up to 30% of the bounty if you kill your target."

Apparently, the question was written all over my face as I got to my feet because the man sighed tiredly and motioned for me to follow him. With a snap of his fingers, he directed his assistant toward the crew of the Bear Pit. Their fate was out of my hands now.

The Loan Shark guided me toward the slowly waking town, his steps deliberate and measured. The mist still hung in the air, casting an eerie atmosphere over the place, but life was beginning to return to the streets.

As we walked, he asked without looking at me, "Miss...M, she hadn't mentioned you when she last came by. May I ask how you got your...invitation?"

"I was working in a restaurant when she tried to recruit a guy called Eric," I answered truthfully. "When he left, and I served her table, she mentioned my bounty and how it was nothing to sneeze at my age," I added, recalling the conversation vividly. "That was last year, by the way."

"I remember Eric, The Whirlwind," he said with a nod as he pushed open the double doors of the saloon. The ground floor was bustling with activity, it looked less like a restaurant or bar and more like a busy office, but he guided me up a flight of stairs directly to our right, seemingly ignoring the commotion below. "You worked in a restaurant?" he continued, his tone indicating that he wanted me to elaborate.

I was about to provide more details when he stopped in front of the second door to my right. He held up his hand, and a pristine white key sprung forth directly from his palm. As he inserted it into the door's lock and turned, I felt my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline as I saw what it revealed. Beyond the door was another door, this one the same white as the key, which I noticed had subtly changed its form.

The Loan Shark pushed open the second door, revealing a room in white. A small office, desk, chairs, cabinets, everything was white except the handful of skylights and the blue den-den-mushi.

"Wow," I couldn't help but breathe out in amazement at the surreal sight.

"I'm a wax man," the Loan Shark said with a smirk as he took a seat at his desk.

'A what now?'

"Welcome to my sanctuary," Loan Shark said with a hint of pride in his voice. "Please, have a seat."

"Right," I stepped into the room, still in awe of the surroundings. The wax furniture was unsurprisingly uncomfortable, but I held my tongue.

"Restaurant..."

"Oh, yes, sorry..." so I launched into an explanation of what I did for a living, for whom, where, and how good I was at it.

"That is good, very good even," the Loan Shark replied, his fingers steepled as he listened intently to my lengthy retelling. His contemplative demeanor suggested that my story had given him plenty to consider. "Things can be so much easier in our business when our employees can blend in wherever they are stationed."

He stood up and walked over to a nearby cabinet, its door marked with "East Blue." He opened it and began to rummage around until he found what he was looking for—an old newspaper. I recognized it as he turned back around and sat down again.

"I remember your article in the Loque Town newspaper," he began, his eyes scanning the pages of the publication. "Quite the accomplishments for someone so young." He paused, his gaze locked on certain sections of the newspaper. "Now you've managed to worm your way into a vicious little pirate crew, led them all the way to the Grand Line, just to present them as a gift."

His eyes returned to me, and there was a small, satisfied smile on his lips. "You killed them in cold blood," he remarked, his tone carrying a hint of delight. "We can certainly work with that."

I couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl down my spine at the way he seemed positively pleased about my actions. A bounty hunter happy about dead pirates—wasn't that the name of the game? I maintained a tight lid on my emotions, not wanting to reveal any unease I might be feeling.

The Loan Shark leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping thoughtfully on the armrest. "You have potential, Hadley," he said, his gaze fixed on me. "But there's much for you to learn. You may have dispatched those pirates, but the world of bounty hunting is a complex one. You'll need training, guidance, and resources."

"I'm sorry, but something that keeps bugging me," I began awkwardly and waited for the man in front of me to give the signal to go on. "You mentioned the topic of capturing or killing wanted criminals. What's that all about?" I asked clearly bewildered, all that work for a third of the promised reward?

"You've got to look at this from the perspective of the Marines," my opposite leaned back in his chair, seemingly fine to start my education here and now. "You deliver a dead body at their doorstep, and all they can do with it is to bury it at their own expense."

"You deliver someone that's alive and kicking, and suddenly a bunch of options are open to them. The Marines are a part of the World Government, as are an untold number of nations and islands. So...," he paused and collected his thoughts for a moment while I listened intently, this conversation already broadening my horizon.

"A criminal did something at a certain place, something that got him that bounty perhaps. Now the World Government can negotiate with the respective local government about an extradition. Perhaps for a fee, a military draft, etcetera. The local government gets the criminal and can do whatever they like with him. Prison, execution, send a message to their people, bolster morale, satisfy their vindication or bloodlust."

"If that route doesn't come to fruition the criminal in question can still be used as cheap labor on projects all over the world," he finished with another smile. I simply nodded, still processing the new information.

He reached for a nearby stack of papers on his desk and began shuffling through them. "We have a network of informants, connections, and resources at our disposal," he explained. "And with your skills and our support, you could become a formidable bounty hunter."

I nodded, understanding the opportunity that lay before me. It was another chance to carve out a new life for myself in a world filled with danger and intrigue.

As I gazed at the Loan Shark, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of organization I had just become a part of. The Grand Line was known for its unpredictability, and now, so was my future as a bounty hunter.

Interlude: Bridge of Hesitation, 14 years after Gol D. Roger's execution, 8 years before a certain someone sets sail.

The ground shook, gears of unimaginable size ground into motion, and the ocean and the currents churned like a storm. The Gate of Justice was opening before me. It truly was a sight to behold, and I probably failed spectacularly to hide my awe in front of my former superior. I watched in silence as the colossal gate, its immense stone walls adorned with the symbol of justice, slowly parted to reveal what lay beyond.

The now open passage was no wider than the rising drawbridge itself, but the Tower of Justice, standing tall and proud in the distance, was clearly visible. The World Government spared no expense in constructing these grandiose structures, designed to strike fear into the hearts of those who dared oppose their authority.

In a matter of minutes, the pathway was fully formed, and a group of people was beginning to make its way in our direction. The entire time the Marines, myself, and my two charges stood at attention. This was now proper government business, and fooling around would have consequences.

You would be forgiven for mistaking the white outfits for marine uniforms, but the guys were Cipher Pol, CP5 to be exact. And in their midst was a giant of a man, a fish-man I was certain would look eye to eye with my Zoan jailer beasts. A single glance and I understood why a vice admiral without devil fruit ability and I were chosen along with my two companions for this escort.

But it was the air, his sheer presence, which he exuded, that truly set him apart. Authority, pride, and contentment, no, this man was at peace and wouldn't start trouble now.

The closer they got, the more details I was starting to make out, and I couldn't help but raise a lone eyebrow in question. Spandam was unrecognizable with his entire head wrapped in thick bandages, only his oily yet familiar aura giving away his identity beneath the, what I had to presume, involuntary disguise. The man I was going to lead to his death, however, looked worse. His clothes were torn and stained, and he bore the unmistakable signs of a struggle. The gaping and bloody wound was gruesome and left untreated.

"May I ask the reason for my prisoner's state?" I asked, my tone was curious but it was obvious to all that I was forgoing any kind of pleasantries. I was the black sheep among all these government goody-two-shoes, and everybody knew it and was going to act accordingly, anyway.

"The criminal resisted arrest, and on this bridge, he's still my prisoner, boy!" Spandam mumbled through the layers of bandages, his arrogance undiminished even in his current condition.

"Is that so," I simply replied, guileless in my response. I didn't hint at what I was thinking, but my eyes drifted to the man for whom the whole rigmarole was orchestrated.

I didn't need my eyes, even reading his file would have been unnecessary, but I could already sense that I was going to hate seeing this guy walk the path set before him.

At least there were things I could do for him behind Impel Down's Walls but for now...I snapped my fingers and pointed with my index- and middle finger toward the fish-man. Without complaint, luckily, the two beasts lumbered forward and took position on either side of him, each one clasping a hand on his shoulders, their grip iron-clad.

With my two companions in position, I gave Spandam a final glance, my countenance polite through and through. "Splendid job as always, Agent," I complimented the bandaged man, inclining my head slightly. "You are truly the face of justice."

The words were free of any hint of sarcasm, but my smile perhaps...

Scratch that, who was I kidding here, my smile was most definitely too wide.

Whatever, no point crying over spilled milk, I thought to myself as I felt his ire rise and his stance grow rigid.

His arrogance knew no bounds, and his inflated sense of self-importance was a well-known fact among those who had the misfortune of crossing paths with him, but even Spandam seemed to have spotted my spectacularly failed attempt at subtlety. With that in mind, I turned to Doberman and his contingent of Marines. "After you, Vice Admiral." My tone was courteous, but there was a knowing glint in my eye. The tension between us was palpable, but I had no intention of letting it escalate further. Doberman simply stared at me, his expression a mix of frustration and disgust. With a resigned shake of his head, he turned and headed for the stone stairs that led to the battleship docked below.

Sighing silently through my nose, I eventually fell into step beside perhaps the most wanted shipwright in history.