A Strawhat's Dream

by B.of.C-Fanatic

The first time he felt true fear was the last day he saw his mother. The second time was when he saw the only place he's ever called home becoming a speck in the distance against his own volition. How much blood is he willing to spill in order to attain freedom? With blood-stained blades gripped in hand, Luffy watched the world burn around him and knew the answer.

5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: One Piece is owned by Eiichiro Oda

---

Chapter 5

Flashback

Grey Terminal

The clearing behind Naguri's ramshackle home was littered with broken branches, and craters—a testament to the chaos that had unfolded there during countless training sessions. Luffy stood in the center of the mess, his fists clenched, staring at his own hand as it stretched unnaturally far, the result of another botched attempt.

Naguri leaned on his hammer staff nearby, watching intently. "You're trying too hard, kid," he said gruffly. "The fruit's powers aren't just about forcing things to happen. It's like a blade—sharp when it's used right, useless when it's swung carelessly."

Luffy frowned, retracting his arm with a snap that whipped a nearby branch. "But I've been practicing for weeks! I should be able to figure this out by now."

"You're improving," Naguri said. "You've got better control over your body than when you first showed me what that fruit can do. You're just trying to run before you can walk."

Nearby, Ace sat cross-legged on a crate, peeling an orange as he watched Luffy's latest attempt. "Yeah, Luffy," he said with a smirk, "you're so far ahead. I mean, look at all the giant holes you've made in the dirt. Such progress."

Luffy's brow twitched, and he rounded on Ace. "At least I'm doing something! All you do is sit there and run your mouth!"

Ace held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, don't blame me because you keep turning yourself into a noodle."

Naguri rapped his staff on the ground. "Enough. Focus, Luffy. Show me that move you were working on yesterday."

Taking a deep breath, Luffy crouched low, planting one foot firmly in front of the other. He pressed his knuckles together, his arms drawing back like a coiled spring.

"Gomu Gomu no... Pistol!" he shouted, releasing his arm in a snapping motion. His fist shot forward, rocketing across the clearing toward a tree.

At the last second, the angle veered off, and the fist missed its mark entirely, slamming into the ground and sending dirt flying. Luffy's frustration boiled over.

"Why can't I just hit it straight?!" he yelled, pulling his arm back.

Ace doubled over laughing, nearly choking on his orange. "You've got all the power in the world, and you can't even hit a tree!"

Naguri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Luffy, don't let him get in your head. Focus on the mechanics, not on showing off."

But Luffy wasn't listening anymore. Glaring at Ace, he stomped over to the crate. "You think it's so easy? Maybe I'll stretch you out next!"

Ace smirked, leaning back lazily. "I'd like to see you try."

Before Luffy could make good on his threat, Naguri stepped between them, his staff tapping against the ground to command attention. "Both of you, knock it off!"

Ace's smirk widened. "Aw, come on, old man. Luffy needs the motivation. Look how mad he is—he might actually hit something for once!"

Luffy lunged at him, but Naguri planted his staff firmly in the ground, blocking the path. "Luffy, you're wasting your energy. You want to hit something? Hit that!" He pointed to a smaller, untouched tree at the edge of the clearing.

Taking a few deep breaths, Luffy refocused, positioning himself again. This time, he didn't shout. His movements were smoother, more deliberate, his muscles tense but controlled. His arm snapped forward with a clean whip, and his fist slammed into the tree with enough force to splinter the bark.

Naguri's grin widened. "Now that's more like it."

Ace whistled, nodding grudgingly. "Not bad, little brother. Took you long enough."

Luffy shot him a triumphant glare before looking back at Naguri. "What's next?"

Naguri chuckled. "Patience, kid. Let's see you hit it twice in a row before we talk about what's next."

A couple months later

"Gomu Gomu no... Rifle!" he shouted, twisting his arm around itself as he stretched it back. The spiraled tension in his arm created a loud crackling sound, like a rope being wound to its breaking point.

Luffy released the punch, and his arm shot forward like a whip, unraveling mid-flight and slamming into the target tree with explosive force. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, cracking the trunk and sending bark flying.

Naguri whistled, impressed. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Clean form, good execution. You're getting faster with the twist, too."

Luffy grinned, retracting his arm and shaking it out. "It's still hard to aim when I go full force."

Naguri nodded. "That's natural. The faster and stronger the punch, the harder it is to control. You'll get there with time. For now, focus on keeping your wrist aligned when you release—it'll help stabilize your aim."

Ace, still leaning against a tree, rolled his eyes. "Great. Now he's turning into a show-off with a fancy slingshot arm."

Luffy didn't look at Ace, but his grin widened. "It's not my fault I'm getting faster and stronger than you."

"What'd you say?!" Ace snapped, stomping forward, but Naguri stepped between them, raising a hand.

"Enough!" Naguri barked, his voice carrying a weight that made both boys freeze. He turned to Ace. "You can learn something from him if you stop letting your pride get in the way." Then, turning to Luffy, he added, "And you can stop gloating. A smart fighter doesn't get cocky—it's the fastest way to lose."

Both boys muttered grudging agreements, avoiding each other's eyes.

"Good. Now, Luffy, I want you to focus on following through with that Rifle punch. Don't just think about hitting the target—think about what comes next. Ace, back to precision strikes. Let's get to work."

End Flashback

---

Grey Terminal

The clang of fists hitting metal echoed through the junkyard as Ace grunted, his knuckles bouncing off the dull, rusted surface of an old barrel. Sweat dripped from his brow as he pulled back, his fists shaking slightly from the impact.

"That was better," Naguri's gruff voice rumbled as he stood a few feet away, leaning on his hammer staff. "But you're still swinging like you're trying to punch the sea in half. Control, Ace. Control."

Ace growled under his breath, rubbing his sore hands. "It's a barrel, old man, not a person. What's the point?"

Naguri smirked, shaking his head. "The point is, if you don't learn to control that temper of yours, you'll waste all your strength on the air before you ever land a punch. Now, again."

Ace glared at the barrel, then at Naguri. He muttered something under his breath about "stupid old men and stupid barrels," but he stepped back into position anyway.

Meanwhile, Luffy stood nearby, shifting his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, his posture low and steady. He gripped a wooden eskrima stick in each hand, his knuckles white from focus. His sharp eyes followed Naguri's movements, studying every step and adjustment the old man made.

"Luffy!" Naguri barked, his voice cutting through the sounds of Ace's grumbles in the background. "Your stance! What did I tell you?"

Without hesitation, Luffy widened his feet slightly and bent his knees deeper, distributing his weight evenly. "Center balanced," he said firmly, his tone confident.

Naguri nodded, stepping closer. "Good. That's what I like to see. Now, let's move up a notch. Show me the counters I taught you against someone rushing you full force."

Luffy gripped the sticks tighter, adjusting his shoulders. "Ready."

Naguri's lips curled into a faint grin as he suddenly lunged forward, swinging his hammer staff in a wide, powerful arc. Instead of just dodging, Luffy stepped into the attack at the last second, twisting his body to let the hammerhead pass just over his shoulder.

Using the momentum of the step, he pivoted sharply and brought his left eskrima stick up in a precise arc toward Naguri's exposed flank. Naguri turned his staff to block, but Luffy anticipated the defense, and immediately struck low with the right eskrima stick toward Naguri's knee.

The old man twisted his leg out of the way just in time, but his smirk widened. "Nice feint. You're using your head. Now press!"

Luffy didn't waste a second. As Naguri shifted his stance, Luffy surged forward, using both eskrima sticks to trap the staff in a hook-like motion, pushing them out of Naguri's grip zone. With his opponent briefly off-balance, Luffy stepped to his blind side and brought the right eskrima stick toward Naguri's shoulder.

Naguri's free hand shot up, catching the weapon an inch from his shoulder. He laughed, pushing it aside. "That's enough!"

Panting, Luffy stepped back, lowering the sticks as he caught his breath.

"That," Naguri said, adjusting his grip on his staff, "was a proper counteroffensive. Quick thinking, control, and precision. You're starting to understand the flow of a fight. Make your opponent dance to your rhythm, not the other way around."

Luffy grinned, his chest swelling with pride. "You're the one who taught me that."

Naguri gave him an approving nod, leaning on his staff. "I can teach you techniques, brat, but the instinct to adapt? That's all you. Keep sharpening it, and you'll go far."

"Show-off," Ace muttered from across the yard, glaring at Luffy as he rubbed his sore knuckles.

Luffy turned toward Ace, spinning one of the sticks lightly in his hand. "You just don't like that I'm always ahead."

"Alright, knock it off," Naguri interjected, stepping between them. "Ace, back to precision drills, focus on making your attacks more efficient and less wasteful in terms of energy. Luffy, we're going to refine that last sequence. You're doing good, but you've got room to grow."

Both boys groaned but moved back into position, each with their own fire driving them forward.

The clang of fists and rods hitting metal resumed, the sounds of effort and determination echoing across the junkyard

---

"GET BACK HERE, YOU BRATS!"

Garp's thunderous roar echoed through the forest, followed by the sound of something massive crashing through the undergrowth.

Luffy and Ace sprinted side by side, sweat pouring down their faces. Each boy carried a makeshift wooden shield they had fashioned in a desperate attempt to fend off their relentless pursuer.

"This is insane even by his standards!" Ace shouted, glancing over his shoulder. "What the hell kind of 'training' is this?!"

Luffy's expression was grim but focused as he kept his eyes on the trail ahead. "No use tryna explain it now," he said between heavy breaths. "Just keep running!"

Behind them, Garp charged like an unstoppable beast, grinning like a maniac as he lobbed massive boulders with frightening ease. "You call that running? I've seen toddlers move faster! If you don't pick up the pace, you're gonna regret it!"

"Did he really just say we're not fast enough?!" Ace growled, narrowly dodging a boulder that shattered a tree beside him.

Luffy's grip tightened on his shield. "Stop complaining and run dammit!"

The boys darted through the trees, weaving around roots and leaping over fallen logs. The grueling training session had started hours ago, and Garp showed no signs of slowing down.

"This is all your fault!" Ace yelled as they skidded down a slope.

"My fault?!" Luffy snapped back.

"Yeah! We met Old Man Naguri because of you! If we never met the old man, we wouldn't have been this strong. If we hadn't gotten so strong, he wouldn't be trying so hard to kill us!"

"That makes no sense!" Luffy shouted, though he couldn't deny the logic had crossed his mind earlier, "And fuck you for bringing Old Man Naguri into this!"

Another boulder came hurtling toward them. The boys dove to opposite sides of the trail, tumbling into the underbrush as the impact sent debris flying everywhere.

When the dust settled, Garp stood in the middle of the destruction, hands on his hips and his grin wide. "You boys are getting better," he said casually. "Almost five minutes longer than last time."

Ace staggered to his feet, glaring at him. "We're not trying to last longer! We're trying to survive!"

Luffy climbed out of the bushes, gripping his shield and brushing off twigs. "You don't have to throw real boulders, you know. We'd still learn without nearly dying."

"Nonsense!" Garp said with a booming laugh. "The best way to learn is under pressure. Besides, if you can't handle me, how do you expect to handle the real monsters out there?"

Ace muttered something under his breath, earning a sharp look from Garp.

"What was that, brat?" Garp asked, his grin turning mischievous. "You want to go another round?"

"No!" Ace said quickly, raising his hands.

Garp's gaze shifted to Luffy, his grin widening. "What about you, rubber boy? You wanna test out one of those fancy moves you've been practicing?"

Luffy straightened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "You'll just block it like last time," he said flatly.

"Not if you're faster than me," Garp replied, his tone challenging.

Luffy's jaw tightened, and he planted his feet, raising his fists. "Alright. Just once."

Ace gawked at him. "Are you serious?! You can't even—"

Ignoring him, Luffy twisted his arm back, coiling it tightly. "Gomu Gomu no... Rifle!" he shouted, releasing the punch with everything he had.

The spiraling fist shot forward, closing the gap between him and Garp in an instant. As Garp moved to catch it, Luffy twisted his body sharply, using the momentum to launch a powerful kick aimed at Garp's chest.

The combination caught Garp off guard for a fraction of a second. He blocked the kick with his forearm, the force enough to make the ground beneath him crack. With a single step, he pivoted and caught Luffy's still-spiraling fist with his other hand.

"Not bad," Garp said, grinning as he held Luffy's fist in his iron grip. "You're starting to think ahead. But you're still not fast enough." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed Luffy backward, the boy rolling to his feet a few yards away.

Breathing heavily, Luffy retracted his arm, his expression frustrated but focused.

"You've got the right idea," Garp said, lowering his hands. "Your follow-up was good, but you're hesitating just enough to lose momentum. Keep working on chaining your attacks together without second-guessing yourself."

Luffy nodded, rubbing his shoulder. "Got it."

Garp's gaze shifted to Ace, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of unease and determination. "What about you, firecracker?" Garp asked. "You gonna show me what you've been working on, or are you gonna stand there and let your little brother show you up?"

Ace bristled at the taunt but hesitated for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped forward.

"Fine," Ace said, his voice low. "I'll show you something."

Garp's grin widened as he crossed his arms. "Let's see it, then."

Ace crouched low, his stance steady and deliberate. His fists clenched tightly, and his shoulders relaxed—a posture drilled into him over months of Naguri's precision training. He inhaled deeply, drawing back his fist, his eyes locked on Garp's center as if Garp were just another barrel.

With an explosive burst of speed, Ace surged forward, twisting his upper body for maximum torque. At the last moment, he shifted his weight, adjusting the angle of his punch to aim for Garp's ribs. The blow landed with a deafening crack, sending a shockwave rippling through the clearing.

The sheer force of the punch made Garp step back—a rarity that left Ace momentarily triumphant.

But Garp recovered quickly. His hand snapped out, gripping Ace's wrist and stopping him cold. "Impressive," he said, his grin fading into a more serious expression. "You've definitely gotten stronger."

Ace smirked, breathing heavily. "Told you I'd—"

"But," Garp interrupted, cutting him off, "you're still wasting too much energy. All that power, and you can't direct it where it matters." He released Ace's wrist, letting the boy stumble back.

"What?" Ace snapped, his frustration spilling over. "I've been working on that for months!"

"And you're still making the same mistakes," Garp said bluntly. "You've made more progress in controlling your strength, but you're rushing it. You're focusing so much on power that you're ignoring precision. Wonder what its gonna take to finally drill that lesson into your thick skull."

Ace's fists tightened at his sides, but he said nothing, his jaw clenched.

"Remember," Garp said, his voice hard. "A wild punch might feel strong, but it'll get you killed if you miss. You're not a blunt weapon, Ace—start acting like it."

Luffy watched the exchange silently, his gaze flicking between Ace and Garp.

"Now," Garp said, clapping his hands together with a mischievous grin, "sunrise isn't for another hour. That means you've got plenty of time to show me what else you've learned!"

Ace and Luffy exchanged a look of pure dread.

"You can't be serious," Ace muttered.

"Run?" Luffy asked, already tensing to bolt.

"Run," Ace agreed.

The boys took off again, Garp's booming laughter chasing them through the forest as the training from hell resumed.

---

Later that evening

The stars blinked faintly above the forest, their cold light stretching over the endless canopy of trees and reflecting dimly on the waves far below. On the cliff's edge, where the ocean met the horizon, Luffy and Ace sat, the fire between them casting shadows that flickered against their faces.

Luffy sat cross-legged, the familiar white satchel resting on his lap, his fingers tracing its worn edges absently. His gaze was locked on the flames, but his expression was unreadable. Ace leaned back slightly, resting on his hands, his eyes on the horizon. For a while, neither spoke, letting the sounds of the wind and the distant crashing waves fill the silence.

Ace finally broke the quiet, his voice measured but low. "You ever think about what Sabo would've done out there?"

Luffy didn't answer at first. His fingers stopped moving against the satchel, but his eyes didn't leave the fire.

Ace pressed on, tilting his head slightly as if searching for the right words. "He'd probably be annoying as hell. Always bossing us around. Acting like he knew better than anyone else."

Luffy's lips twitched faintly—a hint of a smile—but it vanished as quickly as it came. His fingers tightened against the satchel.

"Bet he'd be the first to start a fight with some hotshot pirate," Ace continued, his tone lighter now. "Dragging us into it, making us clean up the mess."

This time, Luffy exhaled quietly, his breath catching slightly.

Ace shifted, his usual brashness faltering for a moment. He glanced at satchel in Luffy's lap. "You miss her too." It wasn't a question.

Luffy's gaze finally broke from the fire, his eyes lifting toward the stars. The firelight caught the edges of his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw. His voice, when it came, was steady but quiet. "All the time. Sometimes it like it sneaks up on me. You think you've moved past it, but... it's still there."

Ace looked down at his hands, his knuckles flexing. "I didn't even know mine. Guess it's easier to miss someone when you can remember them."

Luffy shifted slightly, his hand brushing against the satchel. "I remember everything," he said, his tone unreadable. "Her voice. The way she'd hum when she thought I wasn't listening. How she'd hold me when I was scared."

Ace turned to him, studying Luffy's face carefully, but said nothing.

"And the day she fought them," Luffy added, his voice dropping. "A part of me still doesn't wanna believe that I'll never see her again... But moments like this," his voice faltered, and he gestured vaguely to the stars above and the sea stretching endlessly before them, "it feels like she's still out there. Like she's watching."

Ace glanced at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his words, the usual sharp edge to his demeanor softening. "Maybe she is," he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. "Maybe that's what the stars are—people we've lost. Still burning, still shining, even if we can't reach them anymore."

Luffy didn't reply immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, the faintest glimmer of moisture in his eyes catching the firelight. He tightened his grip on the book in his hands, his knuckles whitening. "She always said I'd do great things," he murmured. "Even when I didn't believe it myself. She said the world was too big for me to stay still."

Ace's lips twitched into the faintest smile, but his voice was steady. "She wasn't wrong, you know. Look at you. Look at us. We're already living bigger than anyone else out there."

Luffy exhaled a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Doesn't feel big enough. Not yet."

Ace gave him a sidelong glance, the firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. "Then we keep going. We take it all—everything they said we couldn't have. Freedom, power, the sea... Whatever it takes."

Luffy finally turned to him, his expression still serious but a spark of something more hopeful flickering in his gaze. "She always said dreaming was what made people free."

"She was right," Ace replied, his voice firm. "And no one's taking that from us."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw, but Luffy didn't respond. He reached into his satchel instead, pulling out an old, battered book. Its corners were frayed, the cover faded, but Luffy's touch was careful, almost reverent.

Ace tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "What's that?"

"A story," Luffy said simply, his gaze on the book. "She used to read it to me. About people who fought for what they believed in. People who didn't stop dreaming, no matter how much the world tried to crush them."

He flipped it open, his fingers brushing the pages, though his eyes didn't move to read. The firelight made the faintest shimmer in his eyes, but he blinked it away, closing the book and holding it against his chest.

"She'd have loved it out here," Luffy said, almost to himself. "The sea. The freedom. I never got to show her."

His voice hardened slightly as he raised his fist toward the stars, a quiet but unmistakable resolve in his tone. "But I'll show her now. I'll make her proud."

Ace watched him, his usual smirk replaced by something softer, almost pained. He stood, stepping beside Luffy and crossing his arms as he looked out at the horizon.

"And Sabo too," Ace said after a pause, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. "Wherever he is, he'll see it. I'll make sure of it."

The fire crackled softly behind them as the two brothers stood in silence, their eyes on the stars. Somewhere in the distance, the waves crashed against the rocks far below, but neither moved, the weight of their shared losses and unshakable dreams holding them in place.

---

The next day

The dim light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting soft, golden hues on the rooftops of Foosha Village. At the bar, Makino wiped down the counter as Mayor Woop Slap nursed his morning coffee at a corner table.

"They've been quiet lately," Woop Slap said, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Makino glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You mean Ace and Luffy?"

"Who else?" Woop Slap grumbled, swirling his coffee. "It's unnatural. When those two aren't causing some kind of trouble, it means they're planning something worse."

Makino chuckled softly, her hand pausing mid-wipe. "Maybe they're just busy training."

Woop Slap raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Training for what? To be bigger nuisances than they already are? Those two are like fire and oil—always ready to explode."

"They're more than that," Makino said, her voice quiet but firm. "They might act like a handful, but there's something good in both of them. They care about each other. That's what keeps them going."

Woop Slap snorted. "You've got a lot more patience for them than I do."

Makino smiled warmly. "I've known Luffy since he was small. Watching him grow up hasn't always been easy, but it's been worth it. As long as he and Ace stick together, they'll always be alright...it's good to know he's got a big brother looking out for him."

The mayor's expression softened, though he hid it behind his coffee cup. "A loudmouthed brother with a penchant for chaos," he muttered.

---

Meanwhile, up in the mountains at Mt. Colubo, Dadan stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at a pile of stolen goods stacked haphazardly near the bandits' hideout.

"This is ridiculous!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the clearing. "We're getting shown up by a couple of kids!"

The other bandits shuffled nervously, avoiding her gaze. One brave soul finally spoke up. "They've been at it for months now. High Town merchants are terrified of 'em. They say no one's been this bold since—"

"Shut it!" Dadan barked, cutting him off. "I don't care what High Town says! Those two are gonna get themselves caught—or worse—if they keep this up." She rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath. "They bring all this junk back here like they're running their own gang. What do they think I'm running, a charity?"

One of the bandits snickered. "Maybe we should take lessons from 'em."

"Don't even joke about that," Dadan snapped, shooting him a deadly glare.

Despite her grumbling, a flicker of pride crossed her face as she surveyed the pile. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but a part of her was impressed by how far the boys had come.

---

Goa Kingdom - Town Center

The sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of the Town Center as two figures darted through a bustling marketplace. Merchants shouted after them, their faces red with fury.

"Stop, you brats!" one of the merchants bellowed, waving a rolling pin like a sword.

Luffy and Ace stuck close together, weaving through the chaos with precision. Luffy grabbed a loose sack of coins off a distracted vendor's stall without breaking stride, tossing it back to Ace. "Catch! Got something shiny!"

Ace snatched the bag mid-air, grinning despite himself. "Not bad, Luffy. Now let's—"

A melon flew through the air, aimed straight for Luffy's head. He ducked just in time, the fruit smashing into a wall with a wet splat, sending juice and seeds raining down.

"Keep your eyes forward!" Luffy warned, scooping up a chunk of the broken melon and throwing it away after taking a big bite. "They're throwing stuff now!"

"You don't say!" Ace shot back, wiping stray melon juice off his face as they bolted down the alley.

The sound of boots pounding against stone grew louder, joined by whistles echoing through the narrow streets. Luffy glanced back, gauging the distance of their pursuers.

"They're gaining on us," Luffy said, his voice steady but urgent. "We need a way out."

Ace's eyes scanned their surroundings. "There's no way we're outrunning them in the open, too few people around to be able to slip away. Ideas?"

Luffy's gaze darted to a half-built scaffolding above a marketplace. His eyes lit up as he spotted coils of rope, stacked planks, and a hanging tarp swaying in the breeze.

"Follow my lead," Luffy said, sprinting toward the structure.

"What are you thinking?" Ace asked, struggling to keep up.

"Just trust me!" Luffy replied. He leaped onto the scaffolding, grabbing a loose rope and tying it to one of the higher beams in a quick knot. With a swift tug, he loosened the tarp and draped it like a canopy over the narrow street, obscuring their escape path.

Next, Luffy grabbed a plank and wedged it horizontally between two beams, creating a makeshift seesaw. He then tossed a handful of small stones onto one end and positioned Ace near the other.

"When I say jump, jump hard!" Luffy said, his grin wide.

The guards rounded the corner just as Ace hesitated. "This better work," Ace muttered before leaping with all his strength onto the plank.

The makeshift catapult launched the stones upward, pelting the guards and causing them to stagger in confusion. Some tripped on the tarp's loose edges, their shouts muffled under the chaos. Luffy and Ace used the distraction to dart through a side passage hidden behind a market stall.

As they emerged into a quieter alley, Ace panted, looking at Luffy in amazement. "You built a trap in seconds! Where'd you learn to do that?"

Luffy grinned, brushing dust off his hands. "Pirates don't just fight, Ace. We think on our feet. Now, let's move before they figure it out."

Ace laughed despite himself, shaking his head. "You're a handful, but I've got to admit—we'd be sitting in a cell right now if it weren't for that stunt you pulled."

Luffy's smile softened as he clapped a hand on Ace's shoulder. "We stick together, right? Sabo wouldn't let us hear the end of it otherwise."

Ace nodded, his grin returning. "Yeah, together."

---

The boys burst into their hideout in the dense forest, panting and laughing as they tossed their loot onto the rough wooden table in the center of the room. A hodgepodge of stolen goods—coins, trinkets, and food—spilled out, glittering faintly in the late afternoon light streaming through the cracks in the walls.

"Not bad for a couple of scrappy kids, huh?" Ace said, leaning back against the wall with a triumphant smirk.

Luffy plopped down on the floor, already digging through the pile. "I call dibs on the meat!" he declared, pulling a wrapped hunk of smoked ham from the stash.

Ace's smirk dropped instantly. "The meat? No way! That's the best part—it's mine!"

"You don't even like ham that much," Luffy said, clutching the package protectively. "You always go for the coins!"

"That's because coins are useful, but that doesn't mean you get the meat!" Ace growled, stepping forward and jabbing a finger at Luffy. "Put it down, Luffy."

Luffy tilted his head innocently. "What if I just eat it now?"

Ace's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't even think about it."

Luffy slowly unwrapped the ham, grinning like he'd just found treasure. "Too late!" he declared, biting into the edge dramatically.

Ace lunged at him, but Luffy was ready. He rolled to the side, the ham still clutched in his hand. "You're so slow, Ace!" Luffy taunted, his laughter ringing through the small room.

"You little—!" Ace roared, grabbing a broom leaning against the wall and chasing Luffy around the table. Luffy dodged and ducked under the swinging handle with ease, his laughter only fueling Ace's frustration.

"You're wasting so much energy!" Luffy teased, spinning out of Ace's reach again. "Maybe I should eat the rest so you can calm down."

Ace finally stopped, breathing hard and glaring at Luffy. "I'm not gonna let you get away with this."

Luffy grinned, holding up the ham as if weighing it. "Fine, fine. You can have some. But only if I get first bite!"

"That was your first bite!" Ace snapped.

"Well, I meant second bite!" Luffy corrected with a shrug.

Before Ace could yell, the door creaked open, and they both froze. Dadan stood there, arms crossed, looking between the two boys and their stash with an unimpressed glare.

"You two done playing house with stolen goods?" she barked, stomping inside. "I don't care what you bring back, but you better not draw more heat to my place!"

Ace pointed at Luffy. "Tell him that! He's the one who—"

Dadan smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "Both of you are the problem!"

As Dadan stomped out of the room, grumbling about "no peace with brats around," Ace and Luffy shared a look. Then, despite everything, they both burst out laughing, the tension from their earlier squabble forgotten.

Their laughter didn't last long. Dadan's footsteps stopped abruptly outside the door, muttering a curse under her breath before stomping back inside. She slammed the door shut, arms crossed as she stared them down. "Right. Enough messing around. We need to talk."

Luffy blinked, mid-bite on the ham. "Huh? You're gonna yell at us again?"

Dadan ignored him. "I got word from my contacts in Edge Town."

Ace raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You? Contacts in Edge Town? What, like... high-profile ones? Since when are you rubbing elbows with anyone important?"

Luffy leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Wait, you mean fancy folks? How does someone like you have contacts there?"

"Shut it, brats," Dadan snapped, glaring at them. "You think I can run this place and keep you two alive without knowing what's going on out there? Garp's 'protection' only goes so far, and he's not exactly the easiest man to reach when trouble comes knocking."

Ace waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, you're paranoid. What's your point?"

Dadan's eyes narrowed. "The point is, Marine activity in the kingdom's gone up. Patrols are more frequent, and they're poking their noses in places they normally ignore." She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "And it's because of you two."

Ace snorted, leaning back against the wall. "Oh, come on. We're just a couple of kids. We're not that big of a deal."

"Not a big deal?" Dadan's voice rose, and she took a step forward. "You've got a name now. High Town's been calling you two the Infernal Brothers—a couple of demons raising hell wherever you go."

Luffy paused mid-chew, eyes scanning the room. "...And what exactly does that mean for us?"

"It means," Dadan growled, "you've become a pain in the ass for every noble and merchant up there. Every time you show up, there's chaos—guards chasing you, nobles losing their loot, vendors shutting down early just so you don't rob 'em blind! You're not just causing trouble—you're making a name for yourselves, and that's bad news for all of us."

Ace crossed his arms, unconvinced. "So we've got a nickname now, nothing to get excited about, geez. We've always been careful."

"You sure about that?" Dadan shot back. Her tone was low, sharp, and it cut through the boys' nonchalance like a knife. "You think you're untouchable just because you haven't seen them following you? What if they've already got people watching? What if they're just waiting for the right time?" She pointed a finger at Luffy. "Since you're the smarter one between the two of you, let me ask you: Has anyone followed you back here?"

Luffy and Ace exchanged a quick glance, uncertainty creeping into their features. "No," Luffy said slowly. "Not that we've seen."

"Uh-huh," Dadan said, her skepticism clear. "What about anyone who knows where you stay? Have you told anyone?"

Luffy hesitated, his mind flashing to Naguri. He glanced at Ace, who looked equally uneasy.

"No one knows," Ace said quickly, avoiding Dadan's gaze.

"Yeah, it's just us," Luffy added, trying to sound casual.

Dadan stared at them for a long moment, her sharp eyes searching their faces. She let out a long sigh, shaking her head. For just a second, a flicker of disappointment passed over her features, but it was gone almost instantly.

"Right. Well, here's the deal," she said firmly. "You're done going to High Town. No more Goa Kingdom for the foreseeable future. I don't care how smart you think you are or how careful you think you've been. Stay out of sight, and keep your heads down. And if you wanna run around causing chaos, do it somewhere that isn't on my doorstep. Got it?"

Before either boy could respond, she turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The silence stretched after she left. Ace finally broke it with a low growl. "She's overreacting. Marines aren't gonna waste time on a couple of kids."

Luffy's jaw tightened as he stared at the table. "You don't know that," he said quietly, his voice calm but weighted with certainty. "They were willing to kill my mom, Ace. They burned Grey Terminal to the ground for less. You think they wouldn't hurt Naguri—or anyone else—if they thought it'd lead them to us?"

His usual bravado dimmed, Ace slumped back against the wall. "...She might have a point then."

"Yeah," Luffy said quietly, gripping the edge of the table. "She does."

A couple seconds of silence passed between them.

"We'll figure it out," Luffy said firmly, his tone resolute. "But for now, we need to stay ahead of this."

Ace nodded slowly, though his frown didn't fade. "Yeah... you're probably right."

The two sat in heavy silence once again, the weight of the conversation settling over them like a storm cloud.

---

Days later

Undisclosed Location – High Town

The ornate room, tucked away in one of High Town's grandest mansions, was dimly lit by the flicker of an elegant chandelier. Shadows danced across the walls as five figures, draped in richly embroidered cloaks, sat around a circular table. The tension in the air was palpable, their hushed voices carrying an edge of urgency.

"The situation is deteriorating rapidly," the first figure, a tall man with a sharp jawline, said, his gloved hands gripping the armrests of his chair. "The merchants and vendors have begun withholding taxes. The Infernal Brothers' antics have emboldened them, and the king is losing what little respect he had left."

The room grew quiet, the weight of his words settling heavily over the assembled figures. The third figure, a rotund man with the gold chain cleared his throat. "You understand what this means, don't you? Taxes are the lifeblood of our kingdom. Without them, we can't fund the patrols that keep High Town secure or maintain the roads and ports that allow our trade to flourish."

"And," added the second figure, a jeweled woman, her voice taut with unease, "it's not just about immediate revenue. If merchants and vendors stop paying taxes, they'll begin hoarding their wealth. That undermines not only the kingdom's coffers but also the delicate balance of power between us and the lower districts. High Town's supremacy depends on the flow of wealth remaining in our control."

The sharp-jawed man nodded grimly. "Exactly. The merchants' defiance sends a dangerous message to the rest of the kingdom: that the king's authority can be ignored. If the middle class stops fearing us, the lower class won't be far behind."

"And then?" the woman pressed, her jeweled fingers tightening around the arm of her chair. "Rebellion? Insurrection? This is a slippery slope, gentlemen. If the king cannot command the compliance of his people, we will lose everything."

The fifth figure, a black haired man with a thin black mustache, scoffed, though his nervous tone betrayed his bravado. "The Marines' presence should be enough to send a warning. The rabble may be foolish, but they're not suicidal. They'll fall back in line once we capture those brats causing all the trouble."

The sharp-jawed man didn't look convinced. "I wouldn't be so sure. These are not ordinary times. News of the Infernal Brothers has spread like wildfire. Their defiance has become a symbol—one that emboldens even those who would ordinarily avoid confrontation. And worse, their actions have inspired a wave of tax evasion and fraud. Every coin withheld weakens the kingdom's ability to meet its obligations, most notably the Heavenly Tribute."

The jeweled woman gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. "You're saying... we won't be able to meet the Tribute this year?"

"That," the sharp-jawed man said, his voice dropping, "is exactly what I'm saying. And we all know what that means."

The room grew deathly still, each figure glancing nervously at the others.

The woman adorned with jeweled rings, leaned forward. "The Marines are visible, at least. Their presence reassures the people that action is being taken, even if they've made no progress."

"Visible?" sneered the rotund man with a gaudy gold chain around his neck. "Their ineffectiveness only makes the king look worse. If the Marines can't catch a pair of brats, what does that say about the kingdom's ability to govern? The people see failure, not strength."

A heavy silence fell over the room. The implications of his words were clear but unspoken: the kingdom was faltering, and it was no longer just the higher classes who could sense it.

The sound of a knock at the door broke the uneasy stillness.

"Who dares interrupt us?" the rotund man snapped, his face flushed with irritation. "Send them away!"

Before anyone could move, the door creaked open, and a man stepped inside. His appearance was as jarring as it was deliberate: a purple pinstriped suit over a yellow polka-dot shirt, a green tie, and a metal plate covering half his face. His sharp eyes surveyed the room, his expression unreadable.

"You!" the man with the thin moustache barked. "Who gave you permission to enter? This is a private meeting for nobility. You do not belong here!"

The man ignored the outburst, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "It's funny," he said, his voice calm but cutting, "how the loudest voices in a room are often the ones who understand the least. Tell me, did your son learn to flout the kingdom's laws from you, or is defiance something he picked up on his own before his... untimely demise?"

The rotund man gasped, squeezing his trembling hand into a fist. "You dare speak to my brother like—"

"Enough," the first figure interjected, his voice icy. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The man stepped further into the room, his presence commanding despite his lack of decorum. "Captain Trap," he said simply. "I'm the Marine Captain assigned to Goa Kingdom, here to assist in the capture of your so-called Infernal Brothers."

The room was momentarily stunned into silence.

The man with the thin moustache recovered first, his tone dripping with contempt. "You expect us to believe a commoner like you has the ability to apprehend them? You—"

"—should be grateful I'm here at all," Trap interrupted smoothly, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You scream for action while knowing nothing of what it takes to catch fugitives. Capture is an art, one that requires patience, precision, and, above all, intelligence—qualities I've yet to see demonstrated by anyone in this kingdom."

The woman bristled. "How dare you speak to us like this? And where is your Marine coat? Don't you have standards?"

Trap shrugged. "I wear it during the day, but I find I get a lot more done without it at night." His tone was flippant, but his eyes glittered with a sharp edge.

The first figure leaned forward, his voice low. "This meeting is classified. How did you know about it?"

Before Trap could answer, the fourth figure, silent until now, spoke. "I told him."

All heads turned to the speaker, a slender man with a calm demeanor.

"You did what?" the rotund man barked, his face turning red.

"I told him," the slender man repeated evenly. "He came to me with information earlier today—a significant breakthrough in the search for the Infernal Brothers."

The nobles' outrage simmered into intrigue. "A breakthrough?" the first figure asked, his tone cautious.

Trap's smile returned, thin and sharp. "We've found their location."

The rotund man's eyes gleamed with bloodthirsty joy. "Bring them to me at once! Those brats have cost my family millions—they'll pay for it with their lives!"

"Don't be a fool," the slender man interjected, his tone firm. "This isn't about your vendetta. The kingdom's economy is crumbling because of the chaos they've inspired. Meeting our Heavenly Tribute demand is the first priority."

"And how do we meet it in time?" the first figure asked.

The slender man's eyes darkened. "There is a regulation... one that allows kingdoms to supplement monetary shortages with human offerings to the Celestial Dragons."

The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Slowly, grins spread across their faces, one by one.

"The junkyard city," the rotund man said, his voice filled with carnal pleasure. "Grey Terminal, they call it. Them—and the Infernal Brothers. We'll trade them all."

All eyes turned to Trap. "You've found them," the first figure said. "How will you ensure they don't escape?"

Trap's grin widened as he turned toward the door, his tone almost conversational. "I'll deliver them to you," he said, his voice calm but layered with intrigue. "But capturing fugitives like these requires precision, structure... artistry. Lets just say the less you know about the details, the better the result."

With that, he disappeared into the night, leaving the room buzzing with anticipation.

---

Three days later

Grey Terminal

The night in Grey Terminal was oppressive, the air thick with the stench of rotting garbage, burning plastic, and ash. The heaps of trash towered over narrow, winding paths like grotesque monuments to neglect. Dim lanterns hung sporadically from makeshift poles, their feeble light barely penetrating the dense shadows that clung to the labyrinth of refuse. Despite the squalor, Captain Trap moved through the filth with practiced ease, his polished shoes crunching over shards of broken glass and scraps of discarded metal without hesitation. He thrived in places like this, where desperation warped men's morals and made them pliable.

Trap had spent the past three days systematically dismantling the layers of secrecy that Grey Terminal cloaked itself in. His approach was methodical, deliberate. First, he'd stationed undercover operatives to blend in with the scavengers, noting their movements and listening for whispers about two unusually resourceful boys who seemed to operate out of the junkyard. The residents didn't speak of their activities in High Town—they likely had no idea—but there were murmurs of the boys' knack for finding trouble and outsmarting the gangs that once controlled Grey Terminal.

Trap kept his presence minimal, relying on reports brought to him rather than risking detection. His men pieced together fragments of gossip—tales of two young boys who had stood up to local criminals, dismantling them one after the other, and earned both awe and irritation from the downtrodden residents. While Grey Terminal's people admired the boys for their courage, they also whispered about their recklessness and the attention they were drawing. For Trap, the stories painted a clear picture of his targets: two boys who were dangerous not because of their strength alone, but because of their ability to inspire chaos and survive where others couldn't.

Trap wasn't content with rumors. On the second day, he instructed his men to begin methodically investigating abandoned hideouts—places where the boys were rumored to have operated. The evidence brought to him was telling: scattered remnants of stolen goods, crude maps marked with escape routes, and scrawled notes detailing High Town security guards' patrol schedules. These findings painted a picture of two individuals who were resourceful, bold, and entirely unpredictable.

Trap's experiences in environments like Grey Terminal gave him an edge. He knew how to read the signs that others overlooked: the strategic layout of one hideout, the precision of tools used to dismantle stolen goods, the telltale signs of combat training in how certain traps were set. These weren't the work of amateurs.

Then, in one hideout, Trap found something definitive. Among the scrawled maps and scraps of stolen goods lay a carefully folded piece of parchment—an older, faded sketch of the Goa Kingdom coastline with notes written in a steady, practiced hand. It was not the work of children. Trap's sharp eyes scanned the annotations carefully. One particular note referenced a secluded area known for its vantage points, marked with the phrase: "As instructed by the old man." The specificity and tone of the note stood out immediately.

Trap paused, piecing the details together. He had already noticed subtle patterns in the boys' methods—tactics that bore the mark of someone seasoned. "The old man," he murmured to himself, the title carrying an air of familiarity and respect. It wasn't much, but it was enough to feed his intuition.

Later, during his subtle questioning of Grey Terminal's residents, Trap noticed a peculiar reaction whenever he steered the conversation toward mentors or elders. The locals grew wary, some shifting uncomfortably or glancing away. Yet even the mere avoidance of the subject spoke volumes. A few referred vaguely to "him"—never by name but with a tone of quiet reverence. Trap's sharp mind latched onto these breadcrumbs, and soon the picture became clearer.

By cross-referencing these observations with the note's phrasing, Trap pieced together the identity of this elusive mentor. The figure the boys seemed to rely on wasn't just anyone—it was someone respected and feared in equal measure. The name Naguri surfaced through whispered reluctance from a scavenger who slipped under pressure, and Trap knew then that he had his mark. Whoever this Naguri was, he wasn't just a passing influence; he was the architect behind the boys' growing infamy.

By the third night, Trap had pieced together enough to act, but he wasn't one to leave loose ends. There was still one element of the puzzle missing: the personal animosities that could be exploited. For that, Trap followed one last thread: a man with a maroon mohawk and a reputation for bitterness. Trap had heard sightings of him skulking near the fringes of Grey Terminal, muttering to himself and clutching an empty bottle. The locals avoided him, their glances filled with unease. To Trap, he was the final piece of the puzzle.

To the Marine Captain, Grey Terminal wasn't just a cesspit of poverty; it was a testament to the consequences of neglect by those who ruled Goa Kingdom. To the privileged in High Town, this place was nothing more than a dumping ground—a festering sore kept out of sight to maintain their illusion of perfection. But Trap knew better. He saw it for what it was: a place that birthed survivors, though at an unimaginable cost.

The homes, if they could be called that, were nothing more than shanties cobbled together from salvaged wood, rusted sheet metal, and fragments of stone. Smoke from hastily constructed fires wafted into the night sky, mingling with the acrid smell of decay. Children darted between the shadows, their faces gaunt with hunger, their eyes too old for their age. Most of them wouldn't live to see adulthood; disease, starvation, and violence saw to that. Boys, barely old enough to speak in full sentences, were forced to join local gangs to scrape together what little they could for their families. Those who didn't were left to starve or die, their bodies swallowed by the endless heaps of garbage that surrounded them.

Trap paused near a broken-down shack where he overheard muffled sobbing. A girl, no older than twelve, clutched a swaddled infant to her chest. The baby's cries were weak and strained, and Trap's sharp eyes noted the telltale signs of malnourishment: the hollowed cheeks, the pale, sallow skin. Teenage pregnancy was a grim inevitability here, where girls were often sold into prostitution by their own fathers in desperate bids to keep their families alive. Most of these pregnancies ended in tragedy, the mortality rate for newborns staggeringly high. If the baby lived, it would face a life of misery and hardship, just like its mother.

Yet, as much as Grey Terminal was a graveyard of lost hope, it also held an undeniable ingenuity born of necessity. Despite the darkness that enveloped the area, pockets of dim light glimmered from homes with makeshift generators. The residents had somehow managed to create a rudimentary electrical grid, scavenging old wires, batteries, and engines from the heaps of refuse that surrounded them. It wasn't pretty, and the light was weak and inconsistent, but it was a testament to their resilience. These people had learned to survive, to adapt to an existence that most would find unthinkable.

Trap's eyes narrowed as he passed a gang of young boys huddled around a burning barrel, their faces shadowed but their hands clutching makeshift weapons—sharpened metal rods and broken bottles. Their laughter, almost muffled by the surrounding silence, was harsh, almost bitter, as they exchanged whispered stories of petty thefts and the scraps of food they had managed to steal that day. It was clear to Trap's eyes that they didn't laugh out of joy, but to drown out the unrelenting misery of the reality they lived. They were warriors of survival, but they were also casualties of a system that had discarded them.

On the other side of the narrow path, a group of men huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Their weathered faces bore scars of violence, and their clothing hung off their bodies like rags. These were the fathers, the husbands, the brothers who had been reduced to shadows of their former selves. Many of them had turned to crime, not out of greed, but out of necessity. Stealing, extorting, and fighting were the only ways they could provide for their loved ones. Trap studied them briefly, his calculating mind noting their desperation and potential use.

But despite their struggles, there was an underlying strength here—a resourcefulness that Trap found fascinating. The people of Grey Terminal were self-taught engineers, mechanics, and scavengers. They had built water filtration systems out of discarded pipes, fashioned rudimentary weapons out of scrap metal, and even managed to cultivate small patches of crops in nutrient-starved soil. For every atrocity committed here, there was a small triumph, a spark of humanity refusing to be extinguished.

Yet despite the residents' activity, Grey Terminal was unsettlingly quiet, the usual cacophony of desperate life reduced to a muffled hum. Even in a place as downtrodden as this, there was always noise. The silence here felt unnatural.

Trap adjusted his tie, his sharp eyes scanning the heaps of trash and the faces of those who called this place home. To the nobles in High Town, Grey Terminal was nothing but a blemish, a place to ignore or exploit when convenient. But to Trap, it was an opportunity—a cesspool of desperation he could manipulate to his advantage.

He turned a corner and spotted a hunched figure slumped against a broken barrel. The man's maroon mohawk, though dulled by dirt and grime, was unmistakable. His leather jacket hung off his wiry frame, and his tattered boots tapped erratically against the ground. Trap paused, observing him from the shadows. The man's hands twitched imperceptibly, his whole body wracked by tiny, involuntary movements. He muttered to himself in a guttural tone, his words garbled and incoherent.

Trap's lips curled into a faint smile.

Desperation made men malleable, and here in Grey Terminal, desperation was in endless supply.

Trap stepped forward, his polished shoes crunching lightly on the debris-strewn ground. The mohawk man's head snapped up, his black eyes narrowing as he focused on the newcomer.

"Rough night?" Trap asked, his tone casual as he stopped a few feet away, hands tucked behind his back.

The mohawk man's lips curled into a snarl, revealing yellow-stained teeth. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone who appreciates a good story," Trap replied, crouching slightly to meet the man's eye level. "And you look like someone with plenty to tell."

The man barked a laugh, though it was more bitter than amused. "What's it to you? Looking to kick a dog while he's down?"

"On the contrary," Trap said smoothly. "I'd like to hear how a man like you ends up in a place like this."

The mohawk man's face twisted in rage. "A place like this?" he spat. "You think you're better than me? Huh?"

Trap didn't flinch. "I think you're a man who's seen things. Lived things. That makes you useful."

The words seemed to give the mohawk man pause. His twitching subsided slightly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Useful, huh? You don't know anything about me."

"Then enlighten me," Trap said, gesturing around. "Why is this place so quiet? Places like Grey Terminal are never quiet. It's unnatural."

The man's fingers curled into fists, his body tensing. He looked away, muttering something under his breath.

"What was that?" Trap pressed, his tone patient but firm. "Who are you afraid of?"

The man's head snapped back toward him, his bloodshot eyes blazing. "Afraid?" he snarled. "I'm not afraid. Not anymore."

Trap leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Then tell me why this place feels... hollow. Who did this?"

The man's lips trembled as if struggling to hold back words. Finally, his voice cracked, low and venomous. "Two years ago. They came out of nowhere—wiped out everyone who mattered. Every last one of them. Gone."

Trap's sharp gaze didn't waver, though he felt a flicker of surprise. "Who?"

The man let out a bitter laugh, his shoulders shaking. "They weren't people. They were devils. Especially their captain. Red hair, a coat like a king's, and a sword that could tear the sky open. He killed them all like they were nothing. All the bosses, all the gangs—anyone who had power in Grey Terminal. Hundreds of 'em. Gone. Just like that."

Trap's mind worked methodically, sifting through fragments of information as though assembling a puzzle. The mohawk man's description—the red hair, the regal coat, the unmatched swordsmanship—triggered a cascade of memories. He thought back to the classified Marine reports he'd studied during his tenure in the East Blue, records often dismissed by his superiors as inconsequential.

Two years ago, there had been unverified accounts of a pirate crew with a distinct red-haired captain making a brief stop in the East Blue. Those reports were vague, riddled with hearsay, but one stood out. A witness from Conomi Islands had described a crew with extraordinary discipline, their captain reportedly strong enough to "split a sea-king in half." At the time, the report had seemed exaggerated—mere mythologizing by frightened fishermen. But now, paired with the mohawk man's vivid description, Trap began to see the truth lurking behind the hyperbole.

He recalled another report, this one from Loguetown, documenting rumors of a crew of pirates whose captain exuded an aura so intimidating that even seasoned Marines avoided confrontation. The crew was known for avoiding senseless violence but was also described as ruthlessly efficient when provoked. The captain's identity hadn't been confirmed in those records, but whispers in the intelligence community had suggested ties to the infamous Red-Haired Pirates.

And then there was the detail that sealed it: a classified report Captain Trap had once glimpsed in a Marine intelligence archive, its contents so sensitive that it had been swiftly removed after his brief reading. The report described the sinking of a Cipher Pol ship near Dawn Island, allegedly by the Red-Haired Pirates. The incident had been hushed up, but the implications were staggering. According to the report, the Red-Haired Pirates had stolen an item so valuable that the Cipher Pol agent in charge of the mission was stripped of their rank and exiled from the Marines in disgrace.

Trap remembered the brief mention of the ship's location near Dawn Island, matching the same time frame as the "mass disappearance" of criminal gangs in Grey Terminal. At face value, it seems like a coincidence, an unfortunate overlap of unrelated events. But now, with the mohawk man's description of the red-haired swordsman and the brutal eradication of Grey Terminal's underworld, Trap's sharp mind painted the picture with chilling clarity: the pirates hadn't simply passed through; It was deliberate, surgical. A purge orchestrated by a crew with the skill and power to erase entire organizations.

They'd executed a precise and deliberate operation.

Trap concealed his thoughts well, keeping his expression neutral as he listened to the mohawk man rant. But inwardly, his conclusion was clear: only one man could have orchestrated such a massacre. The Red-Haired Pirates had passed through this region, and their captain—Shanks—had left a legacy that still haunted the shadows of Grey Terminal.

Still, Trap didn't let the realization overwhelm his focus. Instead, he turned his attention back to the man before him, calculating how best to use this newfound knowledge. For now, the identity of the force behind Grey Terminal's silence was secondary. What mattered was the here and now: the Infernal Brothers, and how he would use them to unravel the chaos brewing in Goa Kingdom.

His expression remaining neutral, the Marine Captain asked, "And you survived?"

The mohawk man's twitching resumed, his lips curling back in an ugly snarl. "Barely. That monster's men didn't care about us nobodies. But the fallout? That's when things really fell apart. You can't even imagine what it's like... living like this... all because of them."

Trap nodded slowly, as though in sympathy. "And after that? How did you end up here?"

The man's eyes gleamed with hate. "A brat. Some punk kid. It all started with him, nothing's been the same since he-... That motherfucker ruined me. Killed Sai. Thought he was some kind of hero." His hand trembled as he reached up to scratch at his face, giving Trap a glimpse of the missing digits where his pinky and ring finger were supposed to be. "Scar under his left eye. I gave him that. Should've killed him."

From the man's incoherent mumblings, Trap's interest sharpened. "A scar under his left eye?" he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

He wondered briefly whether the Red-Haired Pirates had any connection to the boy with the scar—the demon child who had ruined the mohawk man's life. The thought lingered for a moment before he dismissed it. Correlation did not imply causation, and until he had proof, he wouldn't waste time chasing shadows.

Slowly, he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it, revealing a sketch of Luffy, his trademark scar unmistakable. "Is this the boy?"

The mohawk man's reaction was immediate. His whole body tensed, and his lips pulled back into a feral snarl. His voice was guttural, almost incoherent. "That's him! That little demon—he's the reason I'm in this hellhole!"

Trap smiled faintly, folding the sketch and tucking it back into his coat. The man's outburst was confirmation enough. "Interesting," he murmured. "And this boy—you said he ruined you. What else do you know about him?"

The mohawk man hesitated, his breathing ragged. "Hangs out with another kid. Black hair, freckles. Older. They've been running High Town for months now, robbing nobles blind. Little rats. But they didn't figure all this out on their own."

Trap's sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh?" he said, feigning casual curiosity.

The man sneered, his yellow-stained teeth flashing in the dim light. "There's an old guy. Naguri. Used to be a pirate, or so they say. Lives out here in Grey Terminal. Everyone knows he's the one who taught them everything—probably how to fight, steal, and make a mockery of the Marines."

Trap's lips twitched into a faint smile, concealing the spark of interest in his eyes. "Naguri, you say?" he murmured, his tone deliberately dispassionate. "And he's close to them?"

The man scoffed. "Close? They're practically his brats. Always sneaking off to see him. He's the one who's been helping them pull this crap, no doubt."

Trap's expression didn't change, but inside, he felt a flicker of triumph. "Interesting. And this Naguri—you wouldn't happen to know where can I find him?"

The man barked a bitter laugh. "You're wasting your time. He doesn't let anyone near his place. And if he catches you sniffing around, you'll wish you hadn't."

Trap hummed softly, as if pondering the warning, before straightening and brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "You've been very helpful," he said, his tone polite but distant, a subtle dismissal woven into the words.

As he turned to leave, the mohawk man growled, "What's it to you anyways? Why do you care about those little bastards?"

Trap paused mid-step, his posture relaxed but deliberate as he reached into his coat pocket. Slowly, he pulled out a golden coin, its polished surface catching the faint light of the lanterns around them. Without a word, he flicked it through the air with casual precision. The coin spun briefly before landing in the mohawk man's shaking hands, who fumbled to catch it, his twitching fingers closing around the glinting metal as though it might slip away.

Trap turned slightly, just enough for his sharp eyes to lock onto the man's own, lingering on him for a beat too long. The glint in those eyes were piercing and unmistakably dangerous. The corners of his mouth curled into something that might have been a smile—if not for the coldness behind it. His voice, calm and deliberate, cut through the silence like the edge of a blade. "Take care of yourself, friend."

There was something in the way he said it—a subtle weight to the words, as though they carried an unspoken warning.

The mohawk man flinched under the tone, his body stiffening. His hand tightened around the coin instinctively, the polished surface pressing against his palm.

For a moment, it seemed as if Trap might linger, his gaze assessing the man like a hunter sizing up his prey. But then he turned fully and melted into the shadows, his footsteps measured and deliberate as they faded into the labyrinthine alleys of Grey Terminal.

The mohawk man stood rooted in place, staring down at the coin. Its shine felt out of place here, almost mocking against the grime on his fingers. He exhaled shakily, shifting his weight as though the coin itself had grown heavier in his grip.

He glanced over his shoulder at the spot where Trap had disappeared, then back at the coin, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he muttered under his breath, his voice low and uneven, more to himself than anyone else.

The silence of Grey Terminal pressed down around him, broken only by his quiet muttering. Clutching the coin tighter, he shoved it deep into his pocket and walked away, his steps hurried. But no matter how far he went, the coin's weight lingered, a constant, unwelcome presence that refused to be ignored.

He couldn't shake the feeling that the coin wasn't a reward—it was a promise, a burden, or perhaps something far worse.

---

Days later

Grey Terminal

Two weeks had passed since Luffy and Ace last set foot in Goa Kingdom. Dadan's warnings had been clear, and for once, Ace had grudgingly agreed to heed her advice. The two of them had taken to scouring Grey Terminal for scraps to fill their time, but boredom gnawed at them like a persistent itch.

"This sucks," Ace groaned one afternoon, tossing a rock across the junkyard. "No nobles, no guards to mess with. What's the point of lying low if we're not even living?"

Luffy, perched atop an old barrel, twirled his escrima sticks idly in his hands. "Maybe we should train," he suggested, though his tone lacked enthusiasm.

Ace rolled his eyes. "Train for what? We can't even go anywhere exciting."

Their wish for excitement came sooner than expected. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Grey Terminal in hues of orange and shadow, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the junkyard. Luffy straightened, his ears attuned to the rhythm—frantic, purposeful, and headed straight for them.

The figure emerged moments later: a wiry boy with messy hair and torn clothes, panting heavily as he stumbled into the clearing. His wide eyes darted between Luffy and Ace.

"You two!" he wheezed, clutching his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. "You have to come quick!"

Ace narrowed his eyes, suspicion flashing across his face. "What's this about?"

"It's Naguri," the boy blurted out. "He's been taken!"

Luffy lost all forms of sluggishness in an instant, his face tight with worry. "Taken? By who?"

"The Fang Rats," the boy said, his voice trembling. "They jumped him near the old scrapyard by the crane. Said they've got a score to settle."

The mention of the Fang Rats struck a nerve in both boys. Luffy's grip on his escrima sticks tightened. An upstart gang that he and Naguri had crossed paths with before, dismantling one of their rackets when they'd been extorting food from struggling families. The old scrapyard was their known hideout—a maze of rusted cranes, abandoned machinery, and debris.

Ace's fists clenched. "Why didn't you come sooner?"

The boy flinched, his gaze darting nervously between Luffy and Ace. "I... I tried to find you! Word's been spreading all over Grey Terminal about Naguri, but no one knew where you were. I thought people were playing when they said you guys disappear for days—weeks even—and no one knows where you go when you're not here."

The boy hesitated, swallowing hard as he looked at the two of them. Ace stood there, his fists clenched and his gaze sharp, like he was ready to take on the world at a moment's notice. Luffy, still perched on the edge of the rusted barrel with those strange sticks of his resting in his lap, looked calmer but no less dangerous—his eyes carried something deeper, a quiet intensity that made it clear he was always thinking, always ready.

Legends. That's what they are, the wiry boy thought, his chest tightening. Everyone in Grey Terminal talks about them. How they take down the gangs, how they stand up to the people no one else dares to challenge. They've saved families, kids, even folks who never thought they'd see kindness again in a place like this.

But there was something about them—something distant. No one knows where they go when they're not here. It's like they're ghosts or something. They show up, raise hell, make things right, and then disappear. Some people say they're trying to stay out of sight, that they don't want to be found. Maybe that's why no one knows how to reach them when things go wrong.

His gaze flickered between them, and he felt a weight settle in his gut. And here I am, standing in front of them... hoping I didn't screw up by taking so long to find them.

"Thanks for telling us," Luffy said as he leapt down from the barrel, dismissing the boy in the same breath. Slipping his escrima sticks into loops on his belt. "We can't waste time," he said, looking at Ace. "If we're too slow—"

"We won't be," Ace interrupted, his tone fierce. "Not this time."

---

The moon hung low as they approached the crumbling warehouse near the coast, its rusted walls streaked with salt and grime. The air was thick with the scent of brine, the distant crash of waves punctuating the silence.

Ace stormed ahead, his fists clenched, but as they approached the perimeter of the scrapyard, Luffy slowed, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the area. The rusted hulks of old cranes loomed like skeletons in the moonlight, their long shadows stretching across the debris-strewn ground.

"Something's not right," Luffy muttered.

Ace shot him a look. "What are you talking about? We don't have time for this."

Luffy ignored him, his gaze sweeping over the scene. The scrapyard was eerily quiet—too quiet for a place the Fang Rats called home. His sharp instincts, honed from years of navigating the dangers of Grey Terminal, picked up subtle details: fresh footprints in the dirt, an overturned crate near the entrance, and faint scuff marks on the ground that seemed too deliberate.

"They're waiting for us," Luffy said quietly.

Ace stopped, frustration flashing in his eyes. "You're just being paranoid."

"No," Luffy insisted, gripping his escrima sticks tightly. "Look at the footprints—too many of them. And those crates—why would they be out here, in the open?"

Ace's breath hitched, his voice rising. "A trap? Then we break it."

"No," Luffy said firmly. "We outsmart it."

---

They slipped into the warehouse cautiously, Luffy taking the lead with his escrima sticks at the ready. The interior was dimly lit, its walls lined with rusted tools and broken machinery. Shadows stretched across the floor, giving the space an ominous air.

"Naguri?" Ace called out, his voice echoing.

No response.

Luffy's sharp eyes caught more signs of a setup: faint scuff marks leading toward the center of the room, strategically placed debris that could easily trip someone up, and subtle glints of metal in the walls—this wasn't the doing of the Fang Rats.

"It's a trap," Luffy confirmed as he whispered, his voice tense.

Before Ace could respond, chaos erupted.

Panels in the warehouse walls burst open as Marines charged out, shouting orders. From hidden mechanisms, nets laced with weights shot into the air, aiming to ensnare the brothers. Thin wires rigged to trip unsuspecting targets crisscrossed the floor, while spring-loaded panels launched crates and debris to block off escape routes. High above, snipers shifted their positions, their rifles trained on the boys.

"Split up!" Luffy shouted, reacting instantly. He swung his escrima sticks, deflecting a net mid-air, and stretched his arm to grab Ace's wrist, pulling him out of the path of a second attack.

"What the—Luffy!" Ace barked, startled.

"No time to argue!" Luffy snapped, launching himself into the fray. his escrima sticks spinning in his hands. A net hurtled toward him, but with a swift swing of his stick, he deflected it just enough to sidestep out of its path.

"Ace, move!" he shouted, launching his other stick like a boomerang toward a Marine creeping up behind his brother.

The stick struck its target with a dull thwack, sending the Marine sprawling. Luffy stretched his arm to retrieve the stick midair, his rubbery limb snapping back like a whip. He moved with agility born from countless hours of training, vaulting over crates and dodging incoming cables with uncanny speed.

One Marine lunged at him with a blade, but Luffy ducked low, twisting his leg unnaturally to sweep the Marine's legs out from under him with enough force that the Marine's scream of agony from the resulting crack was drowned out in the cacophony of noise in the warehouse. Another came from behind, and Luffy responded by leaping onto a beam above, using his elongated legs to kick downward with force.

"Gomo Gomo no Bullet!" Luffy cried, stretching one arm far behind him while charging forward. The arm snapped back, delivering a devastating blow to a Marine's chest. The man was sent hurtling backward, crashing into a pile of crates with enough force to shatter the wood.

On the other side of the room, Ace was a whirlwind of raw power. His fists slammed into the armored torsos of Marines, knocking them back with bone-rattling force. Despite being outnumbered, he charged forward with relentless energy, shoving aside crates and deflecting blows with sheer determination.

"Iron Barrage!" Ace roared, delivering a flurry of rapid punches to an approaching Marine. The man's armor buckled under the relentless assault, and he collapsed in a heap, blood leaking from his mouth. Another Marine lunged at Ace with a blade, but Ace sidestepped, grabbed the man by the collar, and threw him into a nearby wall with a grunt of effort.

Though he took several hits—batons grazing his ribs, punches glancing off his arms—Ace barely flinched. His sheer resilience kept him standing, even as the Marines' coordinated attacks began to wear him down.

From his vantage point on a shadowed balcony overlooking the chaos, Captain Trap's sharp eyes tracked every movement of the two boys below. Despite the discordant sounds of the fight—Marines shouting orders, the clang of metal against the ground, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor—Trap's mind remained calm, methodically analyzing the situation.

"Squad Three," he said into the communication device clipped to his collar, his voice low and measured. "Adjust your positioning. The freckled one favors his right. Push him toward the far corner near the broken crates—cut off his lateral movement."

On the battlefield, Ace lunged at a Marine, his fist connecting with a sickening crack. He tried to shift left to avoid another attacker, only to find his path blocked by a trio of soldiers advancing in formation.

Trap's eyes flicked to Luffy, who darted unpredictably between his attackers, his rubbery limbs stretching and snapping like striking vipers. Marines swung at him, only to hit empty air as he twisted and bent his body in ways that defied logic.

Trap's brow furrowed slightly as he observed the younger boy. "Squad Five, focus on the stretchy one. Keep your distance—he's using his range to control the fight. Use long weapons and attack from multiple angles. Force him into the southeast quadrant near the collapsed beam."

Below, Luffy spun his escrima sticks, deflecting an incoming net before leaping onto a crate to avoid a spear thrust. He lashed out with his foot, catching a Marine in the chest, but the calculated movements of Trap's men began to limit his space.

Trap watched intently, his intrigue growing with every passing second. Trained soldiers are struggling to match them, he mused, his gaze narrowing as Luffy stretched his arm to disarm an attacker.

'They fight like seasoned warriors. But this one...'

His focus shifted fully to Luffy, noting the boy's agility and the unnatural elasticity of his limbs. His mind raced, piecing together the implications.

'A devil fruit user in the East Blue of all places? Unlikely. But unmistakable.'

"Squad Five," he said into the communicator, his tone sharpening. "Stay alert. He's not just fast—he's creative. Don't let him bait you into triggering your own traps."

Even as he issued the warning, Luffy grabbed a hidden tripwire with his foot, pulling it taut and causing a falling net to ensnare two Marines instead of himself. Trap's jaw tightened at the display of ingenuity.

"Unprecedented," he murmured to himself, his tone betraying a flicker of irritation. "But not unsalvageable."

He shifted his focus to Ace, who was holding his ground despite being worn down by the relentless assault. The freckled boy's raw power was undeniable, but Trap noted the cracks in his defenses—his tendency to overcommit to punches, the slight stumble in his movements as exhaustion crept in.

"Squad Three, press him harder. He's tiring. Don't let him find a rhythm—keep him on the defensive. And for God's sake, someone neutralize those fists."

Trap's cold eyes scanned the battlefield, watching as his orders were carried out. Marines moved with precision, herding the brothers into the zones he'd designated. Slowly but surely, the tide of the fight began to shift in his favor.

'They're good,' Trap thought, his gaze flitting between the two boys. 'But they're still children. They'll fall like all the rest.'

He tapped his communicator again. "Snipers, hold your fire until I give the order. If they attempt an escape, take the shot. We only need one alive, but I'd prefer both."

His attention returned to Luffy, who was becoming a thorn in his side. The boy's unpredictable movements were giving his soldiers trouble, and the narrow spaces of the battlefield only worked to his advantage. Trap's eyes narrowed, and he issued a new command. "Sniper Two," he said into his communicator. "Take him out of the equation. Aim for the leg or shoulder—slow him down."

Seconds later, a shot rang out, aimed directly at Luffy's leg. Trap's sharp gaze caught what happened next. The bullet hit its mark, but instead of piercing flesh, it bounced off Luffy's rubbery skin, ricocheting harmlessly into a nearby wall. Trap's brow furrowed as the implications dawned on him.

"A defensive ability," he muttered under his breath. "His body... repels bullets. Interesting."

Trap's analytical mind adjusted immediately, issuing new instructions. "Snipers," he said, his voice steady. "Do not aim at him directly. Target the objects he's reaching for. Crates, beams, anything he's using to move or gain leverage. Destabilize him."

Below, as Luffy stretched his arm toward a ledge to gain higher ground, another sniper's shot struck the beam he was aiming for, shattering it mid-reach. Luffy stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the change in tactics. A second shot severed a rope he had grabbed to swing across the room, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Despite the shift in momentum, Luffy's resolve didn't falter. He adjusted rapidly, using his rubbery limbs to ricochet off walls and create chaos among the Marines. But Trap's calculated approach was beginning to take its toll. The boy's movements became more erratic, his options narrowing as Trap's men tightened the noose.

"They've made it farther than I expected," Trap murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "But even the most cunning prey falls when the hunter knows their patterns."

As the fight dragged on, the brothers found themselves back-to-back, instinctively syncing their movements. Luffy spun his escrima sticks to deflect incoming nets and wires, while Ace swung his fists with precision, knocking Marines away from their flanks.

"Gomo Gomo no Rifle!" Luffy yelled, twisting his arm as he stretched it back, coiling the limb like a spring. He released it with explosive force, the punch connecting with a Marine's shield and sending him skidding across the ground, his armor dented.

Ace grinned, his knuckles cracking. "Meteor Strike!" he shouted, leaping into the air and delivering a powerful downward punch that cratered the floor and knocked back several Marines.

Their teamwork was flawless, honed through years of brawling together. Luffy's speed and creativity complemented Ace's brute strength, creating a dynamic that overwhelmed their attackers. For every trap sprung, Luffy found a way to use it against the Marines, and for every Marine that got too close, Ace was there to deliver the final blow.

Luffy ducked under a swinging baton and latched onto the man, countering with "Gomo Gomo no Kane," as he snapped his head backward to deliver a devastating headbutt to the Marine's face. The man crumpled to the ground, knocking the man out cold.

"You good?" Ace called, glancing over his shoulder as he sent another Marine flying with a punch.

"Never better!" Luffy replied, twisting his escrima sticks to knock away a pair of spears aimed at him. "But we've got to keep moving."

"Agreed," Ace said, his tone grim but determined.

But the ingenuity of Trap's design became brutally clear as the fight progressed. The traps weren't random—they were carefully orchestrated to herd Luffy and Ace into a specific section of the warehouse. Marines blocked key exits, creating a tightening net of armed forces, while the terrain forced the brothers into narrower spaces. Above, the snipers adjusted their scopes, tracking the boys' frantic movements and waiting for the perfect opportunity.

As the boys reached the center of the room, the warehouse floor beneath them suddenly gave way. A carefully rigged mechanism triggered, sending wooden planks crashing down to reveal a pit hidden below.

"Luffy!" Ace yelled, scrambling for balance as the ground beneath them crumbled.

Luffy reacted instantly, grabbing Ace's arm with one hand while stretching his other arm toward a beam above. But before his fingers could reach the metal, a shot rang out.

The sniper's bullet wasn't aimed to kill; it struck the beam just ahead of Luffy's hand, collapsing the structure and throwing off Luffy's trajectory, forcing him to retract his arm. The momentary distraction cost him precious seconds, and both brothers began to fall.

Mid-fall, Luffy's sharp eyes scanned the chaos below. The Marines had positioned themselves near the pit's edges, nets at the ready, while the pit itself gleamed faintly in the dim light—a reinforced net lay at its bottom, woven with durable materials and weighted down with chains.

'They're ready for us. We can't both fall into this,' Luffy thought, his mind racing.

His eyes darted to the far wall, where a rusted panel jutted out slightly from the debris. Luffy recognized it immediately: a hidden chute that Naguri had once shown him, a narrow tunnel that led to the scrapyard's underbelly. It wasn't an ideal escape—it was cramped, dark, and unpredictable—but it was their only chance.

"Ace, trust me!" Luffy shouted.

"What? Luffy, wait—" Ace started, but before he could finish, Luffy planted his feet against a falling plank and kicked his brother with just enough force to propel him sideways toward the chute.

Ace's body collided with the opening, his head striking the edge with a sickening crack before he disappeared into the tunnel.

Luffy's stomach twisted as he watched his brother vanish. Sorry, Ace. This is the only way.

Luffy hit the bottom of the pit a second later, landing hard in the reinforced net. His body bounced once, the weight of the chains pressing him down. He tried to stretch his arms to reach the edges of the pit, but the net restricted his movements, holding him in place like a fly caught in a web.

"Damn it!" Luffy growled, his fingers tearing at the netting. But the material was stronger than anything he'd ever encountered—reinforced steel threads mixed with a weave that absorbed the force of his struggling limbs.

Above him, Trap's voice echoed, calm and composed. "Impressive. You lasted longer than I expected. But every move you've made played right into my hands."

Luffy ignored him, his teeth gritted as he strained against the chains. He stretched his arm to grab one of the heavier links, hoping to snap it with brute force, but the reinforced steel refused to budge.

Trap leaned over the edge of the pit, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Struggle all you want, boy. That net was made to hold much bigger prey than you."

Meanwhile, the Marines scoured the area above, searching for any sign of Ace.

"He's not here, Captain," one Marine reported, his voice tinged with confusion. "He must've fallen somewhere else."

Trap frowned. "Search the perimeter. I want every inch of this place combed."

The Marines fanned out, but the hidden chute had been too well-concealed. The terrain of Grey Terminal, with its labyrinth of debris and hidden pathways, worked in Luffy's favor. Ace remained undiscovered, deep within the scrapyard's underbelly.

Trap's irritation was brief. He adjusted his gloves, his focus returning to Luffy. "No matter," he said, his voice cold. "We have the more interesting one."

Luffy twisted and writhed, his body bending unnaturally as he tried to work his way free. His mind raced through every trick Naguri had ever taught him, every maneuver he'd practiced. But no matter how much force he applied, the net and chains refused to give.

His fingers brushed against the handles of his escrima sticks still strapped to his belt. A spark of hope ignited. Maybe... he thought, pulling them free.

Gritting his teeth, he jammed one stick into the dense netting, using the other to lever against it. The fibers stretched under the pressure, straining as he forced an opening wide enough to attempt slipping a limb through. His breathing quickened with determination as the fibers began to shift—just slightly.

But before he could make any progress, a sharp crack echoed from above. One of his escrima sticks splintered in his hand, a sniper's shot tearing through it with surgical precision. A second shot followed instantly, obliterating the remaining stick.

Luffy froze, staring in disbelief at the shattered remains of his weapons, his breath catching in his throat.

A memory flashed through his mind: Naguri's weathered hands holding out the freshly polished sticks, his voice firm yet warm. "These aren't just weapons, Luffy. They're extensions of you. Treat them well, and they'll never fail you."

His chest tightened as he stared at the ruined pieces in his trembling hands. His heart ached, a pang of loss surging through him. They were more than tools—they were a connection to Naguri, to everything he'd learned, everything he'd worked for. And now they were gone.

The despair barely had time to take root before Marines descended into the pit, their movements cautious as they secured him further, tightening the chains that bound him.

Luffy's head dropped for a moment, his breathing ragged as the enormity of the situation pressed down on him. He wasn't just fighting for himself—if they caught him, Ace would have no way of knowing what had happened, no way to protect himself if the Marines tracked him next. And Naguri... Naguri could already be in danger because of this trap. He had to get to them, by any means necessary.

Luffy gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he forced himself to lift his head. "This isn't over," he growled, his voice hoarse but defiant.

A Marine stepped forward with a syringe, the faint glint of its needle catching the dim light. Luffy thrashed as the Marine drew closer, but the weight of the chains and his drained energy left him vulnerable.

"Get away from me!" Luffy roared, lashing out with his legs. His foot caught one Marine in the chest, sending him flying, but another quickly grabbed his arm and pinned it.

The needle pierced his skin and cold sensation spread through his veins, his vision blurring almost instantly.

His last thoughts before unconsciousness were of Ace—whether his brother had made it out safely, whether he'd wake up before the Marines could find him.

As darkness consumed him, the last thing he saw was Trap's faint smirk as his world faded to black.

---

Some time later

Luffy's head throbbed, his vision blurred as he blinked himself awake. The first thing he noticed was the cold iron pressing against his back, and then the gentle, steady hand brushing his hair away from his face.

"You're awake," a soft voice murmured.

He turned his head slightly, wincing as the movement sent sharp pain shooting through his skull. A woman knelt beside him, her face gaunt but calm. She pulled her hand away as his gaze met hers.

Luffy sat up slowly, his muscles stiff and uncooperative. She reached out instinctively to steady him, but he waved her off, gripping the bars of the cage to steady himself instead.

"You shouldn't push yourself," she said, her voice tinged with something that might have been pity.

Luffy ignored her, his eyes darting around the dimly lit hold. The faint cries of the people around him began to register—muffled sobs, desperate whispers. Bodies pressed together, crammed so tightly that there was barely room to breathe. His chest tightened as recognition hit him.

"Where are we?" His voice came out hoarse, the words scraping against his dry throat.

The woman didn't answer immediately. Her gaze shifted to the iron floor, and she exhaled slowly before speaking. "They came in waves," she said quietly, as though the memory itself was too heavy to say out loud.

Luffy stared at her, waiting.

"Marines. Hundreds of them." She met his eyes now, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Swords, rifles, pistols—they brought everything. They said we were being relocated. Told us it was for our safety." Her voice wavered, then steadied again. "But no one believed them."

Luffy's fingers tightened around the bars.

"We tried to fight back," she continued, her tone flat. "But the moment the first bodies hit the ground… we knew."

Her words hung in the air, each one heavier than the last. Luffy didn't respond, his jaw tightening as he glanced around the room again.

"They marched us through High Town," she said suddenly, her voice sharper now. "Right through their streets, like it was a parade. The nobles—they stood there, laughing, smiling…" Her voice faltered, her hands curling into fists on her lap. "They didn't even try to hide it."

Luffy's grip on the bars creaked audibly.

"I don't know where they're taking us," she added after a moment, her voice quieter now. "But it's not anywhere good."

He clenched his teeth, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. "Why are you telling me this?"

She studied him for a moment, her expression softening. "I… I wanted to thank you."

Luffy frowned, the statement catching him off guard.

"You don't remember, do you?" she asked, her lips curving into a faint, sad smile.

He said nothing, but his brow furrowed as he searched her face.

"Two years ago," she continued, her voice steady. "You saved my family. Grey Terminal. Rago and his gang—you stopped them. If it wasn't for you…" She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Luffy frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "Rago?"

Her lips twitched in a smile as she clarified, "The maroon mohawk man. The one who led the gang."

The memory hit him like a wave—a woman clutching her children, shielding them with trembling arms; a man trying to protect them with nothing but a rusted pipe clutched in his hands - the desperate family he had protected.

Luffy's hand lifted instinctively, his fingers brushing the scar below his left eye.

"It was you," he said quietly, the realization sinking in.

She nodded. "My name's Alonah. In case… in case we don't get another chance to talk, I wanted you to know. What you did—it mattered."

Luffy looked away, his jaw tightening. He didn't want to hear it. Not now.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle again.

He shook his head, not answering.

Instead, he pulled himself up, his legs unsteady as he glanced around the hold again. His sharp eyes scanned every corner, every seam in the iron walls, looking for anything—any weakness, any opening. But there was nothing.

The ship creaked, its massive hull groaning as it cut through the waves. Through a narrow gap in the wall, he caught a glimpse of the horizon. Dawn Island was shrinking, its familiar silhouette fading into the distance.

"No," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. His knuckles whitened around the bars as if he could will the ship to turn around through sheer force.

Behind him, the quiet sobs of the captives grew louder. Alonah said nothing, her gaze fixed on him as though willing him to do something, anything.

Luffy slammed his fist against the bars, the sharp clang reverberating through the hold. But it did nothing—just like every other plan that had run through his mind.

The ship lurched forward, steady and unrelenting, as Dawn Island became nothing more than a speck on the horizon.

Around him, the despair was palpable. People wept openly, their cries filling the cramped space. Alonah lowered her head, her hands trembling as she clasped them together.

The cries around him blurred into a cacophony of despair. Luffy's own scream tore from his throat, raw and anguished, but it was lost in the din.

And for only the second time in his life, a chilling, unshakable fear gripped him.