Vroom—
Kaku couldn't put into words what kind of demonic music he was hearing. It was like the storm and crashing waves outside—each swell greater than the last, grand and overwhelming, majestic and vast.
What kind of piece is this?
He knew full well it was dangerous, and he knew little of music, yet he couldn't resist being drawn toward it. His steps were both hesitant and curious as he approached the barnacle- and seaweed-covered door.
Old man, what are you doing?
Kaku thought that, but his hand still reached out, slowly turning the handle.
The door creaked open. A dim, yellowish glow spilled out, stretching his shadow long and sharp, as if the very next moment it might abandon him and flee.
Old man… I shouldn't take another step in.
He warned himself, yet his urge to investigate couldn't be suppressed. He peered inside.
Within stood an immense palace, so large Kaku thought it might even surpass Thriller Bark itself. At its heart loomed a magnificent pipe organ, before which a shadowed figure hunched, fingers flowing across the keys, conjuring that devil's melody.
Around the hall, coral-formed pipes rose upward, emitting strange music as well as a disturbing heat.
Davy Jones played on in rapt concentration, as if completely unaware of the presence behind him. The music never ceased, and he gave no sign of turning.
Under his flat cap, Kaku's breath grew ragged, his chest rising and falling. Judging from the scene, no one else had disturbed Davy Jones before now—he hadn't expected to be the first to stumble upon him.
This was a mistake.
He stepped back a few paces, withdrew from the chamber, and shut the door again—yet his hand lingered on the handle.
Yes, it's a mistake. But am I really going to just run away?
Is that what a CP9 agent would do—turn tail and flee at the moment of truth?
Listening to that sweeping, thunderous melody, something stirred inside him. His lips moved, whispering to himself, and then—he pushed the door open again. This time, he didn't hesitate. He strode inside.
With each step he took, his body shifted. By the time he neared Davy Jones, he had assumed the towering bulk of his Ushi Ushi no Mi: Model Giraffe hybrid form.
Kaku gripped two blades in his hands. His legs were primed to unleash Rankyaku. Even the tip of his extended giraffe nose could serve as a Shigan. His combat power had reached new heights.
I should be brave.
But he still trembled. Was it from that glance they had exchanged earlier in the day, or from the music itself, or from the terrifying legends whispered about Davy Jones?
Whatever the reason, he roared:
"I am CP9 agent Kaku! Davy Jones—remember my name, for I shall take your life!"
Yet his attempt at sounding mature, undercut by the immaturity in his voice, was quickly drowned out by the rolling waves of that organ's song—shrinking to nothing, like the buzz of a mosquito.
Davy Jones continued to play, as though oblivious.
Kaku could no longer restrain himself. He didn't know why, but his restlessness grew—violent, urgent, as if something behind him were urging him forward. Or perhaps it was simply the humiliation of being ignored.
Whoosh—
He lunged, his Four-Sword Style combined with a Shigan thrust from his nose—five blades' worth of killing force, all aimed at Davy Jones's back.
But before his strikes could land, countless tentacles erupted—from Davy Jones's body, from the palace walls—surging forth, writhing toward him.
Kaku's scarlet eyes had been fixed only on Davy Jones. Yet once those tentacles seized him, clarity returned.
Suddenly he realized just how irrational he had been. Recklessly closing in without scouting the enemy at all—what kind of rookie mistake was this?
What am I doing? How could I commit such a blunder?
No—from the very start it had been wrong. He should never have set foot inside. He should have waited for the others of CP9… even for Admiral Aokiji or Captain Smoker.
What made me lose my senses? And when did I lose them?
Was it this music?
From the very first note, had he been lured step by step, drawn into this trap?
Kaku's Four-Sword Style slashed wildly, filling the air with flying blades, severing tentacles by the dozens. He struggled to carve a path to freedom.
But for every one he cut down, two more surged forth. The more he cut, the more they came. His mind clouded again—swinging from bloodthirsty rage to crushing despair.
The chaos in his heart infected his movements, his techniques faltering.
The tentacles crashed upon him like wave after wave. Exhaustion overtook him.
They twisted his arms and legs until they broke, forcing him back into human form.
Kaku collapsed, limp upon the ground. He moved no more—only listened, quietly, to the rest of the organ's song.
At last, a voice reached him, as if from far, far away.
"This piece bears my name—Davy Jones. I meant to play it to the end for you. But you were too hasty. Now you've heard it all. Tell me… what do you think?"
What do I think?
Kaku lifted his gaze. The world around him warped into something surreal. Colors twisted and danced.
Davy Jones's true form was obscured—yet a colossal head loomed before him, draped in waterfalls of writhing tentacles. From within that monstrous visage, two vast eyes stared into his own.
Kaku screamed. His sanity shattered.
Lucci tilted his head, listening. He wasn't certain whether the sound he had just heard was the ocean, the storm, or someone's scream—but it was enough to make him frown.
The pigeon on his shoulder fluttered its wings uneasily.
Ever since boarding this ship, more and more strange events had occurred—that much Lucci was sure of.
One hand in his pocket, his sharp gaze swept down the corridor—until he heard footsteps in the distance, and low voices whispering.
"I killed a woman."
"Really? Mine was a man. Round and fat. What about you, Hachi?"
"A man," the third replied after a pause. "At least… I think so. The hair was long, but I can never tell with you humans. To us fish-men, you all look the same."
"But you can at least tell the difference between male and female, right? Hachi, you're just a blockhead." The second voice carried its usual mockery.
Lucci stood still, listening. That was enough. Three CP9 agents had already fallen.
The "woman" was clearly Kalifa.
The "round, fat man" was Fukuro.
The "long-haired man" was Kumadori.
Pathetic.
Lucci gave a cold snort.
Once, he had borne a disgraceful history. A mission had tasked him to rescue 500 kingdom soldiers held hostage by pirates.
But Lucci deemed that any soldier weak enough to be captured had no right to live. And so, he slaughtered them all. With no hostages left, killing the pirates was simple, and the mission was complete.
And just like those soldiers, his fallen comrades in CP9 were the same—weak, useless, and devoid of worth. Let them die. CP9 could always recruit anew.
So he waited, expression cold, as three figures turned the corner into view. His eyes swept over them, and he recognized each at once.
"Iron Mace" Alvida.
"Clown" Buggy.
"Hachi" the octopus fish-man.
At first they hadn't noticed him, chatting merrily. But then Alvida's sharp eyes caught the silhouette in the corner. She quickly pulled the other two back.
"Who's there?" she called cautiously, unsure if the shadow belonged to Kuro or Law.
Buggy and Hachi finally spotted the fourth presence as well, stopping in their tracks.
Lucci stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight and flickering stormlight, already shifted into his Zoan form—Neko Neko no Mi: Model Leopard.
His pigeon had already flown to safety above, cooing anxiously.
"Forty million… fifty-five million… ninety-five million…" Lucci murmured each bounty aloud, his chilling gaze sweeping over them one by one. "A total of 190 million berries."
To him, they weren't people. They were numbers printed on wanted posters.
"So you're with those intruders," Alvida judged grimly. "Be careful. This one feels more dangerous."
"I know!" Buggy snapped, rubbing his red nose nervously—though the gesture only betrayed his unease.
Hachi said nothing, simply drawing all six of his swords.
"Three opponents. This can be ended quickly," Lucci decided. "Rokushiki—Life Return."
His already powerful form suddenly seemed to shrink, but this did not mean weakness. Rather, it meant perfect control over every inch of his body.
The leopard crouched low. Lucci prepared to begin his slaughter.
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