A short time later, the sound came first—not the low, ambient groan of the whale that had been vibrating through the steel walls since they'd arrived, but something sharper. A metallic thud echoed from above, followed by the hollow ring of hinges moving under strain.
Nami's head snapped toward the ladder, eyes narrowing. "That came from—"
Before she could finish, the smaller door above slammed open with a crash that rattled the bolts. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then a figure appeared in the frame, moving with a speed that didn't fit the leisurely pace they'd seen from the old man.
It was Luffy.
He didn't pause, didn't even look down at them—just planted one foot against the doorframe, the other snapping out into the air. His arm shot forward like a fired cable, stretching impossibly far, the rubber skin taut in the pale light. The hand found the Merry's railing with a snap, fingers clamping tight.
"Gum-Gum—"
The words barely left his mouth before the stretch in his arm recoiled, hauling him off the doorway. He swung through the air in a clean arc, wind snapping at his vest. Midway across the gap, he twisted, grinning as if the boiling green lake below wasn't a heartbeat from eating him alive.
The other two figures burst out behind him before the door had even finished rebounding against the wall. They moved with the precision of people used to running for their lives. One—a tall man in a black suit and turban—hit the platform's lip in a crouch before pushing off into the air without hesitation. The woman followed a breath later, her long blue hair snapping behind her as she dove.
They didn't have Luffy's reach. Both hit the water with muted splashes that still sent up faint threads of steam.
Usopp's jaw dropped. "They just—are they insane?!"
Sanji was already moving, cigarette clenched in his teeth as he sprinted to the side, eyes locked on the disturbance in the green surface. "Acid or not, they're swimming. Get a line ready—now!"
Zoro was at the rail in two strides, rope in hand, but before he could throw it, the pair had already broken the surface again. Their strokes were sharp, clean—heads down, bodies slicing through the thick green like knives.
Luffy landed on the Merry's deck with a soft whump, his rubber arm recoiling back to its normal length with a faint snap. He crouched where he landed, wide grin plastered across his face as if nothing was remotely out of the ordinary.
"Hey!" he called, waving back toward the others still in the water as if introducing them. "They're with me! Kinda."
Varin didn't move from the rail, watching the two shapes churn through the surface. The whale's low groan rumbled beneath the moment, deep enough to make the deck boards vibrate. Somewhere far above, metal shifted, as though the huge beast were adjusting around them.
Nami glanced between Luffy and the approaching swimmers. "With you? Luffy, who—"
"I hit them!" he interrupted, bouncing to his feet." Like a cannonball!"
Water slapped hard against the Merry's hull as two figures broke the surface near the ladder. The girl surfaced first — hair plastered to her face but swept back with a sudden toss of her head, revealing a jeweled crown clinging stubbornly to the top. She gasped dramatically, as though she'd been underwater for hours rather than seconds, and struck a pose right there in the acid spray.
"Mr. 9!" she cried, her voice sharp and theatrical. "The situation is dire!"
A second head popped up beside her, coughing, sputtering, and swearing under his breath. The man's ridiculous '9' headpiece sagged to one side, dripping heavily. "I know the situation's dire, baby! I just got dunked in stomach acid! You think I didn't notice?!"
The woman ignored his tone entirely, flipping onto her back in the water so she could kick toward the Merry without breaking eye contact with the imagined audience somewhere above them. "Our mission depends on speed, precision, and impeccable presentation!"
"Presentation?!" Mr. 9's voice cracked in disbelief as he paddled beside her. "Miss Wednesday! We're swimming for our lives! Forget presentation, I'm trying not to lose my skin here!"
"Oh, please, Mr. 9," she said, her words dripping with theatrical dismissal as she spun and latched onto the Merry's ladder. "Skin grows back. Dignity does not."
The crew stared in a mixture of bafflement and mild concern as the two strangers clambered aboard — soaking wet, panting, and still bickering. Miss Wednesday's boots squelched loudly with every step as she struck a triumphant pose on deck, her hand extended toward some unseen horizon.
"Victory is within our grasp!" she declared, pointing dramatically toward the iron door above them, the one the old man had vanished through.
"Victory?!" Mr. 9 barked, wringing out his sleeve and glaring at her. "We just got kicked out of there!"
"That was not a defeat," Miss Wednesday said with a sudden, imperious turn of her chin. "It was… a tactical repositioning."
Mr. 9 gawked at her. "You mean 'running away'?"
Her eyes went wide, scandalized. "I would never run! I was retreating gracefully!"
"Oh, sure, 'gracefully' — with me dragging you by the collar before you fell in the acid again!" he shot back, jabbing a finger at her shoulder.
"That was assistance, not dragging!" she retorted. "And for the record, I had everything under control until you—"
"—Until I what? Saved your life?"
"—Interrupted my flawless plan!" she finished, stamping her foot with a wet slap.
Somewhere in the back, Luffy was hanging casually from the rigging where he'd stretched over, grinning at the scene without a hint of concern.
Sanji lit a cigarette slowly, watching them as if waiting for the part where they'd actually explain themselves.
Zoro muttered, "Do they even know we're here?"
Nami crossed her arms. "I think they're too busy yelling at each other to notice anything."
Usopp leaned in toward her. "Is this… some kind of act?"
Another deep, resonant groan rolled through the whale's body, vibrating up through the deck. The two strangers froze mid-argument, both looking sharply toward the source of the noise — then, in perfect unison, spun toward each other with wide-eyed urgency.
"Mr. 9—!"
"Miss Wednesday—!"
They both pointed toward the artificial sky.
"The mission—!" she cried.
Before she could finish, a deep, booming voice echoed from above, cutting through their bickering. The old man had returned, appearing in the smaller doorway high up on the massive door's face. His silhouette was outlined by the light behind him, but his voice carried clearly down to the deck.
"You two again! I told you before—leave Laboon alone!" he bellowed, his tone fierce and commanding. "If you think I'll let you harm him, you've got another thing coming!"
The two strangers froze mid-argument, heads snapping up toward the voice. For a heartbeat, it seemed they might acknowledge him—respond, argue, or even retreat. But just as quickly, they turned their heads away, as though his words were nothing but the cry of a distant gull. The woman reached behind her, pulling free a long, gleaming weapon that clicked into place with a practiced motion—its twin-tubed barrel catching the light ominously. The man mirrored her, drawing his own, each motion smooth and deliberate, the kind of efficiency that came from long partnership.
They moved in sync without so much as a glance between them, their earlier squabble forgotten as they fell into a silent, dangerous rhythm. Both stepped to the edge of the Merry, facing outward toward the massive whale that loomed ahead. The air seemed to tighten around them, a silent pressure building as they lifted their weapons—sleek, menacing bazookas—onto their shoulders. Their fingers brushed the triggers, their gazes locking on the great expanse of the whale's stomach. The woman adjusted her aim by a hair's breadth, her lips curling into a small, self-assured smirk, while the man tilted his chin up slightly, calculating the arc of the shot through the sky.
Up above, the old man's voice thundered again, this time tinged with anger. "Didn't you hear me?! Stop this at once!"
But his words fell flat against their cold focus. Neither spoke, neither lower their weapons. The only sound between them now was the faint creak of the Merry's boards under their boots, the groan of the massive whale's movement in the acid sea below, and the slow, deliberate inhale both took—steadying themselves as the weight of their bazookas balanced perfectly in their grasp.
The crew of the Merry watched in tense silence, every eye flicking between the two armed strangers and the vulnerable head of the enormous whale. In that breathless moment, it was unclear whether the next heartbeat would bring an attack—or something far worse.
Varin moved without hesitation, boots thudding against the damp deck as the pair leveled their bazookas toward the whale. In one swift motion, he wrenched the heavy weapons from their hands, the metal groaning under his grip. Before either of them could react, he swung the first like a club, cracking it against the man's skull with a dull thud. The second followed immediately, coming down on the woman's head—hard enough to drop her where she stood.
"Morons," Varin muttered, letting the two bazookas clatter to the deck beside their limp forms.
Sanji's eyes went wide, his cigarette nearly slipping from his lips as he stepped forward sharply. "Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing, bastard?!" His voice was sharp and incredulous, blue eyes narrowing in outrage. "That's no way to treat a lady!" He moved closer, pointing an accusatory finger at Varin, his tone dripping with that mix of chivalry and genuine irritation he always had when it came to women. "You could've just taken the weapon—no need to bash her over the head like some kind of caveman!"
The rest of the crew glanced between the two, tension prickling the air. Sanji crouched briefly to check if the woman was still breathing, his face softening when he saw she was fine—unconscious, but fine. He shot another glare up at Varin, smoke curling from his cigarette in thin, lazy spirals.
"You're lucky I don't put my foot through your face right now," he said, his voice low but heated, before turning his focus back to the fallen stranger, as if shielding her from further offense with nothing but his presence.
Varin barely spared Sanji a glance, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his brow. The cook's voice was still ringing in the air, that indignant, razor-edged tone bristling with chivalrous fury, but Varin's response came out low and dismissive, like swatting away the buzzing of a fly.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, the words carrying no urgency, no defense, just a blunt, unbothered acknowledgment that wasn't really an acknowledgment at all. He didn't stop to explain himself, didn't bother to argue or match Sanji's fire with his own—he simply let the cook's anger wash past him like it was nothing worth his time. His eyes had already drifted away from the deck, away from the unconscious pair sprawled on the planks, away from Sanji's accusing glare and the spiraling cigarette smoke.
Instead, Varin's focus lifted toward the looming frame of the old man still standing high above them on the platform near the door. The figure was outlined against the pale sky, his tattered coat shifting in the breeze that rolled off the endless sea. Even from this distance, there was a tautness in the old man's posture—shoulders squared, hands gripping the railing as though ready to hurl more words down at them if provoked. His earlier shouts still seemed to hang in the air, carried faintly by the wind, demanding they leave the whale alone.
His gaze narrowed slightly, a flicker of calculation in his eyes. Whatever theatrics this old man was putting on—whether it was just bluster, or the kind of fury that came from guarding something precious.
Varin shifted his stance, the creak of the deck under his boots punctuating the silence that fell between him and Sanji. He didn't turn to the cook, didn't bother smoothing over the tension. His voice came out steady, almost bored, but with an edge of purpose beneath it—directed squarely at the old man above, like everything else in the world had just fallen out of focus.
"We getting our answers now?"
It wasn't a question so much as a quiet demand, the kind that didn't need to be shouted to be heard. The wind whistled faintly through the tunnel behind the man, the faint slap of waves against the hull filling the pause that followed. Varin's eyes stayed locked on the old man's, waiting—not for permission, but for truth.
The old man stood there on the high ledge for only a moment longer, peering down at Varin and the rest of the crew as though measuring them—measuring their worth, their intentions, perhaps even their patience. His wiry frame was backlit by the pale, sickly glow of the mist-covered sky, the heat of the acid lake below giving a faint shimmer to the air between them. For a heartbeat, he seemed entirely still, his lined face unreadable save for that ever-present sharpness in his eyes. Then, without another word, he suddenly stepped forward and dove off the platform.
The splash was distant but oddly loud, the thick water of the acid lake hissing faintly where it touched his skin. Somehow, impossibly, he didn't seem harmed by it. The crew watched in collective surprise as the old man surfaced almost instantly, his head breaking through the steam and his crooked smile flashing for just a second before he began to swim with long, confident strokes. He cut through the corrosive waters as if they were nothing more than a calm pond, each movement measured and purposeful, showing the kind of strength that didn't come from youthful vigor but from decades of stubborn, unyielding life.
"Aye!" he called out suddenly, his voice echoing strangely across the enclosed cavern-like space. "I owe you that much at least!" His words were carried on the air like a promise, his tone loud but not hostile, carrying a weight of intent that made it feel as though he'd already decided what was to come.
The water around him rippled and steamed as he moved toward the floating island in the center of the whale's gut. The 'island' was barely large enough to hold more than a shack and a few weathered crates, but it looked like the kind of place someone could live for years if they had the will. He reached it quickly, the waves from his arrival slapping against the shore, and then he began hauling himself out of the water with slow but steady movements.
His boots squelched against the grass as he straightened, his soaked coat dripping back into the lake. Even then, he didn't hurry—he simply raised an arm, pointing toward the patch of land beneath his feet as he barked, "Get on over here and I'll explain!"
The command wasn't a shout born of anger—it was firm, direct, and certain, as though there was no question of whether or not they'd obey. His eyes swept over the Merry's deck, lingering on Varin for just a heartbeat longer before flicking to the rest of the crew.
The moment the Going Merry's keel scraped lightly against the edge of the rocky outcrop, the old man turned from his vigil at the water's edge and began to shuffle back toward the middle of the small island. His coat still steamed faintly from the acid lake, leaving a trail of dripping water in his wake. He walked with the easy certainty of someone who had spent far too many years here—every uneven slab of stone, every jagged protrusion was known to him, and his boots found their place without a single misstep.
Varin was the first to step off the makeshift gangplank, the wood groaning beneath his weight, followed by the others in more cautious succession. Sanji flicked his lighter closed, his cigarette bobbing as he took in the strange landscape. Luffy was already staring past the old man toward the lake with wide-eyed curiosity, while Nami kept a wary distance, her gaze darting between the stranger, the water, and the faraway bulk of the colossal whale they had seen earlier.
When the crew finally stood before him, the old man drew himself up—not in a grand or imposing way, but in the quiet, unshakable manner of someone who had long ago decided who he was and saw no reason to change. He looked at each of them in turn, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, and then, without flourish or preamble, he spoke.
"Name's Crocus," he said simply. His voice was gravelly but not unkind, a little frayed around the edges from years of salt air and shouting over storm winds. "You've already met Laboon… though I doubt you understand what you've stumbled into."
He let the name hang there for a moment—Laboon—as though it was not just the name of a whale, but of something heavier, something that carried decades of memory behind it.
Crocus's gaze drifted out toward the lake again, toward where the massive, barnacle-crusted bulk of Laboon's head just barely breached the surface, steam curling off the scarred flesh. "Fifty years ago," Crocus began, "I met a group of pirates—wild, stubborn lot, the kind that laughed louder than the sea itself. They sailed the Grand Line without fear, always looking for the next horizon. I was younger then, less… anchored to one place."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Laboon was just a calf back then. Barely the size of a ship, curious as the day is long. He followed that crew all the way from West Blue, tailing them like a lost pup. They fed him, played with him, treated him like part of the crew. And over time, he stopped just following them—he became one of them."
He shifted his weight, the boards beneath his boots creaking faintly. "When they reached the entrance to the Grand Line, they brought him here. But they knew the seas ahead were too dangerous for a whale his size, so they made a promise. They told Laboon they'd sail ahead, make their mark, and come back for him once they'd conquered the seas. Said it'd be just a few years. Laboon believed them."
The old man's voice hardened, though it didn't grow louder. "They never came back. Not a letter, not a rumor, not even a scrap of their flag washing up on the tide. As the years passed, Laboon waited, staring out toward the Red Line, convinced they'd return."
Crocus's eyes darkened, his tone shifting to something heavy with years of repetition, as though he'd told this story more times than he cared to count. "But whales… they don't think in days or years the way we do. To him, the promise is still fresh. He believes that if he can break through the Red Line, he can cross into the seas beyond and find them again. That's why he throws himself at that wall, over and over, bashing his head until the stone cracks and his body bleeds. It's not rage—it's hope. A stubborn, painful hope."
He glanced toward the distant bulk of the whale, his jaw tightening. "That's why I live here, inside him. This island—it's in Laboon's stomach. I built my home here so I could keep him alive, keep him from killing himself in his desperation. I administer sedatives, patch the wounds as best I can, keep the worst of the madness at bay. If I didn't…" He trailed off, his gaze lingering on the rippling water. "…he'd be gone by now."
The words settled over the crew like a damp fog. Even Luffy, usually quick with a question or an outburst, stayed quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed. Somewhere beneath them, the faint, low groan of Laboon echoed through the water and the stone, as though the great whale could feel his name being spoken and knew the subject of their gathering.
Luffy tilted his head back, staring upward at the slick, towering wall of flesh that curved high above them. The faint, constant sound of Laboon's heartbeat rolled through the air like distant drums, each thump vibrating up through the stone platform beneath their feet.
"So that's why," Luffy muttered, his grin curling up again. "He's just waitin' on a promise."
"Waitin' fifty years," Zoro said flatly, arms crossed as his single visible eye tracked the ceiling above. "That's more stubborn than most people I've met."
Sanji exhaled a thin trail of smoke from the cigarette now perched in his mouth. "Not stubborn—heartbroken. It's different. The damn thing's been banging its head against the Red Line because it doesn't know any other way to deal with being abandoned." He glanced at Crocus. "And you've been keeping it alive all this time, huh?"
Crocus gave a single nod. "If I didn't sedate him when the impacts got too severe, he'd have killed himself decades ago."
Usopp swallowed hard, glancing from the doctor to the immense walls surrounding them. "That's… pretty depressing, actually." His voice echoed faintly, as if even the air in here was thick with the whale's sadness.
Varin shifted his weight, his expression unreadable. "So all this is just because of some pirates who didn't come back?"
"They promised they would," Crocus said evenly, meeting Varin's eyes. "That's all that mattered to him."
Luffy turned back toward the others, his voice suddenly bright and sharp against the damp, heavy atmosphere. "Then we just have to give him a better promise!"
"Oi, Luffy—" Zoro started, but the captain didn't slow down.
"We're gonna sail all the way around the world," Luffy continued, planting his hands on his hips like the idea was carved into stone. "And when we come back here, we'll see him again! That way, he won't need to smash into anything anymore."
Usopp rubbed the back of his neck. "That's… uh… a huge promise."
"So what?" Luffy shot back, grinning. "We're gonna do it anyway, right?"
Sanji's smirk was faint, but it was there. "If it gets him to stop trying to bash his skull in, I'm in."
Varin let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Fine. But we'd better not die before then, or I'll be pissed."
Varin's voice cut through the steady, low rumble of the whale's heartbeat, carrying that lazy, sardonic tone that always seemed to sit halfway between irritation and amusement. He leaned his weight on one hip, eyes scanning the fleshy, steel-lined walls like he was still trying to make sense of how any of this was even possible. "Since our captain's so dead set on making friends with a whale, you mind telling us how to get out of here, old man? Because I'm honestly curious to see whose skull is thicker—the whale's or our captain's."
Crocus gave a short laugh, one corner of his mouth quirking upward, though his gaze was as sharp as ever. "If it comes to headbutts, my money's still on Laboon. But if you're looking for a way out…" He lifted a weathered hand and pointed off to the right, toward an imposing pair of steel doors built into the side of the massive chamber. The metal looked ancient, pitted from age and saltwater, but solid enough to hold back the sea itself. "You go through there. Big doors. Leads straight out into open water once they're opened."
The crew's eyes followed his pointing finger. The sheer size of the doors made them seem less like an exit and more like the gates of some colossal fortress, their edges disappearing into the walls of living flesh and reinforced plating. A faint line of water trickled from beneath them, pooling into the grooves of the stone floor.
Zoro crossed his arms, sizing them up. "Big enough for the Going Merry to sail through without scraping."
Sanji took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as his eyes narrowed. "Still looks like a tight fit. Wouldn't want the keel to catch if the whale decides to twitch."
Luffy, still grinning wide, stepped closer to the edge of the platform, peering at the doors like he was imagining them swinging open in some grand spectacle. "Bet it looks awesome when they open! Like—whoosh! Big enough for anything to go through!"
Varin shot him a sidelong look, his tone dry as sand. "Big enough for your ego, maybe. Don't know about the ship."
"Oi," Luffy shot back, grinning wider. "That means we'll fit no problem!"
Crocus just shook his head, walking by them and onto the merry like he owned it. "Come on. I'll guide you there. Once we're outside, if your captain still insists on talking to Laboon, you can do it from the outside."
As they unhitched the merry and followed, the heavy, damp air carried that same deep, pulsing heartbeat, the sound of a living giant all around them. Every few beats, a faint vibration trembled through the steel floor beneath their feet. And looming ahead, the great steel doors waited, silent and unmoving, like the gates between two worlds.