Looking at the mess on the ground, Teach scratched his head sheepishly, then turned and grinned at Doyle. "Haha... sorry, Doyle. Looks like your business deal is off."
Doyle chuckled, wiping a wine glass with a rag, his movements calm despite the shattered furniture around him. "It's alright, Teach. If anything, I owe you thanks for cleaning up that mess."
Teach laughed and gave him a two-finger salute. "I'll be off then. I'll stop by for a drink soon."
He turned and strode out. Outside, the street had gone quiet. Most of the townspeople had already dispersed. No one wanted to linger near a man who could reduce Schiller to a corpse in mere moments. Still, they'd be talking about what happened for weeks—whispers traded over wine and meals.
Back inside, Loya watched Teach's departing figure. She opened her mouth as if to say something but held back. He was already gone.
She sighed and looked down.
Suddenly, his voice rang out again, familiar and teasing. Her eyes snapped up.
Teach was peeking in from the side of the door with a grin. "Hey, Little Loya! You're still my little chef, yeah? Don't go running off. Work hard—I'll come find you again soon."
He gave her a cheeky wave and vanished once more. This time, he didn't look back.
Loya's shoulders eased, a sudden warmth flooding her chest. She swiped at a tear, a smile tugging at her lips, though she didn't know why.
"What's that? You thinking of following him to sea already?" Doyle's amused voice came from nearby. He was bent over, collecting broken glass and wiping spilled wine from the floor.
Loya's cheeks turned pink. "I didn't say that! Don't make things up!"
Doyle chuckled. "Well, if you are, you better start preparing. A man like him is going to be known across the world. If you're too weak, you'll just hold him back."
Her expression turned serious. Though she didn't speak, something inside her shifted. Teach's warmth had cracked the shell of ice around her heart. His strength gave her something to lean on—hope.
As she stared ahead, something caught her eye—behind the window, on a small shelf, rested a strange fruit. Dark green, like a cantaloupe, its surface was uneven and knobby.
Her breath caught. "Is that..."
"A Devil Fruit?" Doyle followed her gaze. "Yeah. That's what Teach left behind. Said it was for you. Seems he thinks pretty highly of you."
Loya's mouth fell open. "He left... that? For me?"
"Yup. Dropped it off right before he left."
She took a step back. "It's too precious. I can't take that. I'll just put it back."
Doyle chuckled. "He told me, if you didn't eat it, I should feed it to the dog."
Loya blinked. "Feed... the dog?"
Images exploded in her mind. A giant golden retriever floating midair, swords clutched in its front paws. "Dog Style: Imperial Tornado Slash!" Another image—an enormous white mutt with a crescent beard, charging up a silver energy orb in its maw: "Earthquake! Seaquake! Skyquake!" All around it, pirates knelt reverently, shouting, "Daddy! Daddy!" The dog raised its head, barking, "I am the strongest in the world!"
She shivered violently. Her scalp tingled.
Doyle raised an eyebrow at her horrified expression. "What are you thinking about, girl?" He chuckled to himself. If anyone else saw her imagination, they'd be rolling on the floor.
Loya gulped and stepped forward. Her fingers closed around the fruit. She stared at it a moment longer, then closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and took a bite.
Her face twisted instantly. The taste was horrid—like rotten syrup soaked in seawater. Still, she forced it down. One bite. Two. Until the whole thing was gone.
She dropped to her knees, coughing. "Gods, that's awful!"
Doyle smirked. "Hey, Loya... you want to hear a secret?"
She glanced up, breathless. "What?"
He leaned in. "With Devil Fruits, one bite is all you need."
Her eyes widened. "What?!"
"Yup. Just one."
She stood up, face pale, and screamed, "Why didn't you say that earlier?!"
Doyle was already laughing. "You ate so fast, I didn't get the chance!" Though inwardly, he grinned. If he told her, where's the fun in that?
Loya huffed, but something had lifted from her heart. For the first time in a long while, she felt... light.
Then she turned to Doyle, face firm. "Uncle, teach me how to become stronger."
His expression changed. The humor vanished, replaced by a seriousness she hadn't seen in years. The air grew heavier.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "My training won't be easy. I won't go easy on you."
She nodded. "I want to grow stronger. I want to fight beside him."
Doyle studied her, then smiled. "Alright. Starting tomorrow. Tonight, I'll draft a training regimen. We'll build your stamina and strength. I'll teach you swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship. We'll see what suits you best. As for that Devil Fruit... I can give you tips, but mastering it will be on you."
—
Outside, in the streets of Asuka, Teach wandered casually through the town. Shops, taverns, restaurants, and even a coliseum buzzed with life. The buildings were surprisingly new—most had been built within the past four years.
Everything here catered to pirates, yet there was an odd sense of order. Clean streets. Happy faces. It was... unexpected.
As he walked, Teach used his observation haki intermittently. The town's current prosperity wasn't just a matter of strength. Rebuilding a lawless island in three years took more than fists. Whoever led the Shiratori Pirates had brains to match their brawn.
He'd asked around, and the story confirmed his suspicions: Asuka had once been a dump, a no-man's-land for thugs. But under the rule of the Shiratori Pirates, led by a man called Mostima—nicknamed "Asuka"—the island had transformed. Twenty thousand residents now called it home.
Teach smiled. The deeper he dug, the more intrigued he became. He hadn't used observation haki the whole time—where was the adventure in spoiling all the surprises?
Still, he'd sensed them earlier—three strong presences in that hotel, one stronger than Schiller. Among them, he'd also recognized Abby, the charging pirate from the docks.
He stopped in front of a bakery. A smell tugged at his senses.
"Cherry pie...!" he whispered.
He dashed inside, eyes sparkling. "Boss! One now, three to go!"
He paid quickly, bit into the pie, and moaned in delight.
"So damn good!" he said, mouth full. Flaky crust, warm butter, sweet-and-sour cherries—it was heaven.
He never understood why he loved cherry pie so much in the original story. Then he tasted it. And now? Every time he saw it, he had to have it.
He walked, chewing, until he reached a long white bridge leading to a massive castle-like structure. The rebuilt fortress now served as the Shiratori Pirates' base. Its white stone shimmered in the sun, fashioned from the island's iconic sand.
Someone stood on the bridge, waiting.
Two figures locked eyes.
Neither spoke at first. The silence was heavy.
Teach smiled. "I've been waiting for you."
Behind him stood his crew. Hardno and Hardman flanked him, alert and ready. They'd witnessed Teach's strength. They were prepared to fight—to die, if needed.
Teach tilted his head, smiling. "How'd you know I'd come?"
"I wanted to meet you too," Mostima replied.
Both men paused.
Then burst out laughing.
"Zahahaha!"
"Hahahaha!"
Teach slapped his forehead. "Wait... didn't I just say I wanted to meet you first? That makes no damn sense."
More laughter.
Below them, the crew exchanged confused glances, unsure what the two captains found so funny. Still, seeing them laugh, the tension eased.
Few here had seen Teach fight—but those who had spread the tale: a man who crushed Schiller in seconds. As the third-in-command looked on with wide eyes, he couldn't help but think...
We might be in trouble.