The world trembled with news that spread as swiftly as a summer storm.
From every harbor, to every Marine noticeboard, to the sticky, beer-stained tables of dingy East Blue taverns—fresh posters were plastered, their paper still smelling faintly of wet ink.
There, with eyes so cold they seemed to pierce through the paper itself, a name was printed in bold, unignorable letters:
"Dead or Alive – Genshu Noir"
Bounty: 100,000,000 Belly
No lengthy list of past crimes. No decade-long history of infamy. This bounty was born from a single incident. But it was enough to make bounty hunters sharpen their blades… and enough to make other pirates glance over in curiosity.
Meanwhile, far away in towering Marijoa—a thorn in the sky—the atmosphere was equally heated.
A Celestial Dragon, his shoulder still swathed in bandages, shrieked in indignation, his face flushed red like a boiled shrimp.
"Only a hundred million?! Does the Navy underestimate my life, eh?!"
His voice was a piercing whine, a blend of fury and petulance. Spit flew with every shout, snot dripped freely down his lip, and he did not care.
The officials surrounding him remained silent. None dared contradict him, but none truly listened either. In their world, a Tenryuubito's tantrum was a passing squall—best endured in silence until it blew over.
…
Far from marble halls and red carpets, the sea glittered like a sheet of blue glass. A massive sea shark glided beneath the surface, its body as long as a small ship. Giant jellyfish pulsed lazily, their shadows drifting like clouds across the ocean floor. These monsters watched, measured, ready to tear apart prey.
But they did not attack.
The figure swimming among them moved without haste, as if these waters were his home. Noir cut through the waves with quiet grace, each movement breaking the sunlight scattered over the surface. He made no sound, offered no provocation—the sea kings had no interest in a creature that swam as though it belonged to the ocean itself.
He had yet to learn that his name now echoed across the world.
After a journey that felt like crossing an entire sea, Noir reached the shore. Saltwater dripped from his hair, his heavy clothes clung to his skin. Stripping off his soaked jacket and shirt, he let them fall to the sand, leaving only shorts that freed his stride.
His eyes swept over the island he had set foot on—and his brow furrowed slightly. No houses. No docks. No sign of human life. Only an endless spread of colossal trees, their trunks as thick as towers, their leaves weaving a green ceiling that nearly shut out the sky.
This was more than a forest—it was a living organism, breathing slowly under the sun.
Noir bent to retrieve his shirt. He had barely lifted his foot to step into the jungle when a sharp sound split the air—
Thwip!
An arrow struck the sand mere inches from his toes. Its tip was forged from a strange, dark metal that glimmered with a greenish sheen—not iron, but something that whispered of poison.
Noir's lips curved faintly. "Kufufu… it seems I'm being welcomed."
From between the trees came the faint creak of bowstrings being drawn again. Shadows darted swiftly among the massive roots.
The next arrow flew—then another, and another—a rain of steel from the canopy above. The twang of bowstrings and the whisper of feathered shafts slicing the air became a sharp rhythm against the stillness of the jungle.
But Noir was no ordinary target.
His body moved like a shadow that refused to be caught by light. Every arrow skimmed just past him, close enough to ruffle hair or graze fabric, yet never touching flesh. A tilt of the shoulder here, a slight lean there—each evasion measured in fractions of seconds.
In moments, wariness gave way to boredom. Noir stooped to pick up an arrow buried in the sand. Its tip was cold in his hand, its weight almost playfully light.
With casual ease, he flicked it back—not with full force, just enough for it to streak like a flash of silver. It landed in the wood, quivering, only inches from the archer's foot high in the branches.
A sharp gasp followed. "Ah!"
The branch shook, and the figure tumbled, twisting in the air before landing with a soft but humiliating thud.
Noir's smile deepened, his eyes narrowing. Without hesitation, he leapt forward, weaving through roots thick as walls. Landing before the fallen archer, he found a young woman clad in light leather, a small bow still in her hands. Her face was pale with a mix of shame and fear—but somewhere in her gaze, a spark of defiance still burned.
Before Noir could speak, another voice rang out from deeper in the jungle—clear, commanding.
"What's going on?"
Footsteps followed, swift and sure, echoing beneath the canopy. Within moments, several women emerged from the dim green, all armed—bows, spears, and knives—and all carrying the fierce, untamed elegance of true warriors.
But among them, one figure stood apart.
She was the arrowhead of their formation, the first point to pierce the air. Her black hair fell long and smooth like midnight water, her pale skin luminous beneath shafts of sunlight slipping through the leaves. At her ears, serpent-shaped earrings glinted, catching the light in a way that demanded attention.
Yet it was not her beauty that seized Noir's gaze first—it was the pride in her eyes. The look of someone gazing down from an invisible tower, certain that everything within sight belonged to her… and everything else was nothing but dust.
She was Boa Hancock.
The Fourth-Generation Empress of Amazon Lily.
Captain of the Kuja Pirates.
Her presence was intoxicating poison—both alluring and dangerous. Behind her, the Kuja warriors stood poised, silent, like coiled serpents awaiting her command.
Noir's laugh was low, metallic, and deliberate. "Kufufu… I can't tell if this is good news… or the start of something much worse."