"Bastard—ow, ow, ow…"
The cave of the Hiking Bear glowed with firelight, warmth spreading out against the icy winds.
Inside, Commander Hina hissed through her teeth as Jin dabbed ointment over her bruises and cuts.
Outside, the poor Hiking Bear sat slumped with two swollen black eyes, its face frozen in the perfect portrait of despair. Who could understand its suffering? On this frigid day, it had been sleeping peacefully, only to be woken by two thunderous punches and hurled into the snowdrift outside its own den.
Was there no justice left in this world?
Where was the law?
Justice for bears! Justice for hiking bears!
But inside the cave, a different kind of justice was playing out.
The fierce Commander Hina, who only hours ago had stood proud and defiant, now leaned against the wall with a faint flush on her cheeks, her breath hitching. After being battered thoroughly, her temper had been tempered, her edges softened.
The fire crackled. Sparks leapt upward, shadows danced across pale skin, smooth as cream, tight and toned yet resilient to the touch.
"You bastard… you really didn't hold back at all, did you?" she muttered, her lips curving with both irritation and a strange sort of thrill.
Their fight had been raw and unrestrained, every blow delivered with honesty, every counter brimming with intent. Strange as it was, such brawls sometimes brought people closer than a hundred polite conversations.
Fists to flesh, hearts to hearts.
Afterward, as they sat before the flames, the air between them carried an intimacy that words alone could not forge.
"Adults, after all," Jin said with a faint grin. "Since you already agreed, Commander Hina, if I were to still act like some untouchable saint… wouldn't that make me worse than a beast?"
He tossed another log into the fire. Flames flared, painting her face with a golden glow, highlighting strands of her dark hair as they spilled loose over her shoulders.
The "you" he had first meant was her Devil Fruit—the Paramecia-type Cage-Cage Fruit. But Hina had misunderstood.
And when she had consented, he had not corrected her.
Why would he?
Any man with blood in his veins would have done the same.
Beyond her striking beauty and figure, there was also value: a Marine commander could serve as the perfect bridge between him and the Navy. Bonds sealed in fire and flesh were stronger than any treaty.
So Jin had not hesitated.
"Tell me," he said now, his arm casually circling her slim waist, "what is the Navy's stance?"
Her pride was fierce, but Hina was not a fool. After the storm of their clash—and what followed—her anger had ebbed. Rationality returned. She glanced at him sidelong, her eyes calculating, then slowly relayed everything Vice Admiral Tsuru had told her.
It wasn't betrayal of her orders. In truth, Tsuru's mission for her had been precisely this: to probe Jin's intentions regarding Hannabal. And after all that had happened, what point was there in veiling words?
Sometimes, honesty was the sharpest weapon.
"So that's how it is…" Jin mused. He remembered Robin's words in the original story: Hannabal had once been a pirate town. By the time Luffy arrived, Marines were already patrolling.
This must have been the turning point. Gasparde had allied with the Navy, lured and slaughtered the small fry pirates in the so-called "Death Tournament," and handed Hannabal to Marine control.
Gasparde's bounty had been ninety-five million—yet he'd roamed unchecked for years. Absurd, unless he had been a glove, a proxy tool of the Navy.
Yes. It all fit.
"The Navy wants Hannabal under its thumb," Jin said softly. "But I can cooperate. On one condition: my claim to Hannabal—earned with one hundred million—must be recognized. And the Navy will not meddle in its management."
Hina studied him. Then, slowly, her lips curved in a smile—sweet, confident. "I'll pass that along."
Jin leaned closer, his gaze tracing her features. The firelight carved her face into a porcelain oval, a guileless beauty fractured by faint bruises, her skin flushed from heat and strain.
He slipped an arm around her slender waist, pulling her close. Her delicate, oval face was disheveled, her hair loose and wild, her skin flushed pale and scarlet in mottled patches—a beauty broken, yet more intoxicating for it.
He chuckled low. "How do you carry such heavy responsibility on such a slim waist? One day it might snap under the weight."
"Your legs—long and perfect like compasses—tell me, what's your secret to keeping such a figure?"
"Shameless…" Hina muttered, rolling her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. Just because you're strong doesn't mean your… marksmanship is worth praising. Hina hasn't lost yet."
Jin's grin widened. "Ah, a little commander boasting? Laughable. Today I'll show you what true mastery is—technique so refined it transcends form itself. Heavy sword without edge. Great craft appearing crude."
One hand firmly grasped her, his lips brushed her ear, voice molten.
Hina gasped. "No—shameless bastard! Hina is angry. Justice cannot be defiled. Don't even think of doing that—"
Ah, principles. How he admired them.
One day, Jin thought with a wicked gleam, I'll have you wearing that coat of Justice while.......at the top of your lungs.
…
For now, she remained lodged in the town, her "injuries" demanding rest. But she reported back to Tsuru, passing on Jin's terms:
– Recognition of his ownership of Hannabal.
– Removal of bounties from Razor Dam, Wilson, Captain Sherlock and others.
– And, most importantly, access to Marine training grounds for formal instruction.
After all, in this world, technique mattered as much as raw strength. And Jin, for all his natural talent and supernatural enhancements, was greedy enough to want both.
"If Vice Admiral Garp himself could train me," Jin murmured later, "that would be ideal."
The Marine hero—iron fists, mastery of Armament Haki, teacher of Luffy, Ace, Koby, and many others—would be the perfect mentor.
The Navy did not answer immediately. They said only that the matter required deliberation.
And soon Jin understood why.
…
Five days later, the ship of a Celestial Dragon arrived at Drum Island.
But the bitter cold of the island turned Jalmack Saint's stomach; he refused to set foot on the snow.
Instead, he sent his watchdogs.
A towering man in a white suit, dark tie, and the blank mask of CP0 stepped ashore, flanked by armed escorts.
"You are the new king of Drum? Jin?" His voice was curt, disdainful. His gaze swept the raggedly dressed townsfolk, wrinkling with contempt.
Their poverty was Jin's stratagem—playing poor, keeping the ugliness on display to ward off the gaze of the Dragons.
"I am him," Jin said evenly. "Former Drum Kingdom, now Winterhan Kingdom. A member of the World Government, bound to its law."
The CP0 agent produced a scroll, unrolling it with a flick. "As decreed, this year you owe one hundred million Berries in heavenly tribute. You have three days to provide it—or equivalent in gold and gems."
"No need for delay," Jin said, smiling faintly. "I am prepared. And in addition, I offer a gift for the esteemed Saint aboard your vessel."
At his nod, Dalton and Jason carried forward two chests.
One, filled to the brim with Berries.
The other, nestled within, ten radiant mushrooms—each the size of a fist, glowing faintly, petals like jewels.
The CP0 agent frowned. "This is…?"
Jin's smile widened. "A new breed we have cultivated. I call them Dreamcaps."