Weevil staggered back, his hand clutching the spot where Jerry's devastating shoulder ram had connected. A low, pained groan rumbled in his chest.
"Son! Are you alright?" Miss Bakkin cried out, her voice laced with genuine concern for the first time since the confrontation began.
"Don't worry, Mama," Weevil grunted, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's nothing."
He was more than just a mountain of muscle. Beneath the simple expression and chubby physique lay a body with monstrous defensive capabilities and resilience that bordered on the absurd. He straightened up, patted his belly, and fixed his dull eyes on Jerry. A stream of snot dripped from his nose, which he flicked away without a care.
"Hmph! Come on, then! I won't let you get a lucky shot in again!" he bellowed.
Jerry chuckled, the sound light and unbothered. "A lucky shot? I thought I was going easy on you. You know, you're a good boy for listening to your mother so well. Very loyal."
The words, though casually spoken, seemed to short-circuit Weevil's simple brain. He froze, his head slowly turning back towards the old woman on the sidelines.
"Eh? Mama, is that true? Am I a good boy?"
"Don't listen to his nonsense, Weevil!" Bakkin shrieked, her face turning purple with rage. "He's a liar trying to trick you! Finish him!"
"Right! Listen to Mama!" Weevil declared, his brief moment of confusion replaced by renewed determination. He hefted his enormous bisento. "I'll smash you!"
"'Smash me'? So vulgar," Jerry sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Can't you be more civilized and well-mannered, like me?" He dodged sideways as the massive polearm cleaved the air where he'd been standing, shattering another section of the golden floor.
Jerry knew his advantage. Against an opponent with Weevil's reach and raw power, keeping a distance was suicide. He needed to get in close, to become a persistent annoyance the giant couldn't swat away.
He activated Shave, vanishing from sight and reappearing directly in front of Weevil. Like a determined hornet buzzing around a bear, Jerry began his assault. His movements were a blur of motion, his fists and feet, all hardened with Haki, landing on the giant's torso in a rapid-fire succession of thudding impacts. Dozens of strikes landed in mere seconds, sending ripples through Weevil's fatty tissue.
Weevil roared in frustration. He swung his bisento wildly, but it was useless. Jerry was too close, his form a ghostly blur that was impossible to track. The giant was forced to use his free hand, clenching it into a fist to block the relentless attacks. But Jerry was too fast, too precise. Punches slipped past Weevil's clumsy defense, hammering into his ribs and stomach.
Though his Armament Haki was strong and his body was tough, the sheer volume of strikes began to take its toll. Each blow sent a jarring shock through his system. Staggering back, feeling his organs slosh uncomfortably, Weevil swung his weapon in a desperate, wide arc to force Jerry away.
He succeeded, creating a few meters of space. He then began a furious rampage, swinging the bisento with frightening speed and power. The air whistled with each slash, the force behind them enough to pulverize solid steel. The entire casino hall was being systematically destroyed, the aftermath of his attacks creating miniature gales that sent debris and furniture flying. The terrified onlookers retreated again and again until they were pressed against the far walls of the massive room.
But Jerry remained untouched. He wasn't standing still, foolishly admiring the display of power. He was dancing with it. His body swayed and twisted, his Observation Haki telling him exactly where each attack would land before it was even thrown. He used the opponent's own momentum against him, occasionally slapping the flat of the blade to ensure the devastating attacks missed their mark and only destroyed more of Tesoro's property.
He needed another opening. Weevil's ranged attacks, simple shockwaves of Haki projected from his blade, were easily dodged, but Jerry couldn't do significant damage from a distance. He had to get back inside.
Finally, the opportunity came. Weevil overcommitted on a downward slash. Jerry deflected the incoming blade with a Haki-coated palm, the force sending the polearm burying itself deep into the floor. That single moment of vulnerability was all he needed.
This time, he wasn't going to let the giant escape.
A cold, dangerous light flashed in Jerry's eyes. The Armament Haki on his fists began to swirl and flow, a sign that he was gathering an immense amount of power. A palpable aura exploded from his body.
He stomped down hard, launching himself into the air with Moonwalk. He took a second step on the air itself, accelerating like an arrow shot from a bow.
"Let's see you endure this!" Jerry roared.
"Raining Fists of the Sea King!"
He unleashed a torrential downpour of punches, his fists moving so fast they became a blur, a storm of destruction aimed directly at Weevil's chest. The speed of the attack was incredible, but its true danger lay in the nature of the Haki he was using. This was the advanced application of Armament Haki—the power to project one's will, to destroy from the inside out.
Weevil had no time to react. The first punch broke through his defensive Haki. The moment it connected, Jerry's will, combined with the principles of Fishman Karate, targeted the moisture within the giant's body. The destructive force bypassed the surface and struck his internal organs directly.
One punch became ten, then fifty, then a hundred. Weevil's massive body convulsed as waves of flesh rolled across his torso. He was thrown backward, step by staggering step, blood spurting from his mouth with each internal impact.
Jerry ended the barrage with a final, devastating right hook. The attack landed with the force of a landslide, crushing Weevil's remaining defenses and sending his massive body flying through the air. He crashed through the gilded railing at the edge of the casino floor and collapsed in a heap on the level below, unmoving.
The sudden, brutal conclusion to the fight left Miss Bakkin completely dumbfounded. She stared in disbelief before snapping out of it, letting out a horrified shriek and scrambling towards her fallen son.
The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath, exploded into a cacophony of noise. "I knew it! I told you Leviathan would win!"
"You're just a fangirl! That giant was a monster in his own right!"
"'Leviathan' Jerry… We need to report this. Headquarters needs to reassess his threat level."
"What were that mother and son thinking, picking a fight with someone like him?"
As Weevil lay in a pool of his own blood, he stirred. "Mama…" he coughed, a trickle of red at the corner of his mouth. "I… I didn't win… But let me rest… I'll be okay soon."
Bakkin breathed a sigh of relief. Just as he said, his body's miraculous constitution was already at work. The bleeding had stopped, and his breathing was steadying. His recovery ability was as monstrous as his strength.
Jerry landed lightly on the floor, ready to deliver a witty victory speech, when a slow, rhythmic clapping cut through the noise.
"Clap. Clap. Clap."
The crowd split as a procession of guards in gold-trimmed uniforms strode in perfect formation. At their head walked a tall, commanding figure with slicked-back, ash-green hair. His presence oozed arrogance and opulence. Golden jewelry sparkled at his throat and wrists, and his flamboyant magenta suit shimmered with wealth—clearly tailored to impress.
At his side walked a striking woman with short, wavy red hair and sharp green eyes. Baccarat wore a sleeveless black-and-white halter dress, its open back revealing smooth skin and gold accessories glinting in the light. Her black heels clicked softly against the floor as she moved with the poise of someone fully aware of her effect on others—graceful, alluring, and dangerous.
"As expected of 'Leviathan' Jerry, the man who threw Big Mom's territory into chaos," the man said, his voice smooth and dripping with condescending charm. "I welcome such a powerful celebrity to my city."
He stopped a few feet from Jerry, his immense height allowing him to look down on him. "However," his tone hardened, "you ignored my rules. You started a war in my casino. Surely, you understand that an explanation—and compensation—is required."
Jerry turned, recognizing the showman instantly. This was the master of Gran Tesoro, Gild Tesoro himself. The woman at his side had to be his assistant, Baccarat, the user of the Luck-Luck Fruit.
"Allow me to introduce myself," Tesoro said, spreading his arms wide. "I am Gild Tesoro. The king of this country. And here… I have the final say."
His confidence was absolute, rooted in the giant golden ship beneath his feet. Here, with his Devil Fruit awakened, he was a god. He feared no one, not even the Celestial Dragons. With his unimaginable wealth, there was no problem he couldn't solve.
"Now then," he declared, waving a dismissive hand at the crowd. "This is a private matter. Everyone, please leave."
His staff moved with swift efficiency, ushering the gawking tourists out of the now-wrecked casino. Jerry didn't object. He simply caught Skull's eye and gestured for him and Deuce to head out with the crowd.
Soon, the once-bustling hall was empty, save for a few key players. Jerry stood in the center of the wreckage. Weevil was still lying on the floor below, with Bakkin fussing over him. Baccarat stood silently by the entrance.
Tesoro glanced around the destroyed hall, a flicker of satisfaction on his face. He loved it when his orders were obeyed without question. He turned his gaze back to Jerry, raising his chin arrogantly.
"So," he said, his voice a low growl. "What explanation do you have for me?"
"An explanation?" Jerry replied with a casual shrug. "Is that all you want? You should have just said so."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single casino chip and tossed it onto the floor between them.
"Here," Jerry said with a grin. "For the damage. No need to make such a big deal out of it."