— Are you really sure you can sit here without any trouble? — a calm but heavy voice sounded behind me.
— Yeah, as long as people like you don't interfere, — I replied, turning my head toward the rooftop. On the roof, against the dim moonlight, stood a dark-skinned man with short hair styled into a mohawk — several sharp spikes. His long coat flapped in the wind, the high collar resembling a cravat, and the scabbard with a saber glimmered at his waist.
"I don't even remember who this is…" — flashed through my mind, and for some reason, my heart gave a jolt of unease.
— You don't look too impressive, — Karina drawled, unable to resist a smirk.
The man didn't even raise an eyebrow; his gaze remained heavy and empty. He stepped closer, the steel of his scabbard quietly clinking against the wood.
— That's not for you to decide, — he said coldly, slowly drawing the saber from its scabbard. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, sharp as a fresh needle.
Karina immediately positioned herself behind me, her shadow falling on the ground beside mine.
— Hey, you're the first one to tease people! — I shouted over my shoulder, stepping forward.
— That's different! — she retorted, grimacing, and added: — Take care of him quickly, Captain. — Then she deftly slid off the roof, leaving room for the fight.
I smirked, straightening up. The man stood opposite, holding the saber in one hand, the blade flashing, reflecting the dim moonlight.
— You're too relaxed, — he said dully, his voice sounding almost like a verdict. — This will end badly.
I want to try something, — I thought. I shoved my hand into my pocket and felt the cold metal. My fingers clenched, and the brass knuckles given to me today slid onto my hand.
In the next instant, I stepped back, crouched as if preparing to leap, and lunged forward sharply. My foot struck a fragile roof plank, splinters flying, and in the same moment my fist shot toward his face with a whistle.
The sound of metal shattered the night's silence. The saber met my strike, sparks flying from the point of impact. The force was such that his long coat billowed like a sail in the wind.
— Quick… — surprise flickered in his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a satisfied grin.
In one motion, he pivoted, lifting the saber from below. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, almost grazing my chin. I leapt aside, feeling the cold steel pass mere centimeters from my skin.
Wide… too wide. Even for me, someone who had never seriously trained in sword fighting, it was obvious: his movements carried too much pride and strength, but too little control.
— Ha! — I grinned, lunging forward again. My fists and feet moved faster than he could react. The metal of the brass knuckles flashed, air sliced with every strike, and each step made the shingles beneath crack and crumble.
He fended off the saber, struggling to defend. Every time our weapons clashed, the street below froze at the ringing metal. I didn't give him a single second to catch his breath.
— You're too confident, — he hissed, blocking another strike. The metal screeched as if complaining, and it seemed that if it continued a bit longer, his saber would snap in half.
— And you're too slow, — I replied with a grin, spinning in a jump. My boot cut through the air and hit his shoulder squarely.
A dull thud reverberated through the street, and his body, like a ragdoll, was thrown through a narrow alley into the wall of a nearby building. Bricks tumbled down, and he, unconscious, hung in the gap.
— No wonder I didn't remember him, — I smirked, wiping my knuckles. — Too weak. Didn't even need to use his abilities.
Before the fight, I had briefly wondered: what if someone who could nullify Devil Fruit powers came at me? Tich…
The thought was unpleasant but necessary. A duel like this, even without effort, was a good training. And if the opponent had been smarter, I could have tested my skills to the limit.
— Well… that wasn't bad, — I muttered, swinging my legs over the edge and glancing toward the square.
In the distance, Sabo, leaning on his pipe, was confidently dispatching those still in formation. The Mayor, pressed against the wall with wild fear in his eyes, tried to explain himself, but Sabo only smirked. The crowd, which had recently been shouting and clinking glasses at us, now scattered in panic.
Baroque Works… — I squinted thoughtfully. — Either they haven't yet formed as a real force, or they're so weak they can't spare anyone worthy. If this is the "best" they can send — we'll handle them easily…
I sighed and headed toward the house from which familiar mumbling and snoring came.
The door creaked open, revealing a "painting in oils": Gin and Augur, barely covered by tattered clothes, sprawled on the floor among overturned jugs and gnawed plates. The alcohol fumes alone could poison someone without any toxins.
— Idiots… — I wearily ran a hand across my face. — Gin and Augur are supposed to be smart guys, but give them a drink — and their brains fly to hell.
Gin mumbled something, turning to his other side, sleepily punching the air as if continuing his arm-wrestling in his dreams. Augur, still clutching an empty bottle, snored as if competing with a ship's horn in volume.
I sank heavily into a chair, watching them.
— And this is my team… — I said ironically, resting my head on my hand. — And we've only just started on the Grand Line.
From the street came the clang of steel — Sabo was still finishing off the remaining attackers. Somewhere on the other side of the settlement, women's screams could be heard — apparently, Karina decided to have some fun too.
— Yeah, — I muttered, standing. — Time to decide what to do next.
I don't have exact data for the Log Pose, — I murmured, spinning the map in my hands. — So I can…
My thoughts were interrupted by Augur, who, without lifting his head, was already standing next to me:
— Captain, pour me another.
I let out a heavy sigh, lowering my gaze.
— Eh, I've got two drunks on the ship… — I muttered under my breath. — And where exactly are we headed with them?
Augur, ignoring my words, carefully set the empty bottle on the table and prepared for the next toast.