3rd POV:
Jinbe & Arlong
The slave pens of Mary Geoise reeked of sweat, blood, and despair. For most, a year was enough to break them, to hollow them out until nothing was left but obedience.
But not Arlong.
Even in chains, the shark's pride refused to drown. He snarled, he fought, he resisted—though every defiance brought punishment, though every rebellion left him battered and bleeding. He refused to let these gilded tyrants forget what they had caged.
And yet, there was another thorn in his side. One far worse than the lashes, worse than the Nobles.
Tyr Hanma.
The damned human was infuriating. He laughed in the face of pain, mocked the guards to their faces, and—worst of all—mocked Arlong every chance he got. "Big scary shark-man, can't even bite through a chain? Must be getting soft." Or, "Careful, Arly, if you pout any harder, the guards might trip over your lip."
Arlong had lunged for him more times than he could count, only to be restrained—or worse, outmaneuvered by Tyr himself. For all his madness, the human had a predator's eyes, always sharp, always unbroken.
And yet… that was the curse of it. For all his rage, Arlong couldn't deny the truth: Tyr inspired the others.
The weak slaves who should have been silent were standing taller now. The hopeless dared to whisper dreams. Even fishmen, who had nearly given up on freedom, found themselves sneering at their oppressors again, the fire rekindled.
Arlong hated it. Hated how Tyr made him look small in front of the others. Hated that his respect for the man grew alongside his anger.
Because Tyr was proof. Proof that chains were nothing but lies, that even a malnourished human could spit in the face of the World Nobles and laugh while doing it.
It gnawed at Arlong. Not because he despised humans in general—maybe in the past before he got captured. But common humans, slaves, the poor—he barely thought of them now, perhaps pitied them for their weakness. His hatred now was aimed higher: at the system, the World Government, the Marines who upheld it, and most of all the Celestial Dragons.
No, what made Tyr unbearable was this: he was everything Arlong wanted to be in this hellhole.
Defiant.
Untouchable in spirit.
Unbroken.
And Arlong couldn't stand that it was a human showing him the way.
---
Flashback – One year ago
The ocean had been wide open, the salty air filling Arlong's gills. His plan had been reckless, but it was his. If Fisher Tiger vanished into the horizon, then Arlong would carve his own legend. No more waiting. No more bowing.
But Jinbe had followed him, as always. Calm, infuriatingly calm, always reasoning. "This is folly. Tiger moves with purpose. We should trust his path."
Arlong had barked laughter, sharp as his teeth. "Trust? I trust my fists. The humans won't hand us respect, we'll rip it from their throats. If Tiger's gone soft, I'll show him how it's done."
The ambush had been swift. Seastone nets, warships blotting out the horizon, cannons that roared like thunder. Arlong tore through men, blood in his teeth, fury in his veins—but even he couldn't fight the tide. Jinbe, despite his calm strength, had fallen too.
Dragged in chains. Dragged here. To rot.
---
Present
One year. One year of staring at gilded walls. One year of Tyr's taunts, Tyr's mad laughter, Tyr's cursed ability to make even despair look like a joke.
Arlong ground his teeth, chains rattling. He would never admit it out loud—but every insult Tyr hurled left its mark, forcing Arlong to rise sharper, angrier, prouder. Rivalry forged in fire.
Then the world exploded.
Stone cracked, smoke and fire poured in, and the screams of panicked guards tore through the air. The earth shook beneath them.
Arlong's eyes widened, his blood roaring in his ears. "What the hell—?"
Jinbe was already on his feet, body tense, gaze locked toward the chaos beyond the walls. Something stirred in him—something that hadn't stirred in a year.
And then they heard it.
A voice. A roar. Familiar. Impossible.
"JINBE! ARLONG!"
Arlong's heart stopped. His gills flared, his whole body trembling. He knew that voice. He'd know it across a thousand seas.
But no. It couldn't be. He refused to believe it.
The voice thundered again, closer this time, cutting through the chaos like a blade:
"BROTHERS! HOLD FAST!"
Jinbe's eyes went wide. His breath caught. For the first time in a year, his calm cracked into something brighter. Hope.
Arlong, however, stood frozen, caught between disbelief and something uglier. Relief burned in his chest, but so did shame. They had fought, they had resisted, but they had rotted here for a year. And now Tiger have come for them, a blazing storm at their backs.
Arlong clenched his fists until his chains cut deep into his wrists. And through the ringing chaos, through the echo of Fisher Tiger's voice, he heard something else.
Tyr's laughter.
Mocking.
Wild.
Free.
Arlong growled low in his throat, torn between fury and something dangerously close to admiration. Damn that human. Damn his grin. Damn the way he made even a Celestial Dragon look small.
Arlong hated him. Arlong respected him.
And somewhere deep inside, a seed was planted. A seed that would one day grow into loyalty.
-----
The chains bit into their wrists, the iron collars dug deep against skin rubbed raw from years of obedience. Hancock, Sandersonia, and Marigold had learned how to bow, how to smile, how to endure the gaze of monsters dressed in silk.
Four years. Four years of slavery. Four years of silence, where the only thing sharper than the whips were the eyes that watched them.
But those years had not been silent. Not entirely.
Because of him.
Tyr Hanma.
He stumbled into their lives like a storm in rags. A madman with scars across his back, a grin carved into his face, and chains that clinked like jewelry instead of shackles. Where others wept in the dark, he laughed. Where others lowered their heads, he looked the guards straight in the eyes and dared them to beat him harder.
The Boa sisters hated him at first. Hated his mocking smirk, his slurred ramblings, the way he always seemed to lurk near their cell. But as the months bled into years, Tyr became something else. A distraction. A shield. A lunatic who dragged the monsters' attention away from them.
----
The First Visit
Hancock sat with her sisters in the corner of their cell, arms tight around them. Tyr staggered into view, humming some off-key sea shanty with a bottle of stolen liquor dangling from his fingers.
"Well, well, well," he slurred, leaning against the bars. "Three pretty snakes hiding in the dark. Thought you'd slithered off somewhere better."
Hancock's glare could have cut steel. "Go away."
Sandersonia flinched, Marigold bristled, but Tyr only took a long swig, then offered the bottle through the bars. "Fancy a drink? No? Shame. Best rotgut I've stolen all week."
A guard barked, "Shut your mouth, drunk!"
Tyr spun on his heel, bowing exaggeratedly. "Of course, good sir! Wouldn't want to interrupt your fine evening staring at children in chains."
The whip cracked across his back. Tyr howled—loud, dramatic—before winking through bloodied teeth at the sisters.
"See? Better me than you."
That was the first time Hancock's eyes flickered with something other than pure hatred.
---
Patterns in Madness
From then on, Tyr returned often. Sometimes to ramble nonsense, sometimes to argue until the guards beat him bloody. Always loud. Always impossible to ignore.
One night, while the cells were quiet, he leaned close and whispered, "They like you three too much. Makes you targets. So I'll make sure they hate me more."
Hancock spat back, "We don't need your pity."
He chuckled. "Pity? No, no. I'm selfish. If you three break before I do, then who'll I annoy for fun?"
Sandersonia whispered, trembling, "Why… why do you laugh all the time?"
Tyr tipped his head back, staring at the cracked ceiling. "Because if I stop, I'll scream. And if I scream, they win. Laughter keeps the bastards guessing."
None of the sisters replied. But the words lodged deep, like a thorn they couldn't shake.
---
With Other Slaves
Tyr's madness spread beyond their cell.
Sometimes he brawled with Arlong, chains rattling as the two clashed until guards pried them apart. Arlong cursed him, swearing he'd tear him apart one day. Tyr only grinned, spitting blood. "Save it, shark-boy. The gods hit harder than you."
Other nights, he drank with Jinbe in secret, passing the bottle back and forth like old friends. "You're a strange one, Tyr," Jinbe rumbled once. "You'll break before long."
"Nah," Tyr said with a crooked grin. "Cockroaches don't break. We crawl. We laugh. We piss in the gods' wine and keep crawling."
The sisters heard every word. Even when they pretended not to listen.
---
Distraction
The Celestial Dragon who owned them liked to parade the sisters in the courtyard, flaunting them like trophies. Their chains clinked, their heads bowed, their bodies trembling.
But every time, Tyr made sure no one was looking at them for long.
"Oi, fancy-pants!" he shouted once, grinning through split lips. "Did your mother marry your uncle, or do you naturally look like a boiled pig stuffed in curtains?"
Gasps. Guards descended on him instantly, raining blows until his blood stained the ground. But Tyr kept laughing, screaming louder than the pain. "Hit harder, you cowards! My grandmother's hugs hurt more than this!"
The sisters stood frozen. For one moment, the Noble's eyes weren't on them. For one moment, the collar felt a little lighter.
Hancock hated him for it. Hated him—and yet couldn't look away.
---
Quiet Moment
Later that night, Tyr spoke again from his corner, voice softer than usual.
"You three don't trust me. Good. Don't trust anyone here. But…" He swirled the last drops of his liquor. "Don't let them kill what makes you, you. They'll take your body, your freedom, your pride. Don't let them take your laugh. That's the last bit of freedom left."
Marigold buried her face in her knees. Sandersonia bit her lip until it bled. Hancock stared at the ceiling, her fists clenched tight.
None of them laughed.
Not yet.
---
The Breaking Point
It came when the Noble circled them like a collector admiring fine gems. His jeweled mask gleamed under the lantern light.
"They've ripened well. Sixteen now, yes? Pretty little things. Fit for more than display…"
The words slithered across the room. The sisters froze. Hancock's face twisted, fear and hatred clashing in her eyes. She clutched her sisters' hands. "Don't look at him. Don't listen."
But the poison stuck.
The Noble smirked, lips wet with wine. "Soon I'll show you the true pleasures of serving a god. You'll beg for me, little snakes. You'll thank me."
Their bodies shook. Pride cracked under humiliation. Terror drowned everything.
And Tyr Hanma was watching.
That same night, when the Noble paraded them before the slaves and guards, flaunting them like ripe fruit, Tyr did not laugh. Did not stumble. Did not slur.
He snapped.
A rock struck the Noble's mask. Another followed. Mud, stones, curses spat like fire.
"Ripe fruit, eh? Then choke on this, you pompous hog!" Tyr roared, chains clattering as he hurled another rock. "Gods? Don't make me laugh—you're parasites in silk!"
Gasps turned to murmurs. Murmurs to sparks of something forbidden—hope.
Guards descended, spears cracking against Tyr's ribs, whips tearing his flesh. But he laughed through broken teeth, screaming, "You think you're untouchable? You hide behind dogs and chains! Try harder, bastard!"
The Boa sisters trembled, but this time not from fear. They realized with horror—and awe—that Tyr had drawn the monster's attention away from them deliberately.
That night, they would never forget the sight.
One boy, beaten half to death, still laughing in the face of a god.
Chains rattling not in defeat, but in defiance.
A cockroach.
A demon.
A savior.
---
Later – Present Timeline
The outburst had consequences. The Noble demanded Tyr's head. But Saint Rosward had intervened—not out of kindness, but greed. Tyr was "rented" away, exiled to another household, far from the Boa sisters.
And now, a week later, as fire and screams tore through Mary Geoise, the sisters huddled in their cell. Their hearts raced. Their fear returned.
Until—
That laugh.
That same laugh from that night, echoing through fire and ruin.
Hancock's fists clenched. Sandersonia bit her lip until it bled. Marigold whispered, "It's him… it's him…"
The walls shook. The guards screamed. Somewhere out there, Tyr Hanma was free.
And once again, he was throwing stones at the gods.