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"I'm gonna be late!"
Smoker sprinted through the streets — he was about to miss the execution of Gol D. Roger!
"Out of the way—! Move—!"
Shoving through the crowd, he finally spotted the convoy escorting Roger, and forced his short, stocky frame between the press of bodies until he broke through.
"Haa… haa…"
Smoker's eyes locked on the man before him.
Gol D. Roger.
And Roger… was smiling.
Not the grimace of a condemned man, but a calm, silent smile — as if death itself were nothing more than a passing joke.
Cold sweat ran down Ruhl's back. The sun blazed high above, yet he felt chilled to the bone.
He glanced at the other executioner — his "partner" — and saw the same sheen of sweat on his brow.
It was simple: standing before them was the Pirate King himself.
"Any last words…?" Ruhl forced the question past his dry throat. Just being in this man's presence demanded every ounce of willpower he had — but out of a soldier's respect for Roger, he asked anyway.
"Take this off. It itches like hell." Roger rattled the seastone cuffs on his wrists.
"That's impossible," Ruhl blurted. There was no way he'd dare free the King of the Seas — even if he had no idea of the real reason Roger had been captured.
"Forget it. Just open them," his partner said.
Ruhl froze, staring at him. "Are you insane? He's the Pirate King!"
"That's right." His partner smiled — and for some reason, that smile carried a dangerous edge.
"It's exactly because he's the Pirate King… that he won't run, isn't it?"
"You—"
Roger tilted his head, frowning slightly at the executioner whose eyes were hidden beneath the brim of his hat. "You… are interesting."
"Am I?" the man replied with a faint smile, saying nothing more.
Roger studied him carefully. This man was wrong. Weak in strength, yes — but carrying a strange, subtle danger in his presence.
"Forget it. I'm going to die today anyway. No point in speaking it aloud…" Roger's lips curved into a faint smile. "An interesting era is coming… Damn it, I wish I could see how it plays out."
"Fine then…" Ruhl said, turning to his partner. "But… the key's in your hand, isn't it?"
"Hmm?" The man blinked, then patted his coat. "Right. I forgot."
He pulled out the key from his breast pocket — and unlocked Roger's cuffs.
"Hey—what the hell are they doing?!"
"They took off his cuffs! What if he causes a riot?!"
The crowd erupted in panic, stumbling backward.
Fame or not, a pirate was still a pirate. Murderers and marauders — that was what they were.
"Who is that man? The one who took off Roger's cuffs?!" Sengoku's voice thundered across the platform.
"Sir—!" a soldier at his side fumbled for a file.
Sengoku snatched it and scanned the page:
Nalgar
Born Sea Circle Calendar 1463 — Age 35
Joined East Blue Marine branch, 1479
Promoted to Sergeant, 1483
No special abilities. Ordinary Marine. Strong sense of justice. Father killed by pirates. Has a mother, a wife, and a five-year-old daughter.
"…Hmph." Sengoku exhaled slowly. "Out of respect for the Pirate King, is that it…?"
He wasn't worried about Roger escaping — Sengoku knew the man had come willingly.
But still… there was a faint, cold pulse in his chest.
A sense of dread.
As if something terrible was about to happen.
"…Let's hope I'm just imagining things." He straightened, raising his voice. "Garp!"
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