The execution platform was a sea of faces, a dense tapestry of onlookers that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Word of Smoker's challenge had spread like wildfire through the island's townspeople, drawing a massive crowd eager to witness the spectacle made air thrummed with a palpable energy, a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.
As Guts and his companions arrived, the throng of people instinctively parted, forming a narrow corridor for them to pass.
Whispers rippled through the crowd, a low murmur that followed them like a wave.
In the center of the makeshift arena stood Smoker, his figure wreathed in plumes of smoke, radiating an intense focus.
Seated high atop Richie's broad back, Robin closed her eyes for a moment, subtly employing her unique ability.
Beneath the surface of the crowd's boisterous anticipation, she sensed a deeper undercurrent of unease and worry.
The relentless pirate attacks, the steadily declining economy, and a host of other grim realities weighed heavily on the islanders' spirits.
In her youthful innocence, an idea bloomed. These people desperately needed a distraction, a moment to escape their troubles.
A bright smile lit up her face as she spotted Buggy near the edge of the crowd. Lifting her small hand, she waved enthusiastically, trying to catch his attention.
Buggy sauntered over, a cocky grin plastered across his face, having noticed Robin waving. "What's up, squirt?" he asked, never one to miss an opportunity to be condescending.
Robin's cheeks puffed up, a clear sign she disliked the nickname. In a flash, she activated her Hana Hana no Mi, sprouting a phantom hand right onto Buggy's chest. With a sharp smack, she sent his head spinning like a top.
After a dizzying moment, Buggy's head stopped swirling, and he shot daggers at Robin with veins throbbing on his forehead. "Just spit it out, brat!"
Robin's face suddenly transformed, lit up by a bright, innocent smile. Her hands shot up in the air, enthusiasm radiating from her. "Let's put on a circus!"
Buggy blinked, completely caught off guard. "A... circus?" he stammered, his usual swagger momentarily forgotten.
Guts, who had been observing the bizarre exchange with a raised eyebrow, finally chimed in. "A circus? What's that supposed to accomplish?"
Miranda, casually leaning against a nearby wall, chuckled softly. "Now tatt's an interestin twistt."
Robin, undeterred by their skepticism, clasped her hands together with eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. "Everyone here is so worried and scared! We need to give them something to smile about, a show to take their minds off their troubles!"
Her gaze swept across the assembled crowd before returning to Buggy, her expression pleading. "You're a performer, Buggy! You know how to put on a show!"
Guts nodded slowly, a rare flicker of warmth softening his features. "This trip's for her, after all."
He turned his attention to Smoker, who was growing visibly impatient with smoke billowing around him in angry puffs. Then said to buggy, "I can give you maybe thirty minutes before I turn him into a comatose patient."
Hearing the unspoken order, Buggy's eyes gleamed with opportunity. "As the boss commands!" he declared.
A grin stretched across Buggy's face as an idea struck him. "Time to mobilize the clowns!" he cackled, pulling a small Den Den Mushi from his coat pocket.
"Brrr... Brrr..." The snail-like creature mimicked his expression perfectly as he barked into it, "You useless lot! Get your lazy butts over here! Bring all the circus equipment! And make it snappy, or you'll be joining the act as targets!" With a satisfied click, he hung up, the Den Den Mushi's little eyes swirling in a dizzying pattern as it echoed his maniacal laughter.
Inwardly, Buggy was already calculating the potential profits, envisioning new and extravagant acts that would draw even bigger crowds. If he could pull this off, maybe Guts would fund his "innovative" schemes more often.
Guts strode purposefully into the center of the circle of onlookers with measured and deliberate steps. Reaching a spot a few paces in, he slammed the Dragon Slayer into the cobblestone with a resounding crack, the force of the impact sending vibrations through the ground.
Leaving the massive sword planted firmly in place, he continued walking towards Smoker, cracking his neck and fingers in a display of nonchalant confidence.
Smoker, standing beneath the execution platform, watched Guts approach with a mixture of confusion and mounting irritation. "Why leave your weapon behind?" he demanded with voice laced with suspicion.
Guts, unfazed by the question, simply stopped a few feet away from Smoker and said, "Thirty minutes. Do your worst. I won't attack until then."
Smoker's face contorted with fury. "You arrogant bastard!" he roared, smoke billowing around him in thick clouds. "You'll regret looking down on me, you hear? I'll make you eat those words!"
Guts merely snorted, a dismissive sound that dripped with contempt. "Right," he replied with a flat and utterly unimpressed tone.
Smoker's fury reached its boiling point.
With a guttural roar, he launched himself at Guts, his body transforming into a plume of swirling smoke. He shot forward like a phantom, aiming a devastating blow with his smoke-imbued fist.
Guts stood his ground with an unchanging expression.
Just as Smoker's attack was about to connect, a faint, shimmering aura enveloped Guts's body – the unmistakable sign of Armament Haki.
Smoker's fist slammed into the hardened defense, the force of the impact creating a shockwave that rippled through the air.
Despite the power behind the blow, Guts didn't flinch, didn't even move an inch.
He simply stood there with crossed arms, weathering Smoker's initial onslaught with an almost bored indifference.
Smoker, visibly taken aback by Guts's seemingly impenetrable defense, recoiled slightly with eyes narrowed in frustration. "So, you think you can just stand there and take whatever I throw at you?" he snarled as smoke began curling around him like a living entity. "We'll see how long that lasts!"
Driven by desperation, Smoker continued his relentless assault, cycling through a barrage of increasingly desperate tactics.
He tried constricting Guts with coils of smoke, attempting to crush him.
He launched razor-sharp smoke blades, hoping to pierce his defenses.
He even tried to suffocate him with concentrated clouds of smoke, but nothing worked.
Guts remained unyielding like a monolith as his Armament Haki shimmering like an impenetrable shield. He didn't even bother to dodge or parry, simply enduring the onslaught with an almost disdainful ease.
The crowd's initial cheers had long since faded, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence.
Each failed attack from Smoker chipped away at their hope, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread.
Their protector was being utterly humiliated, and they were powerless to do anything about it. Fear began to creep in, the unsettling realization that their safety was an illusion.
Amidst the flurry of smoke and the growing tension of the crowd, Guts, while maintaining his defensive stance, subtly took note of the activity around him.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Buggy and his crew working with surprising efficiency. They were quickly setting up circus props, rigging ropes, and arranging colorful tents with a speed that belied their reputation as bumbling buffoons.
Guts couldn't help but be slightly impressed by their sudden burst of competence.
Guts glanced towards Robin, perched atop Richie, who subtly flashed him a series of hand signs.
Eighteen minutes have passed, twelve more to go.
He turned his attention back to Smoker, who was now visibly exhausted, sweat dripping down his face as he gasped for air.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Guts's mouth. "Seriously, boy," he drawled, his voice laced with sardonic amusement, "Is that all you've got?" he taunted him more. "After all that talk, you hit like a bitch."
The taunt, delivered with such casual disdain, struck a nerve, igniting a fresh wave of fury in Smoker's weary eyes.
He reached for the Seastone Jitte hanging at his waist, gripping it tightly in his hand. With a determined roar, Smoker transformed into smoke, swirling around the arena in a dizzying display. He spun faster and faster, building momentum for one final, desperate attack.
The crowd, sensing this was Smoker's last stand, clutched their hands together, hope flickering anew. This attack might work... This time, he might actually defeat that black-armored man. Expectations and anticipation soared as they watched Smoker circling with increasing speed.
With a velocity impossible to track, Smoker launched himself towards Guts like a cannonball, channeling all his might, frustration, and anger into this last-ditch effort.
BANG!
Smoker's Sea-stone Jitte connected with Guts's head, the explosive sound echoing through the air.
But to the crowd's dismay, Guts's head only jerked back slightly with unchanged expression.
"Time's up, boy," Guts's voice cut through the smoke and tension.
Before Smoker could react, Guts unleashed a devastating punch, connecting with Smoker's face with brutal force.
Smoker's body spun like a top, his nose shattered, blood and teeth flew through the air, painting a gruesome picture of defeat.
The silence that fell over the plaza was heavy, broken only by the whistling of the morning wind.
Smoker's unconscious body lay sprawled on the hard cobblestone, a stark testament to the brutal, one-sided battle. The crowd stared, their faces a mixture of shock, fear, and a dawning despair that threatened to crush them.
Their protector was broken.
The monster was unbeatable.
The weight of their vulnerability settled heavily upon them.
But before that despair could truly take root and fester, a single, cheerful voice sliced through the gloom, instantly drawing every eye.
"Alright, alright, that's enough doom and gloom! It's time for the amazing Buggy Circus Show!"
Buggy leaped into the center of the arena, striking a ridiculously theatrical pose with a wide, manic grin.
The crowd stared back, still reeling from the fight, utterly baffled. A circus? Now? Is this clown completely insane?
He didn't wait for an answer, because he knew he was a very big star. "BEHOLD!" he roared, and with a flick of his wrists, both his hands detached and shot into the air, performing a dizzying series of somersaults before landing perfectly back on his arms.
A few children in the crowd gasped, their fear momentarily forgotten, replaced by a flicker of wonder. That flicker was all Buggy needed.
What followed was a masterclass in calculated chaos. Buggy launched into his "Bara Bara Festival," juggling his own head, feet, and a dozen gleaming daggers with terrifying, comical ease.
The initial nervous titters from the crowd grew into genuine chuckles as he "accidentally" dropped his own nose, which then bounced around the arena with a comical squeak, as if it were alive.
Next came Mohji, the self-proclaimed "Greatest Beast Tamer in the East Blue," who attempted to command Richie the lion through a flaming hoop.
Richie, however, clearly wasn't impressed. He simply yawned, padded over to the hoop, and began batting at it like a housecat playing with a ball.
The sight of the fearsome lion acting like a pampered housecat and the exasperated Mohji sputtering in disbelief finally broke the tension.
The children erupted into fits of giggles, and soon, their parents were joining in, the shared laughter a welcome release after the harrowing battle.
The energy in the plaza palpably shifted. Cabaji, the Acrobat, seized the opportunity, pedaling into the arena on his unicycle, breathing a massive plume of fire that momentarily painted the clear blue sky in brilliant orange.
He weaved through the makeshift stage, juggling swords with his hands, his performance a thrilling blend of danger and skill that had the crowd oohing and aahing, their earlier dread receding into a distant memory. The circus was working its magic, one laugh at a time.
From the edge of the circle, Guts wasn't watching the circus acts, though. His gaze was solely focused on Robin.
She was laughing, a pure, unrestrained sound that resonated deep within him.
Her eyes, which had witnessed so much horror, now sparkled with innocent joy as she clapped her small hands, completely captivated by the spectacle.
The quiet "Dreshishishishi" that escaped her lips was the sweetest melody he could imagine.
A warmth spread through his chest, a feeling far more potent and satisfying than any sake he'd ever tasted. This is why I'm here, he thought, a sense of purpose washing over him. This is the whole point.
He walked calmly and, with one hand, pulled the massive Dragonslayer from the cobblestone, the scraping sound completely lost amidst the cheers and applause of the rejuvenated crowd.
The fight was truly over, not just for him, but for them as well.
Unseen amidst the throng of onlookers, Miranda leaned against a building, her arms crossed loosely.
Her lips were curved into an amused, almost knowing smile, but her eyes remained cold and analytical, dissecting the scene before her.
She watched Guts watching the child, a flicker of understanding – or perhaps curiosity – crossing her features. So that's it, she mused inwardly. The monster's heart. How utterly predictable.
While the circus completely captivated the town, a small, grim-faced group of Marines, led by a tearful Tashigi, quietly loaded Smoker onto a stretcher and carried him away, their departure unnoticed amidst the revelry.
The crowd was far too engrossed in the spectacle unfolding before them, their attention fully consumed by Buggy's upcoming grand finale.
BOOM!
The "Buggy Ball" soared through the air in a perfect arc, a dazzling display of colorful smoke and confetti exploding right above the infamous execution platform.
Buggy reassembled himself atop of execution platform with practiced ease and stood with a flourish, taking a deep, theatrical bow that would have made a seasoned performer proud.
The plaza erupted in a cacophony of cheers and applause.
The fear that had gripped Loguetown had been banished, replaced by a feeling of pure, unadulterated joy.
Coins, flowers, and even a few hastily unwrapped food items rained down into the arena, a heartfelt tribute to the clowns who had, for one glorious morning, allowed them to forget their troubles, offering a brief but potent escape from the harsh realities of their world.
As the sun finally climbed high into the sky, bathing Loguetown in a warm, golden light, Guts walked over and placed a gentle hand on Robin's head. She looked up at him with her radiant smile, so bright it could have outshone the sun itself.
In that moment, seeing her genuine happiness, he knew his investment in buggy was not wasted.