Cracker's face turned a deep shade of crimson, his expression twisting with the kind of indignant rage that only comes from having one's pride thoroughly trampled. Steam practically rose from his ears as he processed Jerry's casual dismissal of his carefully crafted biscuit soldiers.
"You! You dare to eat my biscuit!" Cracker sputtered, his voice cracking with outrage. "And then you have the nerve to criticize me!"
The Sweet Commander's internal monologue was a stream of frustrated disbelief.
Who understands my family's suffering? This guy tricks his way into eating and drinking for free, then has the audacity to leave a bad review! It was like being robbed and then lectured about security by the thief.
The gathered pirates watching from the sidelines—both Big Mom Pirates and neutral observers—held their breath in collective tension. The intensity of the battle they'd just witnessed had left them all shaken. The raw display of power, the casual way Jerry had dismantled one of Big Mom's most feared commanders, the sheer spectacle of advanced Haki and Devil Fruit abilities clashing—it was the kind of fight that would be talked about in taverns across the New World for years to come.
What made it even more surreal was that Jerry, the relatively unknown pirate, clearly held the upper hand. None of the spectators dared make even the slightest sound, terrified that any distraction might affect Cracker's performance and result in them being held accountable by Big Mom's forces later.
Realizing that his outer biscuit armor had been reduced to soggy, tattered remains by Jerry's water-enhanced attacks, Cracker finally made the decision to abandon his protective shell. The armor cracked and split like an eggshell as he forced his way out, revealing his true form for the first time in the battle.
His real body was an imposing sight—a sturdy man standing nearly three meters tall, with distinctive purple hair tied up in a high topknot that pointed toward the sky like a spear. His face was fierce and battle-scarred, with a prominent scar running down his right eye that spoke of past conflicts. His upper body was minimally clothed, wearing only a decorative shoulder pad and a flowing cloak that emphasized his muscular build. Loose breeches and tall boots covered his lower half, while an enormous sword—longer than most people were tall—hung at his waist.
Jerry watched this emergence with the casual interest of someone observing a mildly entertaining street performance. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, working out the minor kinks from their previous exchange.
"Oh? Finally willing to crawl out of your turtle shell?" Jerry asked with mock surprise, his tone carrying just enough genuine curiosity to make the insult sting twice as hard.
"Ah! I want you to die!" Cracker roared, his composure completely shattered. The rage in his voice echoed across the harbor, sending nearby seagulls fleeing in panic.
"Well then, let's see if I can beat all your cookies out of you!" Jerry replied cheerfully, his casual tone a stark contrast to Cracker's fury. "Time to find out if you're really made of biscuits all the way through!"
Before Cracker could even process the full meaning of Jerry's words, Jerry vanished from sight. Using his advanced speed, Jerry appeared directly in front of the Sweet Commander in an instant, his right leg already in motion for a devastating kick aimed at Cracker's midsection.
Jerry's strategy was simple and effective. He knew from his observations that Cracker could create an endless supply of biscuit soldiers simply by clapping his hands and expending some stamina. While the constructs weren't individually threatening to someone of Jerry's caliber, they could become a significant nuisance if allowed to accumulate. Better to end this quickly and decisively.
"Ah! I'm going to tear your mouth apart!" Cracker screamed as he desperately drew his massive sword to defend against Jerry's lightning-fast assault.
The thrilling battle resumed immediately, but there was a noticeable difference in Cracker's performance. Without his biscuit armor to provide additional protection and psychological comfort, he seemed smaller somehow, more vulnerable. His movements carried a frantic edge that hadn't been present before.
The height difference between the two fighters created an interesting tactical dynamic. Jerry, standing at roughly 1.9 meters, found that most of his ground-based attacks naturally targeted Cracker's lower body. This wasn't an accident—Jerry had quickly adapted his fighting style to exploit this advantage, forcing the taller opponent into awkward defensive positions.
Cracker found himself constantly having to lean down or adjust his stance to properly defend against Jerry's low attacks, disrupting his rhythm and leaving him vulnerable to follow-up strikes. The Sweet Commander's footwork became increasingly desperate as he tried to maintain proper distance while parrying Jerry's relentless assault.
"Hey! What is this? These are just dirty tricks!" Cracker complained between gasping breaths, his frustration evident as Jerry's attacks continued to target his legs and lower torso.
"Dirty tricks?" Jerry replied with genuine confusion, momentarily pausing his assault. "What do you mean dirty? I always go for the middle and bottom lanes when I'm gaming!"
From Jerry's perspective, the complaint was completely unreasonable. Did Cracker expect him to constantly jump around like some kind of demented kangaroo just to reach the taller man's upper body? Height differences were a natural part of combat—adapting to them was basic strategy, not cheating.
As the exchange continued, it became increasingly clear that Cracker's defensive capabilities were breaking down. His parrying movements, once precise and confident, began to lag behind Jerry's varied and lightning-fast combinations. The psychological pressure of being consistently outmaneuvered was taking its toll on the Sweet Commander's concentration.
Jerry pressed his advantage mercilessly. He ducked under a wild sword swing that passed harmlessly over his head, then immediately launched himself upward in a powerful jump kick. His foot, enhanced with Armament Haki, caught Cracker squarely in the chest just as the larger man was committed to his forward swing and unable to dodge.
The impact was devastating. Cracker's eyes bulged as the air was driven from his lungs, blood spraying from his mouth as Jerry's enhanced kick lifted him completely off his feet. The Sweet Commander's massive frame sailed backward through the air, spinning helplessly as he struggled to regain control.
But Jerry wasn't finished. His eyes flashed with cold determination as he recognized the perfect opportunity. His right hand curled into a distinctive claw shape while his left hand began gathering and compressing water from the surrounding air. The moisture condensed rapidly, forming a large, spinning sphere that glowed with an ominous red light as Jerry infused it with his advanced Armament Haki.
Using his enhanced speed techniques, Jerry disappeared from his landing spot and reappeared directly in front of the still-airborne Cracker before the Sweet Commander could even begin to react.
"Water Dragon Claw: Kidney Buster!" Jerry shouted, the absurd name of his technique echoing across the battlefield as he drove his attack forward.
His dragon claw struck with surgical precision, the spinning water sphere amplifying the impact as it compressed and decompressed against Cracker's abdomen. The combination of Jerry's physical strength, advanced Haki, and the hydraulic force of his water manipulation created an attack that was both devastating and precisely controlled.
Cracker's second spray of blood was even more violent than the first. The dual impact of Jerry's claw strike and the pressurized water sphere sent him spinning like a top as he plummeted toward the harbor below. His body struck the ground with tremendous force, creating a circular crater several meters wide. The compressed water sphere detonated on impact, flooding the newly formed pit and leaving Cracker submerged and motionless.
Jerry landed gracefully nearby, his clothes sporting only a few minor tears from the entire encounter. He took a slow, measured breath, surveying his handiwork with the satisfaction of a job well done. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he prepared to make some appropriately witty comment about the fight's conclusion.
But before he could speak, a flash of flame erupted from the side, followed by a thunderous shout that made the previous battle sounds seem quiet by comparison.
"Grilled Mochi!"
Jerry's Observation Haki had already detected the incoming attack before it was even launched. Without bothering to look up from his examination of the crater, he casually leaped backward, easily avoiding the flaming projectile that exploded against the spot where he'd been standing moments before.
"You! What did you do to my brother!?" The voice that followed was filled with a cold fury that made Cracker's earlier rage seem like mild annoyance.
A massive figure emerged from the smoke and debris—a man standing nearly five meters tall, with short red hair and muscles that looked like they'd been carved from granite. A white scarf fluttered around his neck, and he carried a distinctive trident that gleamed with deadly purpose. His presence alone seemed to change the atmosphere of the entire harbor, as if a storm system had suddenly moved in.
The newcomer's gaze swept across the devastated port area, taking in the scattered biscuit fragments, the flooded crater, and most importantly, his unconscious brother floating face-down in the muddy water with obvious signs of severe internal injuries.
Jerry immediately recognized the arrival—Charlotte Katakuri, Big Mom's second son and one of the most feared fighters in the New World. Known throughout the pirate community for his incredible combat abilities and his reputation as an invincible warrior, Katakuri was often referred to by other pirates as a "master-class teacher" when it came to demonstrating the difference between ordinary fighters and true monsters.
"I didn't really do anything to him," Jerry said with a helpless shrug, his tone suggesting he was discussing a minor disagreement rather than a life-or-death battle. "I was just defending myself, honestly."
"You might not believe this, but he started it."
Katakuri gestured sharply to his subordinates, who immediately rushed to pull Cracker from the water-filled crater. His expression remained dark and thunderous as he processed the scene before him, his anger building like pressure in a sealed container.
"And self-defense justifies injuring him this severely?" Katakuri's voice was deadly quiet, each word carefully measured and controlled. The contrast between his calm tone and the obvious fury in his eyes was more intimidating than any amount of shouting.
Jerry found himself momentarily at a loss for words. The question seemed to imply that he should have simply allowed himself to be killed rather than fight back effectively. Was there some unwritten rule about limiting one's defensive capabilities based on the attacker's feelings?
"Okay, I'll try to be more gentle next time," Jerry finally replied with another shrug, his tone suggesting he was making a reasonable compromise.
"Next time?" Katakuri's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You think there's going to be a next time?"
"Come on, don't say I didn't give you a chance to walk away!"
Katakuri clenched his fists, and an invisible pressure began radiating from his body—the unmistakable aura of someone who had spent years at the absolute pinnacle of combat. He began walking toward Jerry with deliberate, measured steps, each footfall carrying the weight of his reputation and the promise of violence.
"Oh? I just had some cookies, and now you're offering mochi?" Jerry asked with genuine interest, completely unaffected by the intimidating display. "Do you usually push a cart around selling rice cakes? How much for a bowl?"
Even in the face of one of the New World's most dangerous fighters, Jerry couldn't resist the opportunity for food-related humor. His stomach gave a small rumble, suggesting that the recent combat had worked up his appetite.
"Really? If you like it so much, I'll let you eat as much as you want!" Katakuri snarled, his patience finally reaching its breaking point.
"Mochi Thrust!"
Despite Jerry's casual demeanor, Katakuri had already noticed that his intimidating presence had absolutely no effect on his opponent. This stranger possessed the kind of mental fortitude that came only from facing truly dangerous situations and emerging victorious.
Katakuri suddenly accelerated from his walking pace into a full-speed charge, his right arm transforming into a mass of sticky mochi that enveloped his trident. The entire appendage began spinning rapidly as he thrust it forward, creating a drill-like attack that moved with the speed and force of a hurricane.
Seeing Katakuri employ this familiar spiral attack pattern—so similar to techniques he'd encountered before—Jerry decided not to dodge. Instead, he planted his feet firmly, his right fist beginning to glow with the dark sheen of advanced Armament Haki as he prepared to meet the attack head-on.