Mario moved through the emerald depths of the jungle with a fluid, practiced ease that would have stunned his former self. His steps were silent, his breathing controlled, his senses—both natural and the nascent thrum of Observation Haki—stretched out around him like an invisible net. He avoided snapping branches and soft, muddy patches, his path a winding route that bypassed territorial roars and the thunderous footfalls of larger creatures. He had a mission, and engaging the local wildlife was not part of it.
The forest was a breathtaking, living cathedral. Sunlight, thick and golden, pierced the dense canopy in dramatic shafts, illuminating swirling motes of pollen and sparkling on the dewdrops that clung to leaves as wide as he was tall. The air was a complex perfume of wet earth, blooming, alien flowers, and the rich, musky scent of primeval life. It was lush, vibrant, and hummed with a raw, untamed energy that was both terrifying and magnificent.
While his mind was focused on locating the telltale signs of Mr. 3's hideout—unnatural wax structures, the smell of candle smoke—the world around him constantly threatened to steal his focus. He came across creatures that should have been millions of years extinct. A herd of triceratops, their massive frills and horns looking impossibly solid and real, grazed peacefully in a sun-dappled clearing. A pterodactyl's shadow swept over him, its screech echoing through the jungle canopy.
At one point, he had to freeze, pressing himself against the gargantuan root of a tree as a Stegosaurus ambled by, so close he could see the intricate texture of its plates and smell the vegetation on its breath. It was a living, breathing giant from a lost age, and the sheer, impossible wonder of it made his mission momentarily fade. His analytical mind shut off, replaced by pure, childlike awe.
„Gosh," he whispered, the word swallowed by the jungle's chorus. „This island… No, this entire world of One Piece… is amazing." He watched the stegosaurus's tail, a spiked club of bone and muscle, swing gently with its gait. „It's one thing to see it on paper, but this… For God's sake, my wildest dreams weren't as vivid or as breathtaking as the real thing."
He continued his search, but now with a renewed sense of reverence. He marveled at the iridescent shell of a beetle the size of his fist, at the symbiotic relationship between a flower and a species of dinosaur he couldn't name, at the sheer, overwhelming scale of everything. From the leviathans of the deep to the smallest, most intricate insect on this island, this world was a relentless barrage of wonders. It was a constant, humbling reminder of why he was here, fighting to protect the crew that allowed him to witness it all. The beauty was a fuel, hardening his resolve to ensure this incredible journey continued. He would find Mr. 3, and he would neutralize him, not just for the crew's safety, but for the privilege of seeing more of this astonishing world.
***
After what felt like an hour of silent, careful navigation through the oppressive greenery, Mario finally saw it. Nestled in a small, artificially cleared area was a structure so out of place it was almost laughable: a dome-shaped building, sleek and unnaturally smooth, constructed entirely of pale, off-white wax. It was Mr. 3's hideout, a testament to his devil fruit power and his fastidious, arrogant nature.
Mario immediately melted into the shadows of the surrounding ferns, his breathing slowing to a near-silent whisper. He pulled on the nascent threads of his Observation Haki, to mute his own presence, to become just another part of the jungle's background hum. He approached the waxy structure with the patience of a predator, his footsteps making no sound on the soft, loamy earth.
Finding a small, circular window, he carefully peered inside. The interior was as bizarre as the exterior, furnished with wax tables, wax chairs, and even wax sculptures of classical art. And there they were.
„I must say, Ms. Goldenweek, the tea is just amazing this time," said Mr. 3, seated primly in a wax armchair. He was dressed in his signature striped tuxedo, his hair sculpted into a perfect, ridiculous number '3'. He held a delicate wax teacup with an air of supreme sophistication.
„Cookies are better," replied the small girl sitting opposite him. Ms. Goldenweek, in her simple dress and wide-brimmed hat, nibbled on a cookie, her expression one of profound boredom.
„Nonsense," Mr. 3 chided, taking a delicate sip. „You need to try something more profound, like this Earl Grey. The notes are amazing. So sophisticated. Like the plan we need to finish without fail."
„Don't wanna…" she mumbled, entirely uninterested in his pompous lecture.
„But we need to. It's the boss's order," Mr. 3 insisted, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, greedy whisper. „Also, their bounties are just too big to pass on. A hundred million each! That is staggering, even for me."
At the mention of money, a faint glimmer appeared in Ms. Goldenweek's eyes. „Big money," she stated, a simple declaration of fact.
„Precisely!" Mr. 3 grinned, a wicked, cruel expression. „So, those stupid giants fight each other when the volcano explodes. It will be soon. I have just the perfect explosive concoction to incapacitate one of them. And when both are near death… it will be so easy to take their bounty. It says 'dead or alive,' after all. Hahah!" His cruel laugh echoed faintly within the wax dome.
„Let's go now," he said, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his trousers. „Time to make a spicy drink for our giant friend. Hahahah…" They both stood and made their way toward the door.
Mario pulled back from the window, his mind racing. The giants. Dorry and Brogy. He couldn't let that happen.
His plan solidified instantly.
First, Ms. Goldenweek needs to be out of the picture. Her color-based hypnosis is strange, and I don't understand it well enough to risk a direct confrontation. Neutralize her quickly and silently. Then, I'll deal with Mr. 3.
As the two Baroque Works agents emerged from the wax house and began heading deeper into the jungle, Mario followed, a ghost in the foliage. They, confident and arrogant, noticed nothing, completely unaware that the hunter had just become the hunted.
As the two Baroque Works agents navigated a narrow game trail, their guard down and their minds on their cruel scheme, Mario finally made his move. He took a single, calming breath, feeling the familiar energy coiling in his legs.
Soru.
He vanished from his hiding spot, the air cracking softly at his departure point. In the span of a heartbeat, he reappeared directly behind the small, unassuming form of Ms. Goldenweek. Before her brain could even register the displacement of air, his hand, hardened by will and training, came down in a precise, merciful chop to the side of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she crumpled without a sound, her palette and cookies scattering on the forest floor.
"WHO IS THERE?!" Mr. 3 shrieked, spinning around. His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed into slits of rage as he saw Mario gently laying his unconscious partner against the roots of a large tree. He immediately fell into a defensive stance, his hands raised, ready to summon his wax.
Mario turned to face him, his demeanor unnervingly calm. "Hello, Mr. 3. Nice to meet you."
"Who are you? What are you doing here? What have you done to my partner? Do you know who you have attacked?!" The questions came in a rapid, panicked fire.
"Who I am is of no importance," Mario stated, his voice flat and final. "Let's just say your mission ends here."
He didn't wait for a retort. In another burst of speed, he closed the distance, appearing in front of Mr. 3 and driving a fist into his stomach. The air left Mr. 3's lungs with a pained whoosh, and he stumbled back, clutching his midsection.
"YOU VERMIN! HOW DARE YOU!" Spittle flew from his lips as his rage overcame his pain. Instantly, he unleashed his power.
"Candle Lock!"
Wax shot from his hands, attempting to encase Mario, but the quartermaster was already a blur, weaving between the sticky projectiles.
"Candle Service!"
A torrent of wax splashed where Mario had been standing, coating the foliage in a hardening, white shell. Mario observed the display, unimpressed. The power itself—to create and control a substance with such versatility—was actually amazing. The problem was the user, who relied on theatricality over true combat efficiency.
"A shame," Mario mused aloud, dodging another wave. "Such a great power, wasted on an idiot like you."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY! I'LL SHOW YOU!" Enraged, Mr. 3 poured his entire being into his next move.
"Candle Champion!"
A massive suit of ornate, knight-like wax armor erupted around him, encasing him in a hulking, ten-foot-tall golem. It swung a giant wax fist, but Mario didn't dodge this time. He focused, channeling Tekkai into his own arm, and met the blow with a hardened forearm. The wax fist shattered on impact. Before Mr. 3 could react, Mario surged forward, his fist plowing through the chestplate of the armor, grabbing the startled man by his tuxedo lapels, and hurling him out of his mech-suit. Mr. 3 landed with a heavy, bone-jarring thud, the wind thoroughly knocked out of him.
"Tch*," Mario clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment as the Candle Champion crumbled into a useless heap.
"It was fun while reading the manga, but this is just like a child playing." He looked down at the gasping man. "If you actually trained your ability, no one could touch you."
Then he amended his thought with a wry smile. "Well, except Haki users."
"Manga... Haki... what?" Mr. 3 wheezed, his mind reeling from both the physical impact and the incomprehensible words.
"Well, no matter," Mario said, his tone turning menacing as he began walking towards the helpless agent. "This is the end."
"I will not fall here!" Mr. 3 screamed, a final, desperate gambit.
"Candle House!" He slammed his hands on the ground, and a forest of wax figures, perfect duplicates of himself, sprouted from the earth, surrounding Mario in a silent, unmoving army.
"I will kill you... No, we will kill you! What is it now, cat got your tongue? You will never guess which one is the real—"
"This is stupid," Mario interrupted, his voice dripping with contempt. "To think I was actually worried."
Soru.
He disappeared. He didn't try to guess. He simply moved faster than Mr. 3's eyes could track, appearing directly before one specific duplicate. His fist, now shimmering with the faint, barely visible aura of nascent Armament Haki, connected with the figure's face in a sickening crunch.
The illusion shattered. The dozens of other wax copies instantly melted into puddles as the real Mr. 3 was launched backward, his nose broken, his consciousness extinguished before he hit the trunk of a nearby tree.
The fight was over. Silence returned to the jungle, broken only by the distant cry of a pterodactyl.
Mario stood amidst the melting wax and two unconscious Baroque Works agents, his mission accomplished. The trap had been sprung, but he had been the one to spring it.