Something broke, indeed.
Gale braced himself for a shout, a punch, maybe even an arrest warrant with his name on it written in big red letters. What he didn't expect was—
Laughter.
The branch commander suddenly threw his head back and let out a deep, chest-rumbling laugh, the kind you'd expect from a tavern full of pirates after someone slipped rum into the soup.
Then—WHAM!—he slapped Gale on the shoulder with the force of a small cannon blast. Gale staggered a full step sideways, nearly biting his tongue.
"HAH! You've got guts, kid," the commander boomed, grinning wide beneath that neatly trimmed mustache. "Not a lick of patience and common sense, clearly, but guts? Oh, plenty."
Gale wheezed. "Thanks, I guess.." he muttered, trying to pop his shoulder back into its socket. "Always nice to be complimented and maimed in the same breath."
The commander waved him off. "Lashing out at a marine officer is understandable... as for threatening to destroy a Marine base…" He raised a brow, smirk still lingering. "Technically speaking, that's treason. Very serious. Very punishable by all kinds of unpleasant things..."
Gale's stomach did a little flip. "Okay, so we're back to the 'me getting arrested' part of the day."
"But," the commander continued, raising a finger, "I'm willing to overlook it, given the circumstances."
Gale blinked. "Wait, really? Why?"
"Because," the man said, folding his arms behind his back, "you just handed me something I've been looking for."
"…A headache?"
He chuckled again. "No, lad. Evidence. You see, there's been a long string of complaints, whispers, and official-sounding grumblings about our good Lieutenant Folsom here—"
Behind him, Folsom visibly tensed, like a man being slowly zip-tied to a barrel of explosives.
"—but we never had solid proof. Nothing that would hold up in a tribunal. I couldn't act on hearsay alone. But this? This little stunt right here? Him trying to scam you out of a bounty in broad daylight? He's finally caught in the act."
Gale tilted his head, still unsure if he was hallucinating or if the universe had finally decided to throw him a bone. "So… does this mean I get my money? Or is this some kind of moral victory thing?"
The commander grinned again. "Don't worry. I'll personally look into the case myself. If everything checks out—and I'm sure it will—you'll get your payment."
Gale let out a long, exhausted breath, only now realizing just how tight his jaw had been clenched this whole time.
"…And Folsom?" he asked, glancing at the fuming Lieutenant, whose expression looked like someone who'd just stepped in something foul and realized it was his career.
The commander turned, already reaching for Folsom's collar. "Oh, he'll be spending a very relaxing holiday in our fine branch prison. Cozy little place. Terrible food. Even worse view."
Folsom opened his mouth to protest, desperation dripping from every syllable. "S-Sir, this is a misunderstanding! I was just following protocol! That boy is clearly unstable! He—!"
"Quiet." The commander's tone snapped like a whip.
Folsom flinched and shut his mouth with a click.
"Now," the branch commander said, straightening, "you, lad—wait here. I'll get to the bottom of this."
Before Gale could ask how long is 'wait here' and whether snacks were involved, the commander grabbed Folsom by the back of his collar like a misbehaving puppy and marched him out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
Silence.
Gale stood there, blinking at the door.
Then he looked around the room, empty and humming with awkward tension. He exhaled and muttered under his breath:
"...Okay. So. That happened."
'Was this what justice felt like? Or just mild confusion paired with temporary shoulder dislocation? Hard to tell.'
He dropped into one of the wooden chairs with a grunt, folding his arms and leaning back.
"All I wanted was my damn money," he sighed, closing his eyes.
Of course, he didn't trust things to go smoothly—not yet. But for once, maybe, just maybe, the system would work in his favor.
...Or it was all an elaborate con and he was about to be waterboarded with saltwater taffy. Either way, he wasn't leaving without that bounty.
...
The door creaked open with theatrical slowness, and Gale immediately straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing like a cat that just heard the can opener.
The branch commander stepped back into the waiting room, brushing invisible dust off his coat like he'd just returned from a brisk jog rather than grilling two terrified privates within an inch of their careers.
"Well," he said, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mustache, "you'll be pleased to know that everything checks out."
Gale raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
The commander chuckled as he strode over to the table. "I grilled those two guards outside like they were fish fresh off the dock. One of them cracked the moment I raised my voice—looked like he was about to confess to sinking Ohara himself."
"Turns out, Lieutenant Folsom was running a nice little side hustle, falsifying bounty processing until the money 'mysteriously' got stuck in red tape. But lucky you—he got caught mid-scam."
"Uh-huh," Gale muttered, still not entirely convinced. "And?"
"And…" The commander reached into his coat and pulled out a neatly rolled parchment, placing it on the table before Gale like a peace offering. "Just sign this confirmation. Standard stuff. Verifies you're the bounty hunter who brought in the target, confirms the bounty amount, and waives the Marines of any liability should you choke on your earnings."
Gale eyed the parchment like it might explode. Then he picked it up and began reading it.
Very. Slowly.
One sentence at a time. Word by word. Occasionally mouthing something as he read it, as though he didn't trust the paper not to suddenly slip in a clause about organ donations.
"…'Remuneration of full bounty value…' okay… 'to be issued upon confirmation of capture and signed acknowledgment'… right, that's normal…"
He paused. Narrowed his eyes.
"…'Payment not valid in territories under embargo by the World Government'—okay, sure. Not planning on vacationing in Totto Land anytime soon."
The branch commander coughed awkwardly and checked his nonexistent watch.
It took three read-throughs, two raised eyebrows, and one exasperated sigh before Gale finally uncapped the pen and scribbled his name with dramatic flair.
"There. Signed. Sealed. Hopefully not scammed."
He turned, alternating his gaze between the commander's hands like a hawk waiting for prey to emerge.
"So…" Gale leaned forward slightly. "Where's my money?"
With a theatrical flair that might've made a stage magician jealous, the commander dipped his hand into the inside of his coat and pulled out three thick stacks of neatly bound cash, placing them with a satisfying thump onto the nearby table.
Gale blinked.
Then squinted.
"…That's it?"
The commander tilted his head. "That's the full bounty. You're not about to complain about finally getting your money, are you?"
"No, no," Gale muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just… I dunno. I always imagined this moment a little more… jingly."
"Jingly," the commander repeated, deadpan.
"Yeah, you know," Gale said, gesturing vaguely in the air. "Two hefty bags. Brimming with coins. Clinking together with every step I take, drawing the envious gazes of every bystander. You know—the dream."
The branch commander blinked at him.
Then burst out laughing.
"Kid, that's just asking to get robbed. What are you, trying to be a walking piggy bank?"
Gale grinned. "Hey, it's not about practicality. It's about aesthetic."
The commander shook his head, still chuckling. "Well, sorry to crush your fantasy, but we barely have enough coins to make change for the snack machines, let alone fund your fntasy. You'll have to keep dreaming."
"Yeah, guess so," Gale said, scooping up the stacks of cash and tucking them securely into his satchel. "Dream big, get disappointed big."
He turned on his heel, ready to march out of the base with the money he'd fought way too hard to claim, but just as his hand touched the doorknob, the commander called out behind him.
"Wait—what's your name?"
Gale paused at the threshold, one foot already in the hallway and the other still planted in the waiting room like it hadn't gotten the memo. With a sigh, he glanced over his shoulder.
"Harlow Gale," he said, tone dry but not unfriendly. "Just a guy trying to mind his own business."
The branch commander snorted. "You're doing a terrible job at that."
Gale offered a half-smirk. "Story of my life."
"But," the commander continued, his voice shifting into something more formal, almost official, "you've got talent. So I've got an offer for you."
Gale raised an eyebrow. "Unless it's a hot meal or an extra wad of cash, I'm not interested."
The commander chuckled and stepped forward, folding his arms behind his back. "You should join the Marines."
Gale blinked. Then blinked again.
"…Wasn't expecting that."
"Malko might not be a big name pirate," the commander said, his tone serious now, "but he's been a thorn in our side for years. Slippery bastard. Always just one step ahead. And yet you dragged him in like it was a morning jog."
"Please," Gale said, scratching his cheek. "There was so much running."
"That just proves my point," the commander said. "You've got potential. Real potential. If you agree, I'll recommend you straight to HQ. You'll skip the bottom ranks—get the best training, the best resources, and the kind of support that guarantees success. You'll be making a difference. Not just surviving."
Gale stared at him for a long second.
Then, with the casualness of someone swatting away a mosquito, he waved a hand. "Appreciate it, but no. I'm not interested."
The commander raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"
"I said I wanted to mind my own business, right?" Gale said, grinning. "That's the dream. Wander around. See the world. Maybe not get shot at every other week."
"You captured a wanted pirate in broad daylight," the commander said. "Your chances of not getting shot at are already nonexistent."
Gale shrugged. "Yeah, but at least I chose it."
The commander rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring at Gale like a puzzle he was still trying to solve. "Well, I won't persist. But even if you won't join the Marines, doesn't mean you can't be of service."
"Let me guess," Gale said. "You're about to suggest something that sounds suspiciously like work."
The commander grinned. "Traveling the world isn't cheap, kid. And if you don't want to end up starving in some backwater port town, you should keep collecting bounties. You're good at it, and South Blue's crawling with targets who could use a good beatdown."
Gale sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're not wrong… I'll think about it."
He turned and opened the door. Light from the hallway spilled in, painting a yellowish frame around him like he was stepping onto a stage again.
"Hey," the commander called out.
Gale paused, hand still on the doorknob.
"If anyone else tries to scam you in South Blue again," the commander said, "tell them Commodore Rigg sent you. That should straighten a few spines."
Gale gave a half-smile, never breaking stride.
"I'll remember that," he said, before slipping out the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall like punctuation on a conversation he didn't quite know the meaning of yet.
...
After a quiet night at the nearest inn—well, as quiet as it could be with paper-thin walls and a snoring neighbor who sounded like a drowning walrus—Gale rose with the sun, completed his usual training routines, then tucked away his hard-earned bounty money, and made a beeline for the Colosseum.
Marcellum's pride and joy loomed like a colossus of old, towering over the surrounding buildings with its ancient stone arches, towering banners, and distant echo of roaring crowds. It was the kind of place that made you feel like you were about to watch history happen—or get punched in the face by it.
Gale stood in line, hands in his pockets, swaying on his heels as the morning heat slowly crept in. The line was long but moving steadily. He could hear vendors hawking roasted nuts and souvenir scarves nearby, and somewhere off to the left, a child was crying because someone told him his favorite gladiator retired after getting his arm chopped off.
Finally, he was next in line. Victory was so close he could smell it. Or maybe that was just the guy in front of him.
But just as he stepped forward, a meaty shoulder collided into his back. Gale staggered half a step, turning slightly—just in time to catch the grim sight of an eight-foot-tall brick wall with a bald head and a neck so wide it had its own zip code.
"Watch where you're going," the guy growled, puffing out his chest like a rooster that bench-pressed cattle. "You bumped into me."
Gale's eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, studying the man. Something about him felt… familiar.
Not in a we've-met-before kind of way.
More like a hey, aren't you a walking cliché? kind of way.
Big? Check. Bald? Of course. Muscles? Excessive. Personality? Probably left it at home.
He was the kind of guy who existed solely to pick a fight with the protagonist, lose in dramatic fashion, and then run off crying to his older brother, gang boss, or beloved pet goat—whichever triggered the next plot point.
'Yep. Definitely one of those.'
Gale sighed internally. He wasn't in the mood for some conveniently timed, narrative-serving beatdown.
"Ah, my bad," he said, offering a polite smile that barely masked the urge to facepalm. "Didn't mean to. Here—let me make it up to you."
Before the guy could so much as blink, Gale handed the ticket clerk enough money for two passes.
"One for me. One for my very large, extremely sensitive friend here."
The clerk, clearly used to weird tourist behavior, slid both tickets across the counter with a shrug.
Gale snatched his and placed the other in the man's stunned hand. "There you go. Now we're even. Enjoy the show."
Then, without waiting for a reply—or the inevitable follow-up threats that came with dealing with plot-delivery bruisers—Gale turned and walked off toward the Colosseum entrance, leaving the man blinking in confusion like a sentient refrigerator that had just been gifted a flower.
'Honestly,' Gale thought as he passed through the grand stone archway, 'if I started throwing hands with every muscle-brained moron with a chip on his shoulder, I'd have no time to do anything else.'
He exhaled through his nose, amused. "Not today, fate, narrative, or whatever is out there trying to screw over my peaceful life...."
...
I'm motivated by praise and interaction, so be sure to leave a like, power stone, or whatever kind of shendig this site uses, and more importantly do share you thoughts on the chapter in the comment section!
Want more chapters? Then consider subscribing to my pat rēon. You can read ahead for as little as $1 and it helps me a lot!
-> (pat rēon..com / wicked132)
You can also always come and say hi on my discord server