Knowing what was going through Robin's mind, Guts chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He gently lifted her from his shoulder and placed her on Richie's back, the giant lion that lie patiently near his leg.
"Don't worry about it, kid," Guts said, giving Robin's head a reassuring rub.
He then turned his gaze towards the approaching boat, which was rapidly closing the distance, cutting through the darkening turquoise water with determined speed.
Onboard, Guts could make out a man with cropped, white hair that constantly billowed with plumes of smoke. His face, etched with deep lines and scars from countless battles, was hardened with a perpetual scowl.
A thick, oversized white Marine coat hung loosely from his shoulders, swaying slightly in the breeze, and two lit cigars were perpetually clenched between his teeth, adding to the smoky haze that swirled around him like a personal storm cloud.
Behind him stood a strikingly tall woman towering over everyone else at an imposing 2.5 meters.
Her fiery red hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, catching the last rays of the setting sun and framing a face marked by sharp features and eyes that gleamed with unsettling intensity.
She wore a meticulously clean Marine uniform, the pristine white of her coat a stark contrast to the menacing chef's knife she casually held in one hand, its polished blade reflecting the orange and purple hues of the twilight sky.
The boat came to a halt a few dozen meters from Gargar, the gentle rocking of the waves the only sound breaking the tense silence.
The white-haired man, Smoker, raised a megaphone Den Den Mushi to his mouth, his brow furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and apprehension.
"This is Lieutenant Smoker! Halt your advance and identify yourselves!" As a Marine Lieutenant stationed in Loguetown, Smoker was aware of rumors of someone sailing with Sea Kings in the Grand Line.
A sliver of hope remained that it wasn't who he suspected, that this wasn't about to become the headache he feared.
Then, with a burst of speed, a figure leaped from the ship deck, landing gracefully atop the Sea King's head.
Clad in a blood-red coat that concealed heavy black plate armor, a man with spiky black hair stood firm, his gigantic sword resting on his back. In the fading light, the sword's shadow stretched long over the broad head of the Sea King.
"Guts, Shichibukai," the man announced, his voice carrying clearly across the water.
Smoker deactivated the Den Den Mushi, took a deep breath, and shouted in frustration, the sound echoing across the water, "SHIT! It's really him!"
The woman behind him, Miranda, let out a peal of laughter, the sound strangely melodic despite the tension, while patting his head with a familiar, almost teasing gesture. "Kiehehehe! We gott rare guestt er puff puff!"
Smoker swatted her hand away, a vein throbbing on his forehead. "This is no laughing matter, Miranda! Don't you know the gravity of the situation?!"
Miranda then slid her chef's knife back into a sheath strapped to her thigh with a practiced ease, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she tilted her head slightly, and casually said in her unique accent, "Hat'te prob puff puff? Guts no freebooter. Mebbe he justt wanna sightt see?" She leaned slightly closer to Smoker, as if sharing a private joke, her body language radiating an almost unsettling nonchalance.
Not wanting to waste energy and brain cells responding to Miranda, Smoker reactivated his Den Den Mushi, his jaw clenched in annoyance. He pointedly ignored her and asked Guts, "What's your purpose in Loguetown, Devil Swordman?"
Guts answered with a cold, indifferent gaze, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Vacation," he said, as if it were the most obvious and boring thing in the world, and he couldn't believe they were even asking.
"See?" Smoker heard Miranda's smug voice behind him, laced with a hint of triumph, her arms crossed casually over her chest, her expression one of pure, unadulterated glee. Again he ignored her and asked Guts again to make sure of what he heard.
"Can you repeat what you said?"
Guts furrowed his brow, a deep scowl forming on his face. He tsked loudly, his glare fixed on Smoker, whose very presence seemed to grate on his nerves.
Something about the Marine Lieutenant's punchable face and self-righteous demeanor was intensely irritating. "Is 'vacation' such a difficult word for you to understand?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain. "Or are you just plain dumb?"
"Ye so dumbb puff puff," Smoker, hearing Miranda repeating what Guts said, mimicking his annoyed tone, couldn't hold back anymore.
He turned off the Den Den Mushi again and shouted in frustration, his face reddening, "Can you shut your damn mouth for once, you barbarian?!"
Miranda pretended to be shocked, widening her eyes in a mock surprise. She theatrically covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, and said, "Tatt racist puff puff! Big no no."
"MY GOD!" Smoker grabbed his hair in frustration, tugging at the roots. His face was a mask of exasperation.
If it weren't for headquarters ordering Smoker to investigate the gruesome deaths in the East Blue with Miranda, he'd have shipped her straight back to the West Blue under Admiral Zephyr's watch.
In just one week since Miranda's arrival in Loguetown, Smoker's mornings had become a dreaded ritual. Each time he woke up, he found more and more strands of white hair scattered across his pillow, stark against the dark fabric.
It was as if Miranda's mere presence was accelerating his aging process.
If this continued, he worried he would be completely bald before he even turned 40, a thought that sent a shiver of dread down his spine.
"Hm?" Smoker suddenly felt his speedboat shudder violently, the small vessel rocking precariously in the water. His eyes widened instantly, his gaze snapping towards Miranda with a look of dawning horror. He could almost see the mischievous glint in her eyes, the barely suppressed excitement that always preceded her… antics. "No… no… no… you don't—"
Before he could even finish his desperate plea, Miranda had vanished in an instant, a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow. The telltale sign of Soru, the rapid-fire steps, echoed faintly in the air. In the blink of an eye, she had reappeared directly above Gargar's head, standing casually atop the massive Sea King as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Guts, who had been observing the exchange with detached amusement, watched the sudden appearance with a single eyebrow raised in mild curiosity. He hadn't expected her to make a move so quickly, but he was intrigued to see what she would do.
Gargar, sensing a foreign presence on his head, a weight that was both insignificant and irritating, growled low in his throat, a deep rumble that vibrated through the water. He shifted uneasily, his massive form stirring restlessly beneath the surface.
"Shush, poch," Miranda said, her voice carrying clearly across the water, laced with a hint of playful condescension.
She stomped her foot lightly on Gargar's head, as if scolding an overly noisy cat, the action both absurd and strangely commanding.
Annoyed by the intrusion, Gargar instinctively swung one of his massive tentacles to strike Miranda, a swift and powerful blow that would have crushed most ships into splinters. The tentacle lashed out with incredible force, the air whistling as it cut through the space between them.
But Miranda simply raised her hand, her expression still one of nonchalant amusement, and casually deflected the tentacle with a seemingly effortless gesture.
The explosive impact blasted the sea around them, sending shockwaves that made the Jumoi tremble violently. Yet, despite the force of the blow, a tentacle strong enough to crush a galleon into matchsticks was effortlessly repelled, bouncing back as if it had struck an immovable object.
Guts cracked his neck, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. He was eager for the upcoming brawl, the thrill of battle coursing through his veins.
But to his surprise, Miranda simply gave him a casual hug, patting his back with a friendly, almost sisterly gesture.
The act, devoid of any malice or hidden intent, caught him completely off guard, leaving him unprepared and slow to react.
"Elcome to Loguetown, sir Guts, ignore tatt grumpy gremlin, ye may dock onna West port," she said, her voice warm and inviting. She then released her embrace and vanished again in a burst of speed, reappearing on the speedboat as quickly as she had left.
Guts' eyes twitched slightly, a rare display of surprise at the unexpected act. He narrowed his eyes, squinting at the two figures bantering loudly on the speedboat, their voices carrying across the water.
He then tapped Gargar's head gently, reassuring the massive Sea King and asking him to move again towards the quiet port on the west side of the island.
Once they docked at the west port, the wooden planks of the pier groaning softly under Gargar's immense weight, Robin gently asked the Sea King to wait and to please guard their ship. Her voice was soothing, almost musical, and a gentle smile graced her lips as she looked up at the colossal creature. Gargar, eagerly complying with her request, saluted with one of his tentacles, the massive limb moving with surprising grace. The other tentacles coiled protectively around the Jumoi, forming a living barrier against any potential threats. The endearing act, a display of such gentle devotion, made Robin giggle softly, the sound like wind chimes in the evening air.
Guts, however, still couldn't quite shake the image of the red-haired woman from his mind. Her casual demeanor and unsettling strength lingered in his thoughts.
He turned to Robin, the setting sun casting long shadows across his face, and asked if she sensed anything particular about Miranda, any hidden intentions or underlying darkness.
Before waiting for a response, he then scooped Robin up with surprising gentleness and placed her atop Richie, who had become her personal mount. The giant lion seemed to enjoy the responsibility, his golden eyes gleaming with a protective light.
Hearing the question, Robin tilted her head, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing her senses, and then simply said, "No?" Her voice was soft but firm, conveying a sense of certainty that Guts couldn't ignore.
He just smiled, a subtle curve of his lips, acknowledging her response and trusting her judgment.
Buggy, never one to be left out of the spotlight, couldn't help but offer his unsolicited opinion, his voice booming across the quiet port. "Guts, my esteemed boss," he declared with dramatic flair, striking a pose with one hand on his hip and the other gesturing wildly, "you absolutely need to be wary of people with red hair! They're notoriously prone to betrayal, you know! Always hiding behind deceptive facades, masking their true intentions with charming smiles and false promises!"
He puffed out his chest, as if speaking from years of hard-won experience, his bejeweled nose practically sparkling in the fading light. "Trust me, I, Captain Buggy, know a thing or two about betrayal. It's practically my specialty!"
Guts glanced at Buggy, a flicker of something akin to amusement in his eyes.
He regarded Buggy as another Puck, a source of constant, often irritating, commentary.
He wasn't entirely ignoring him, but he certainly wasn't accepting his advices either, knowing that someone like Buggy, with his paranoia, often got the better of him.
He simply asked Buggy to go book an inn, as the wind was starting to pick up, carrying with it the chill of the approaching night. The salty air was growing colder, and the promise of a warm sake and a comfortable bed was becoming increasingly appealing.