The humid air clung to my skin like it was trying to choke me. The open sea was supposed to clear a man's head — that's what old sailors said, anyway. But for me? It just made the anger stick harder, like salt in a fresh wound. Every churn of the waves felt like a reminder of how I'd screwed up. Sixis. That cursed ship. The Marines. Myself.
And it wasn't Ace's fault. If anything, he tried to keep me steady. But I wasn't about to let anyone see me crack. Leaving him behind wasn't betrayal. It was survival. I needed to breathe before my fury burned me from the inside out.
"I'll deal with this later," I muttered to no one but the stars. "First, I've got a score to settle."
Loguetown was the same stinking pit it always was — reeking of salt, smoke, and desperation. The streets were half-empty when I made landfall, my bubble scraping quietly against the dock. I didn't waste time. Straight to the ship shop, the one that pawned off that floating coffin on me.
Bastard didn't even lock the door properly.
I knocked — once, twice — then buried my fist in his face before he had a chance to whimper. Watching him hit the wall was… cathartic. Not enough, though. Not by a long shot.
"You sold me garbage," I growled, teeth clenched tight as I drove another fist into his face. Blood and teeth. Wood cracking under his skull.
I kept going until he was limp. Until my knuckles were warm and sticky and my chest stopped heaving like a storm-tossed sail.
"Debt's paid," I muttered, brushing the blood off. It wasn't, not really — but it would have to do.
But there was one more thing I needed before leaving Loguetown.
Smoker.
Breaking into the Marine base was too easy. Same lazy patrol routes. Same blind spots. You'd think after chasing Roger's crew for years they'd tighten up. I slipped into his office, watching that smug bastard doze with a cigar half-dead in his fingers.
Sea-stone grit in the face. Gag. Then fist after fist, until he looked worse than the ship seller. I knew he'd glare. Smoker didn't know how to quit. That made it even better.
"Long time no see, senpai," I spat between punches.
The last hit split his lip wide open. I left him like that — bloodied, gagged, with his cigar still smoldering uselessly on the floor.
The sea called again, and this time, I pointed my bubble toward Sorbet Kingdom. Not for Bonney, not for Kuma. For quiet. For cheap drinks and a place where no one asked questions.
Two days of nothing. And I almost forgot about Ace. Almost.
Then guilt hit me like a gut punch.
"Damn it," I growled, shoving off from the docks, my bubble slicing through the water. "I left him too long."
When Sixis came into view, I half-expected to find him sulking. Or pissed. What I saw made me stop cold.
There was Ace — shirtless, barefoot, grinning like a damn fool as he hauled driftwood from the shore. And beside him, some cloaked stranger in a plain white mask, moving like a soldier keeping an eye out for snipers.
"Who the hell…?" I muttered, dropping down from my bubble.
Ace's grin vanished when he saw me.
"Well, well — look who finally shows up," he snapped, voice sharp as a blade. "Where the hell did you go, old man? Left me stuck here for two days!"
I almost bit back — was ready to tell him where to stick his attitude. But instead, I reached into the sack I'd slung over my shoulder and tossed him a fat, leaf-wrapped cut of meat.
His glare wavered when his stomach growled loud enough for me to hear it.
"Alright, fine," he grumbled, tearing into it like a starving wolf. "You get a pass."
I smirked. "Knew you'd cool off once your stomach shut you up."
Between bites, he jerked a thumb at the stranger.
"By the way — this is Deuce. Masked Deuce. Found him washed up after a storm."
The man gave a stiff nod. "Name's Deuce. Doctor, when I've got supplies. Not much else to do, so I figured I'd help the idiot build a raft."
I eyed him, arms crossed. Lean build, careful steps, always watching the tree line. Didn't trust him yet, but I could respect a survivor.
"Doctor, huh? Could be useful."
Ace grinned like a kid who found a new toy. "He's our first crew member! And with my new powers, we won't be here long."
That made me pause. "New powers?"
He raised a hand — and there it was. A flickering flame, dancing in his palm.
"…Flame-Flame Fruit," I muttered. A Logia. That explained the smugness.
"You know about it?" Ace asked.
"Heard stories," I shrugged, then let it drop. "I've eaten one too. Bubble-Bubble Fruit."
Deuce perked up. "You're a Devil Fruit user too? What's it do?"
I chuckled. "Not much. Makes bubbles. I can float ships, trap stuff, slow things down inside 'em. Nothing flashy. That's why I stick to cooking. Can't be the swordsman and fighter all the time."
Deuce looked genuinely intrigued. "I want to know more. I've only heard scattered stories about Devil Fruits. And now I'm stuck with two users?"
Before I could answer, Ace cut in. "Oi! Enough storytime! We need a bigger raft if we're getting off this island."
I raised a hand. "Relax, hothead. No need for a raft. I already got us a new ship — bigger, better than my last one. Picked it up from a guy named Bulldog. It's heavy as hell, though, so my bubble's dragging it here slow."
Ace blinked. "Wait — you got a ship?"
"Yup," I grinned. "Should be here soon. But while we wait — no harm giving the doc here a crash course."
Deuce nodded eagerly. "Please. I want to know everything you can tell me."
I leaned back against a rock, feeling the sun on my face. "Alright, pull up a seat, doc. Devil Fruits 101 — Lazarus style."
Deuce didn't waste a second. The moment I mentioned Devil Fruits, he reached under that tattered brown cloak of his and pulled out a small, water-damaged notebook. The cover was worn, edges frayed, but you could tell it'd been kept safe through hell and high water. A battered fountain pen followed, the kind that probably hadn't seen a refill in weeks.
He flipped it open, thumbing past a few scribbled pages filled with messy notes — plant sketches, anatomy diagrams, what looked like old sea charts — until he found a blank spot.
"Go on," Deuce said, tapping the page with the tip of his pen. "I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to know everything. Might as well make a record if I'm stuck in the middle of a Devil Fruit circus."
Ace snorted around a mouthful of meat. "He's always scribbling stuff down. Doctor habits or something."
"Call it staying alive," Deuce muttered without looking up.
I smirked. Man after my own heart. "Alright then, doc. Hope you got plenty of pages left — this might get messy."
And with that, I started.