Loguetown buzzed with controlled chaos. Marine ships moved with purpose, crews working efficiently under the watchful eye of Captain Smoker. The liberated slaves from the Jester's Grin were herded into the large Marine barracks, their faces a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and lingering fear. Medical personnel moved among them, providing water, food, and basic care. Rita stood near the back, clutching a small bundle of provisions Smoker's men had given her, her eyes constantly scanning the room, searching for familiar faces, her thoughts miles away on Mirror Ball Island.
Smoker himself was a whirlwind of grim efficiency. He'd personally overseen the securing of Captain Riker and the unconscious slavers, now locked in the brig under heavy guard. The Joker flag had been torn down and unceremoniously burned. Now, he stood before Riker in the interrogation room, the air thick with cigar smoke and tension. Riker, stripped of his rank insignia and looking pale and diminished, sat shackled to a metal chair.
"Start talking, Riker," Smoker growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Everything. Who authorized this? How long has it been happening? Where were you taking them?"
Riker swallowed hard, sweat beading on his brow. "Smoker… please… it wasn't my idea! Joker… he approached us months ago. Offered… offered substantial 'donations' to the Marine fund in this sector. Said he needed… discreet transport for… 'valuable assets' acquired from… troubled regions." He couldn't meet Smoker's eyes. "We were just… looking the other way. Facilitating transit. We never… we never touched the cargo ourselves. Just delivered them to the rendezvous point near Sabaody."
"Valuable assets?" Smoker slammed his fist on the metal table, making Riker jump. "They were people, Riker! Men, women, children! Stolen from their homes! And you, a Marine Captain, took blood money to look the other way? You sold your uniform, your duty, for Joker's pocket change?" The white smoke around Smoker seemed to churn with his fury. "Who else knew? Who else in this sector is on Joker's payroll?"
"I… I don't know! Honestly!" Riker babbled, terror overriding his composure. "It was just me and my first mate! He handled the… the logistics with Joker's agents! We kept it quiet! Please, Smoker… you know how Joker is! He has eyes everywhere! He'd have killed us if we refused!"
Smoker stared at him, the disgust palpable. "You chose the easy path, Riker. The path of corruption. You betrayed everything the Marines stand for." He turned to the Marine guard at the door. "Get him out of my sight. Maximum security. Full court-martial. I want every communication log, every financial record from this ship and Riker's office seized. Now."
As Riker was dragged away, sobbing, Smoker stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the docks. He pulled out his transponder snail, the one with the direct, high-priority line to Marineford. He needed to report this. Not just the slave ship, but the boy. Stanlee D. Gaimon. The sheer, overwhelming power he'd displayed. The D. This wasn't something that could be buried in a sector report.
Marineford: The Fleet Admiral's Office
The transponder snail on Sengoku's desk chirped with its distinctive, urgent tone. The Fleet Admiral, looking weary as always, straightened up from the pile of paperwork that seemed to perpetually engulf his desk. He picked up the receiver. "Sengoku here."
"Fleet Admiral! Captain Smoker, Loguetown reporting. Priority Alpha."
Sengoku's expression hardened. "Go ahead, Smoker."
In the spacious office, three other figures were present. Garp the Hero, casually leaning against a wall munching on a rice cracker, paused mid-chew. Vice Admiral Tsuru, knitting needles clicking softly in her lap, looked up with sharp interest. Admiral Kuzan, Aokiji, lounged in a chair near the window, seemingly dozing, but one eye opened slightly at Smoker's tone.
"Sir, we intercepted a slave ship operating under Warlord Joker's authority, the Jester's Grin," Smoker's voice crackled with suppressed anger. "Approximately fifty souls liberated, including children. Marine Captain Riker was complicit, taking bribes to facilitate transport to Sabaody. Riker and the slavers are secured."
Garp's rice cracker crunched loudly. His easy-going demeanor vanished, replaced by a thunderous scowl. "Slaves? In my East Blue? Under a Warlord's flag? And a Marine Captain involved?" His voice boomed through the office. "That's it! I'm going to tear Joker a new one! And string Riker up by his entrails!"
"Control yourself, Garp!" Sengoku barked, though his own face was grim. He gestured for Smoker to continue.
"That's not all, Fleet Admiral," Smoker continued, his voice now carrying a different weight. "The ship wasn't taken by Marines. It was liberated by a single individual. A young man. Name: Stanlee D. Gaimon. Estimated age: fifteen to sixteen years old."
Tsuru stopped knitting, her sharp eyes focusing intently on the snail. Kuzan sat up slightly more, his lazy interest replaced by keen observation.
"Go on, Smoker," Sengoku urged, leaning forward.
"This… boy… single-handedly neutralized the entire slaver crew – estimated twenty armed men – without lethal force. He used what I can only describe as a focused application of Conqueror's Haki to incapacitate them instantly. He then physically ripped the hatch off the slave hold and freed the prisoners. He possesses immense physical strength – tore iron bars like paper – and a Devil Fruit power. He transformed partially… into some kind of giant, golden bird. A Mythical Zoan, possibly. He calls himself the 'Freest Traveler'. He sails a small, highly advanced vessel named the Little Dream, built from what appears to be Adam's Wood."
The silence in the office was profound. Garp had stopped shouting, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and dawning fury. Tsuru's knitting needles were still, her mind clearly racing. Kuzan was fully alert now, his usual nonchalance gone.
"A Mythical Zoan and Conqueror's Haki… at fifteen?" Sengoku murmured, rubbing his temples. "And a 'D'… This is… unprecedented. Smoker, describe his demeanor. His intentions."
"He was… resolute, Fleet Admiral," Smoker replied. "Driven by a fierce sense of justice against slavery. He specifically sought me out to turn over the captives and ensure the victims were returned home. He mentioned protecting freedom. He didn't act like a pirate seeking notoriety or plunder. He acted like… a force of nature correcting an imbalance. He has a woman with him, Rita, a chef from Mirror Ball Island he rescued. He intends to return her home personally."
"Mirror Ball Island…" Tsuru murmured softly, her gaze distant. "A hub of information, despite its festive nature. A chef of renown kidnapped… Joker expands his tendrils everywhere." She looked at Sengoku. "This Stanlee D. Gaimon… his power level, his ideology, his youth… he represents a significant unknown variable. Potentially a massive asset. Potentially a catastrophic threat. His 'freedom' doctrine could be dangerously destabilizing if misinterpreted."
Garp slammed his fist on Sengoku's desk, making the paperwork jump. "Unknown variable? He fought slavery! In my ocean! That kid's got guts! And a 'D'! Sounds like my kind of troublemaker!" He pointed a thick finger at the snail. "Smoker! Did he seem strong? Really strong?"
"Stronger than anyone I've ever encountered, short of an Admiral or Yonko, Fleet Admiral," Smoker stated bluntly. "He moved faster than I could track initially. His presence was… overwhelming. He subdued Riker and the slavers without breaking a sweat. He wasn't arrogant, just… confident. Immensely confident."
Kuzan finally spoke, his voice a low drawl. "A Mythical Zoan user, Conqueror's Haki, Adam's Wood ship, operating solo in the East Blue at fifteen… Sounds like a fairy tale. Or a nightmare waiting to happen. What's his current status, Smoker?"
"He's still in Loguetown, sir," Smoker replied. "Ensuring Rita gives her statement. He agreed to remain for further questioning."
Sengoku leaned back, steepling his fingers. The weight of command pressed down on him. A being this powerful, this young, this ideologically driven, appearing without warning in the relatively calm East Blue… it was a geopolitical earthquake. Joker wouldn't let this stand. The other Warlords would take note. The Yonko might eventually hear whispers. And the Revolutionary Army… they watched for sparks like this.
"Alright," Sengoku said, his voice heavy with decision. "Here's the directive, Smoker. Priority One: Ensure all liberated victims are returned safely to their homes. Use Marine resources. Make it happen. Priority Two: Captain Riker and the slavers face full, public justice. Make an example. Show the Marines do not tolerate corruption or slavery, especially not under a Warlord's banner. Priority Three…" He paused, glancing at Tsuru and Kuzan. "This Stanlee D. Gaimon. Approach with caution. Do not attempt to detain or antagonize him unless he becomes an active, immediate threat. Observe. Report. Gauge his intentions, his capabilities, his movements. We need more information before we decide how to handle… this."
"Handle him?" Garp roared. "Sengoku! The kid did the right thing! He cleaned up a mess we should have caught! You want to 'handle' him?"
"We need to understand him, Garp!" Sengoku shot back, his patience fraying. "A power like that, unchecked, guided only by his own definition of 'freedom'? It could plunge the world into chaos! We need to know if he's an ally, a neutral party, or the next greatest threat! Observation is the first step, not blind acceptance!"
Tsuru nodded in agreement. "Prudence is paramount, Fleet Admiral. He has shown himself capable of decisive action against injustice. That is promising. But his methods, his power, his isolation… they warrant careful scrutiny. Let him sail, Smoker. Watch him. Learn."
Kuzan sighed, a small cloud of frost forming in front of his mouth. "Sounds like a pain. But yeah, watching seems smarter than picking a fight with a teenage mythological bird who can knock out armies. Just… try not to let him wreck too much stuff, Smoker. Paperwork's a drag."
"Understood, Fleet Admiral," Smoker acknowledged, though the reluctance was clear in his voice. "Observation only. Unless he becomes a direct threat."
"Good," Sengoku said. "Keep me updated. Dismissed."
As the transponder snail disconnected, Garp stomped towards the door, grabbing another rice cracker. "Observation! Hah! Bunch of old women!" he grumbled. "I'm going on holiday. East Blue. Got a grandson to visit. Might just… happen to swing by Loguetown. See this 'Freest Traveler' for myself. See if he's got the right stuff." He shot a look at Sengoku. "Don't wait up!"
"Garp, don't you dare interfere—" Sengoku started, but the door slammed shut behind the Hero. Sengoku sighed deeply, rubbing his temples again. "That man… He'll cause an incident."
"Perhaps," Tsuru murmured, picking up her knitting again, the needles clicking softly. "Or perhaps he'll provide the most candid assessment. Garp has a way of cutting through pretense." She looked thoughtful. "Stanlee D. Gaimon… A fascinating puzzle piece. Let us hope he fits the picture peacefully."
Kuzan just yawned, leaning back. "Yeah, yeah. Puzzle pieces. Hope he doesn't knock the board over. Wake me if something actually explodes." He closed his eyes, seemingly dozing once more, but his mind was clearly turning over the implications of a teenage Mythical Zoan user with Conqueror's Haki sailing the East Blue.
The Challenge and the Departure
Back in Loguetown, Smoker stood on the docks, watching the final preparations for the transport ships that would carry the freed slaves home. Rita stood beside him, clutching her travel papers, her eyes fixed on the Little Dream, moored nearby. Stanlee was on deck, making final adjustments to the rigging, his movements fluid and powerful.
Smoker took a long drag from his cigars, letting the smoke billow out. The HQ's directive chafed. Observe. Report. It felt like inaction. But he understood the logic. Still… he needed to know. He needed to feel the extent of this boy's power for himself. To gauge if the HQ's caution was warranted, or if they were underestimating the storm that had blown into his port.
He walked down the pier, his heavy boots thudding on the wood, until he stood at the edge of the Little Dream's gangplank. Stanlee looked up, his golden eyes meeting Smoker's.
"Captain Smoker," Stanlee greeted, his voice neutral.
"Stanlee D. Gaimon," Smoker replied, his voice gravelly. "The transport ships are nearly ready. Rita and the others will be on their way home soon."
"Good," Stanlee nodded. "Justice served."
"For now," Smoker grunted. "HQ has their orders. Observe. Report. Stay out of your way unless you cause trouble." He took another drag, fixing Stanlee with an intense stare. "But I have my own orders. My own sense of justice. And I need to know something."
He didn't give Stanlee time to respond. Smoker moved. His body dissolved into thick, billowing white smoke, shooting forward like a volcanic eruption. He didn't use his jitte; this was a test of raw power and speed. He intended to engulf Stanlee, to test his defenses, to see if the stories were true.
Stanlee didn't flinch. As the smoke surged towards him, he didn't transform. He didn't dodge. He simply raised one hand, palm outwards, towards the incoming cloud. A faint shimmer of golden light, like heat haze, coated his palm and forearm.
Smoke met light.
The result was instantaneous and absolute. Smoker's smoke form didn't just slow down; it solidified. Not into ice, but into a dense, immovable mass, as if struck by an invisible, irresistible force. The forward momentum wasn't just stopped; it was violently reversed. Smoker reformed instantly, stumbling back a step, his eyes wide with shock. The sheer, concentrated pressure that had hit him wasn't just physical; it felt like it had locked onto his very will, his Logia intangibility, and forced him back into solid form against his will. It was like hitting a wall made of pure, unyielding authority.
Before Smoker could even process the shock, before he could reformulate an attack or even speak, Stanlee moved. He didn't attack. He simply stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a blink. He placed a single, firm hand on Smoker's shoulder. The contact was light, but the pressure behind it was immense, pinning Smoker in place effortlessly.
"Your justice is noted, Captain Smoker," Stanlee said, his voice calm, but carrying an undeniable weight. "And your strength is respected. But my freedom is not negotiable. And my time is my own." He held Smoker's gaze for a moment longer, then released his shoulder and stepped back. "Rita is ready. We sail for Mirror Ball Island. Safe journeys to you, Captain."
He turned and walked back towards the helm of the Little Dream, leaving Smoker standing frozen on the dock, the echoes of that impossible, overwhelming pressure still resonating through him. The challenge had been issued and answered in less than three seconds. The result was undeniable.
The Report and The Departure
Smoker stood there for a long minute, the reality of his defeat settling in. He hadn't just been outmatched; he'd been nullified. The HQ's caution suddenly seemed profoundly inadequate. He shook his head, clearing the shock, and stormed back towards his office, needing to make another call.
He found his subordinate, Tashigi, organizing the final manifests. "Tashigi! Take command here. See the last transports off. I need to report."
He slammed the door to his office and grabbed the transponder snail, dialing Marineford priority. Sengoku answered almost immediately.
"Smoker? Report."
"Fleet Admiral," Smoker said, his voice tight with a mixture of frustration and awe. "I… engaged Stanlee D. Gaimon. Tested him."
Sengoku's voice was sharp. "You what? Smoker, the directive was—"
"I know, sir," Smoker cut in, his voice grim. "But I had to know. I attacked. Logia form. He didn't dodge. He didn't transform. He raised his hand… and stopped me cold. Not just blocked me, sir. He forced me back into solid form. Overpowered my intangibility with sheer… will. Pressure. Then he closed the distance before I could blink, pinned me with a touch, and stated his intentions. He… he didn't even break a sweat. It was… absolute."
Silence on the line. Smoker could imagine the expressions in Sengoku's office.
"He's gone, sir," Smoker continued. "Left immediately after. Sailed for Mirror Ball Island with the chef, Rita. He moved like the wind itself. The Little Dream is… unnaturally fast."
Another pause, longer this time. Finally, Sengoku spoke, his voice heavy with implication. "Understood, Smoker. Your… initiative… while contrary to orders, has provided… clarifying data. The 'wait and watch' directive stands, but with increased priority. Monitor any reports from Mirror Ball Island or surrounding sectors. Track his movements if possible. And Smoker?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Do not engage him again directly. Is that clear? Not unless he actively attacks Marine assets or civilians. Your report confirms he operates on a level we are not currently equipped to… manage. Observe. Report. Survive."
"Understood, Fleet Admiral," Smoker acknowledged, the taste of the order bitter but undeniable. "Smoker out."
As he hung up, Garp's voice boomed from the doorway, where the Hero stood, munching on yet another rice cracker, a wide grin splitting his face. "Heard you tried to tussle with the kid, Smokey! Got your smoke handed to you, eh? Hah! Good! Means he's got the right stuff! Don't worry, I'll go say hi when I get to the East Blue! See if he wants to arm-wrestle!" Garp laughed loudly and ambled away, leaving Smoker alone with his thoughts and the lingering sensation of that impossible, golden pressure.
Out on the open water, the Little Dream sailed swiftly, the wind channeled through her unique system. Stanlee stood at the helm, the Log Pose set for Mirror Ball Island. Rita stood beside him, the wind whipping her hair, a look of profound relief and cautious hope on her face as she looked towards the horizon.
"They're safe, Stanlee," she said softly. "Smoker's men… they'll get them home."
"They will," Stanlee agreed. "And we'll get you home, Rita. Then, you teach me."
Rita managed a small smile. "Deal. But be warned, I'm a tough teacher."
Stanlee chuckled. "Good. I'm a tough student." He looked back towards Loguetown, now just a smudge on the horizon. He could almost feel the weight of Marine observation settling on him, the distant scrutiny of Sengoku, Tsuru, Kuzan… and the looming, unpredictable approach of Garp. The "wait and watch" had begun.
He turned his gaze forward, towards the setting sun and the promise of Mirror Ball Island. The Freest Traveler sailed on, unaware of the ripples he'd created in the highest echelons of power, but keenly aware that the calm waters of the East Blue had just become infinitely more interesting. And dangerous.