Guts sat cross-legged on the wooden bench in front of the Loafer Inn, arms tightly folded as he swung his legs restlessly. The soft morning sun cast long shadows across the quiet street, but his brow was deeply furrowed in irritation. Since the marines and Miranda had abruptly woken him from his sleep, frustration had simmered beneath his cold face, making his jaw clench with barely contained anger.
Just a few steps away, Robin merrily played a clap game and sang along with Richie—the white lion who had somehow appeared out of nowhere—filling the peaceful morning with cheerful laughter.
Not far from Guts, Buggy was loudly scolding a marine. Rather than soothing Guts's irritation, Buggy's piercing voice only annoyed him more.
Guts snapped, "Buggy, shut up and sit down!"
Buggy shot him a sharp glare, puffing up his chest before grudgingly plopping down onto the bench nearby.
"Hmph! Can you believe this? The Great Buggy—the brilliant inventor of East Blue—being accused of murder by those Marines!" he grumbled loudly, crossing his arms and scowling. His annoyance was clearly visible despite his obedience.
Guts pulled out a Blue Bubble cigarette, lit it, and glanced over at the marines spread around the Loafer Inn, busy questioning the inn's guests and nearby townsfolk. Yet none of them came near him—in fact, they kept their distance, probably because the rumors of the curse he'd brought had finally reached East Blue.
Guts felt relieved—no marines coming meant no more hassle.
He looked back at Robin, still happily playing, but his eyes flicked to someone watching them from the chimney house a few hundred meters away, his gaze locked on them with an irritating intensity.
Guts kept his eyes on the chimney house until the inn's door swung open. Miranda stepped out casually while adjusting her gloves, as if she'd just finished her morning errands.
She looked at them and asked with a light, casual tone, "Ye and yer peeps didn't have anythin t'do with de innkeeper's death, did ye?"
"No," Guts replied flatly.
"Good," she said without missing a beat, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Then ye can go. But… keep an eye on im." She handed Guts a bounty poster along with a few sheets of paper covered in news clippings.
Guts scanned the bounty poster.
As a Shichibukai, staying informed was crucial—information about criminals wasn't just useful; it was a source of his income.
Buggy, being Buggy, couldn't resist the chance to complain.
"Hey, you—!" He jumped up abruptly, stomping toward her with all the indignation of a man ready to list every insult he'd ever suffered. "What's the big—"
Suddenly, a hiss cut through his voice. A cloud of white smoke burst down the street, curling like a living creature before slamming onto the cobblestones between them. The vapor thickened and twisted until it took the shape of a tall man in a long white coat, two cigars burning at the corners of his mouth.
"No!" Lieutenant Smoker's gaze snapped onto Miranda as he shouted angrily. "Why did you let them go!?"
Miranda didn't flinch. Her eyes were steady, almost bored. "Cause dey didn't kill'im."
"That's not the point," Smoker growled, smoke billowing off his shoulders as his gaze shifted toward Guts' group in the distance. "You don't just let criminals walk free."
"They're criminals!" Smoker took a step closer, trying to assert himself — but with their height difference, he had to tilt his head way back, giving the scene an unintentionally comical feel.
Miranda looked down, her lips curving with the faintest hint of amusement. "Oh? Me wasn't aware we'd started arrestin peeps for crimes dey didn't committ."
Smoker's gaze flicked sharply back to Guts and the others, his cigars glowing fiercely in the dull morning light. "He's dangerous, Miranda. Letting him roam free like this... it undermines Marine authority."
Miranda's smile widened with mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Oh, puff puff," she teased, using her usual nickname for Smoker, "yer worryn t'much. He's a Shichibukai, after all. Sometimes, keepin peace means knowin when t'hold back."
She stepped closer, her towering frame casting a long shadow over him. "Sides, de 'Devil Swordsman' isn't de real probs here. Tell me, have ye considered who really killed tatt innkeeper?"
Smoker's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"
Before Miranda could answer, Guts's blunt words cut through the tension. "She means you're stupid and annoying."
Smoker snapped his head toward Guts with eyes ablaze. "What did you say, scum?"
Guts met Smoker's fiery glare without a hint of flinching, and with his low and steady voice, he said. "You heard me. Maybe if you spent less time puffing smoke and more time thinking, you'd see the truth."
Miranda chuckled softly, clearly entertained by the tense exchange. She stepped between the two men, her tone smooth and authoritative. "Enough. Puff puff, tis isn't de time or place for yer outbursts. Focusn on de bigger picture."
Smoker's jaw clenched, but he grudgingly lowered his gaze. "Fine. But mark my words, Miranda—if this scum causes trouble, I'm not going to look the other way."
Guts exhaled a slow plume of smoke while his eyes never leaving Smoker. "Oh? Can't wait for me to stir up some trouble, huh?"
With that, he stubbed out his cigar, rose to his feet with casual menace, and stepped toward Smoker. "Let's make it clear—with fists, not screams like a little girl."
Robin, caught off guard, stopped her play and spun around, her hand settling firmly on her hip. In her youthful form, she looked affronted, and with cheeks puffed out, she gave Guts her piece of mind. "I never scream like that!"
Guts turned to Robin with a grin, then glanced back at Smoker, watching the vein throb on Smoker's temple. "Of course," he said mockingly, "like a woman?"
Miranda's eyes flashed quickly with a playful offense. "Ye take tatt back, bub."
Another vein visibly throbbed on Smoker's forehead—he was struggling to keep his composure. Then Guts smirked and added, "No, no… like an old woman."
Suddenly, a stone whistled through the air and struck Guts squarely on the head. Unfazed, he caught sight of the culprit: a hunched old woman in late seventies, glaring fiercely as she shouted, "Watch your words, young man!"
Another vein throbbed on Smoker's forehead. Unable to hold back any longer—fueled by the mockery and Buggy's laughter as he rolled on the ground—Smoker finally snapped. "That's it! Let's settle this, you bastard!"
Guts smirked and replied, "Good. Let's do it—right in front of the execution platform."
The gathered crowd near the Loafer Inn stirred at Smoker's challenge, whispers rippling through the air like a rising tide. Slowly, they began to scatter, eager to spread the news and draw more spectators.
It wasn't every day the townsfolk saw a Marine Lieutenant in action—petty as Smoker could be, he was still a symbol of order and tough justice.
The tension between the two towering figures was thick enough to cut with a blade—Guts, the infamous Shichibukai, stood tall, a predatory grin curling on his lips; Smoker, the relentless Marine Lieutenant, radiated determination, ready to enforce his brand of justice by force.
Miranda observed the unfolding scene with a knowing smile, her own towering presence commanding attention. "Careful, boys," she teased lightly, "don't ruin de peace before breakfast."
Buggy, still doubled over in laughter, wiped tears from his eyes. "Looks like you're already missing my boss's fists, huh, Fogger!"
Guts flexed his fingers with a low grunt, the weight of his massive sword resting comfortably against his shoulder. "Lead the way."
As they prepared to head toward the execution platform, Guts scooped up Robin and settled her onto her trusty mount, Richie.
His irritation finally started to fade after he'd thrown all his frustration at Smoker. He glanced over at Miranda. "So, how did the inn owner die, anyway?"
Miranda shrugged slightly. "Knife t'de heartt. A kitchen knife."
Guts narrowed his eyes. "When?"
"Around midnightt," she said.
He paused, chewing on the information. At that time, he, Hachi, and Buggy were still inside the tavern, chatting away. He hadn't noticed a thing. He wasn't using his Observation Haki then, but even without it, his senses were sharp enough to catch any unusual noise. Something didn't sit right.
He looked back at Miranda. "Was there any sign of a struggle? In the kitchen, where he was found?"
Miranda just smiled and shook her head.
Robin, who'd been listening quietly, didn't detect any hint of dishonesty in Miranda's tone.
Just as Guts was about to ask more, Smoker cracked his neck, smoke curling upward from his cigars like warning signals. With a sharp glare, he cut in, voice dripping with challenge, "Don't keep me waiting too long." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and soared away, heading straight toward the execution platform.
As Smoker disappeared into the distance, Buggy caught Guts's wrist and tugged him closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial whisper.
"Don't trust everything that redhead says," Buggy murmured, eyes darting around as if sharing a secret. "She always looks like she's got some scheme brewing—probably weaving traps behind our backs. I wouldn't put it past her to set us up."
Guts raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, letting Buggy talk.
Buggy grinned, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "And, between you and me... there's never been a decent person with red hair. Could be why we're always the ones getting into trouble."
Guts let out a short, dry chuckle, feeling some of the tension lift. Somehow, Buggy's ridiculous joke made the whole mess a little easier to bear.
Miranda, her long legs carrying her just a few paces away, paused and spun around with a sly smile. "Me hearin tatt, midget."
Buggy grinned wide, not missing a beat as he called back, "Didn't say it quietly for a reason!"
Buggy laughed loudly, then winked at Guts. "She thinks she's so clever, but I've seen through that act plenty of times."
Guts shook his head with a smirk. "Between her and you, I'm not sure who's more trouble."
Robin, still seated on Richie's back, glanced between them with an amused smile. "Maybe both."
The group fell into a loose formation as they began making their way toward the execution platform. The weight of the upcoming confrontation settled in, but for a moment, their banter eased the tension.
Miranda, however, kept her eyes fixed ahead, her smile fading into something unreadable. Whatever game she was playing, it was far from over.