"Land ho!"
Jerry, who was in his usual spot fishing off the side of the ship, pointed his rod toward a dark shape on the horizon. "Looks like we've got an island dead ahead."
Deuce glanced down at his nautical chart, then looked up, a complicated expression on his face. "That's no ordinary island," he said, his voice quiet. He glanced over at Ace. "That's Loguetown."
"Loguetown..." Ace murmured the name, his boisterous energy dimming for just a moment as the weight of the name settled on him. The island loomed larger, a place of ghosts and history.
His history.
The somber mood lasted for all of three seconds.
"Alright!" Ace declared, his signature grin returning as if flipping a switch. Flames flickered cheerfully above his head. "First thing we do is find a restaurant! I swear, if I have to eat another one of Jerry's barbecued grubs, I'm going to lose my mind!"
"Hey, my barbecue is gourmet!" Jerry retorted without missing a beat. "And if you don't like it, you can stop eating enough for three people." He reeled in his line, which came up with a single, sad piece of kelp. "Besides, I'm heading into town to get proper supplies. Better tools, real bait... The problem isn't my skill, it's my bait!"
"Right, right," Deuce sighed, already seeing the chaos unfolding. "Okay, let's just find a safe place to dock first. Then you can go your separate ways. Please, try not to get arrested within the first ten minutes."
Jerry wagged a finger at him. "Deuce, you're starting to sound like a nagging old man."
"Yeah," Ace chimed in, "a real worrywart."
Deuce's face flushed red. "You two are impossible! Fine! Go on, get into trouble! See if I care!"
The ship glided smoothly toward the bustling port. Before the ropes were even thrown, Ace couldn't wait any longer. With a whoop of laughter, he leaped from the deck onto the busy dock and vanished into the crowd.
"Hey! Don't you dare leave me to dock this thing alone!" Deuce yelled after him, turning to see Jerry already preparing to make his own escape. "You too?!"
"Okay, okay," Jerry sighed, raising his hands in surrender.
Loguetown. The Town of the Beginning and the End. It was a place steeped in legend, the last stop in the East Blue before the treacherous Grand Line. The Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, was born here. And on a towering scaffold in the center of town, he was executed here, his final words igniting the Great Pirate Era.
The town was a vibrant hub of activity. Merchant ships and Marine vessels crowded the harbor, and its streets were a melting pot of sailors, traders, marines, and pirates—some selling their ill-gotten gains, others, like the Spade Pirates, stocking up for the journey ahead. A powerful marine base loomed over the town, a constant presence that kept the rowdier elements from getting too out of hand.
Jerry, with no bounty on his head, wandered the streets freely. He headed straight for the eastern coast of the port, a long stretch of shops run by local fishermen. These guys will have what I need, he thought. Fellow men of the rod. We'll speak the same language.
He stopped outside a shop where a man with a curiously fin-like tuft of hair was expertly gutting a pile of fish.
"Hey! Looks like a good haul!" Jerry called out appreciatively.
"It always is," the man replied without looking up. "Otherwise, it's a waste of time."
"I'm just passing through. Any good fishing spots you can recommend?" Jerry asked, Browse the gear in the shop.
"Nothing good to catch around here. Just small fry," the shop owner said gruffly. "And listen, kid. Fishing isn't about what you gain. It's a battle against impatience. It's about finding peace."
"Oh, I know," Jerry shot back with a wry smile. "One man, one rod, fishing away life's anxieties. The state of mind, not the fish, is the real prize." He leaned in closer. "But when the fish never bite, that really messes with my state of mind."
The man finally looked up, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He let out a "tsk" and went back to his work. "Fine. Just buy something."
Jerry bought a generous amount of "premium" bait, along with a new rod and reel he'd been eyeing. Then, ignoring the shopkeeper's advice, he began searching for a prime fishing location. He was just trying to keep the good spots for himself, Jerry reasoned. I'd do the same thing.
He found himself on a small stone bridge overlooking a calm canal. He wasn't sure what it was—the way the water flowed, the angle of the sun—but some primal fisherman's instinct told him: this is the spot.
As if on cue, a new notification pinged in his mind.
[Ding! Random Quest Triggered: A Fisherman's Tale in Loguetown.]
[Reward: 2x Daily Quest attribute rewards for one week & one (1) Surprise Treasure Chest.]
[Penalty for Failure: Your next ten fishing catches will be assorted footwear.]
"This is it," Jerry whispered to himself. "This is where my luck turns around." He meticulously prepared his new bait. "Gotta chum the waters first. As the saying goes, if you want to catch the fish, you have to bring the fish a feast."
He cast his line. Soon, the water below began to teem with fish drawn by the bait. He cast again, his focus absolute. After so many days of failure, his moment had come.
A few minutes later, his float bobbed violently before being dragged completely underwater. The rod bent into a sharp, deep curve.
It's a monster!
Excitement surged through him, pure and thrilling. He fought the urge to pull, letting the fish tire itself out.
Just then, he heard frantic footsteps pounding on the stone bridge behind him, getting closer.
"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU PUNK! DINE AND DASHER! I'LL BREAK YOUR LEGS!"
The angry roars were accompanied by the distinct sound of someone running for their life after enjoying a free meal. A horribly familiar voice followed.
"Who says I can't outrun you?!"
Jerry felt a sinking feeling in his gut.
"Jerry! Fancy seeing you here! Have you eaten yet?"
Sure enough, Ace sprinted up beside him, his mouth full and his arms laden with stolen food, grinning as if nothing was wrong.
Jerry put a hand to his forehead and sighed.
"Don't run, you deadbeat!" the enraged restaurant staff yelled as they caught up. "What's this? You've got an accomplice!"
The rod in Jerry's hand gave a massive jerk. He had no more time to play with his catch. With a mighty roar, he heaved backward with all his strength.
"HOLY MACKEREL!" The shout came from Jerry, Ace, and the pursuers all at once.
A fish of monumental proportions—as long as a man is tall and fat as a barrel—flew out of the water. It hung in the air for a glorious second, scales glittering like a thousand diamonds in the sun.
This was it. The moment. Jerry felt a sense of sublime, drunken euphoria.
On pure instinct, his body moved. He grabbed his scoop net, caught the thrashing behemoth perfectly, wrestled it to the ground, tied it up with a rope, and slung it securely onto his back. The entire sequence was a single, smooth, flawless motion, an act of angling perfection he had rehearsed in his dreams a thousand times.
He stood up, the giant fish on his back like a trophy, and struck a dramatic pose.
"The spotlight, please! And the cameras!" he bellowed triumphantly at the stunned crowd. "From this day forward, do not fall in love with me, for I am a fisherman, and the sea is my only mistress!"