Mario stepped out of the cabin and into a scene of pure, theatrical absurdity. There, kneeling dramatically on the deck, was Mr. 2 Bon Clay, resplendent in his ridiculous swan-adorned leotard and ballet shoes, his gratitude as flamboyant as his outfit.
"To be rescued by pirates I have never met nor heard of! I shall never, ever forget this debt of honor!" he declared, striking a pose.
He looks even more ridiculous in real life than in the manga, Mario thought, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
"So you can't swim?" Luffy asked, tilting his head.
"No! For you see, I have eaten a Devil Fruit!" Bon Clay announced, puffing out his chest.
"Really? What kind?" Luffy's interest was instantly piqued.
"Behold my ability!" Bon Clay exclaimed, and before anyone could react, he leaned forward and delivered a sharp slap across Luffy's face.
The crew immediately sprang into defensive stances, Zoro's hand on his swords, Sanji's leg raised.
"Hold your horses! Didn't I tell you I'd give you a show!" Bon Clay waved his hands frantically. And then it wasn't Bon Clay anymore. It was Luffy. An exact, perfect duplicate, right down to the scar and the curious expression.
"You see! I ate the Mane-Mane Fruit! If I touch your face with my right hand, I can copy your appearance! And with my left, I turn back!" he proclaimed, reverting to his own form.
Everyone was stunned into silence, except for Mario, who watched the performance with the detached amusement of someone who had seen the script.
"That is AWESOME!" Luffy yelled, his eyes transforming into giant, glittering stars.
Eager to please his captivated audience, Bon Clay proceeded to touch each crew member's face, cycling through their appearances with a flourish. "As you can see, I can copy their faces with my hand…" he announced, his form shifting into Nami's, "…as well as their body!"
He then pulled open the shirt, revealing Nami's bare chest. Mario had completely forgotten about this part of the act. He felt a hot blush instantly creep up his neck and flood his cheeks, quickly turning away from the sight he knew he wasn't supposed to see.
"QUIT IT!"
Nami's fist of judgment connected with Bon-Clay-Nami's head with a resounding thwack. She was blushing furiously, her eyes darting towards Mario, checking his reaction. Mario was studiously looking at the deck, but Sanji, ever observant, didn't miss the brief, charged glance that passed between them.
"YOU ARE AMAZING! SHOW US MORE!" Luffy begged, completely enthralled.
Too flustered to remain, Mario mumbled an excuse about washing the breakfast dishes and retreated back into the cabin. A moment later, Sanji followed him in, the galley door swinging shut and muffling the chaos outside.
"So," Sanji began, leaning against the counter and lighting a cigarette. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" Mario asked, his back turned as he focused a little too intently on scrubbing a plate.
"Cut the act. I noticed the interaction between you and Nami," Sanji stated, his voice calm but firm.
Mario felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. "I… I don't know what you're talking about."
Sanji let out a long sigh, the smoke curling towards the ceiling. "The others might not notice. But I did. Since it's Nami-san. I've seen the small interactions, the little signs of care between you two…" He paused, letting the silence hang. Mario kept quiet, his scrubbing motion stilled.
"Listen," Sanji continued, his tone surprisingly resigned. "It's true that I have been… not so subtle in my advances towards Nami-san. But it seems you were faster. Or perhaps, a better match."
Mario finally turned to look at him, surprised by the cook's candor.
"So… I'll let it slide," Sanji said, his gaze steady. "The only thing I want is for Nami-san to be happy. And I can see that she is when she's with you. So, I won't interfere." The words were clearly difficult for him, but they were sincere.
He took a final drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out. "So make her happy." His eyes then hardened, a dangerous glint flashing within them. "But… if you hurt her… you are dead meat."
Mario met his gaze without flinching, his own resolve firm. "That won't happen."
"Good," Sanji said with a curt nod, and turned to leave.
As the door closed, a wide, incredulous smile spread across Mario's face.
Sanji is such a good character.
His mind drifted to the future he knew, where Sanji would eventually find his own happiness, falling head over heels for the woman he would marry. This small moment of understanding and respect between them felt like a pivotal step, not just for his relationship with Nami, but for the deep, unshakeable bond of the entire crew.
Mario finished the dishes, the mundane task a welcome anchor after the emotional whiplash of Bon Clay's performance and Sanji's unexpected blessing. He placed the last plate neatly in its cupboard, the galley restored to order. Stepping back onto the deck, he found Bon Clay striking a final, dramatic pose at the railing, tears streaming down his face in a display of genuine, if theatrical, emotion.
"Don't be sad that our meeting is over! Be happy that it happened!" he declared, before executing a graceful, swan-like leap over the side and onto his waiting ship.
"Let us depart!" Bon Clay commanded, his voice carrying across the water.
"Yes, sir, Mr. 2, SIR!" his crew chorused in reply.
The name landed on the deck of the Going Merry like a physical blow.
"MR. 2?!"
The collective shout was one of pure shock.
"That was Mr. 2?" Luffy asked, his head whipping around in confusion.
"That was Mr. 2 Bon Clay!" Vivi gasped, her face pale with dawning horror. The enemy she had been describing in abstract terms had just been sharing a meal with them.
"Didn't you know what he looked like?" Luffy asked, genuinely puzzled.
"No, I never met him!" Vivi cried, her voice tight with frustration and fear. "And I never knew about his ability either!" The full, terrifying implication of a shapeshifting assassin within Baroque Works' ranks settled over her.
"Actually," Zorro cut in, a sharp, predatory grin spreading across his face. "It's good we met him. Now we know his face, and we know his trick. We can make a counter." The swordsman's mind was already working, turning a potential disaster into a tactical advantage.
A new, more urgent energy seized the crew. The Going Merry seemed to lean into the wind, her sails straining as they raced towards the Alabasta kingdom. Time was now a precious, dwindling resource. They had two days.
***
Mario retreated to his sanctuary among the tangerine trees, the encounter with Bon Clay fueling his resolve. He sank into a deep meditation, focusing on the well of power Roger's journal had described. He chased the feeling he'd had on the mountain—that single-minded, all-consuming will that had overridden pain and exhaustion. For a whole day, he sat in stillness, his mind a calm sea seeking the storm beneath.
And then, something shifted.
It wasn't a gentle awakening. It was a dam breaking. A power he had been carefully channeling and containing suddenly surged, no longer content to be guided. An invisible force, a wave of pure, unconcentrated willpower, rippled out from the very core of his being. The tangerine trees around him rustled violently, their leaves shaking and branches swaying as if struck by a sudden, localized gust of wind.
Huuuuu….
Mario exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that seemed to carry the last of his resistance with it. He felt different. Lighter, yet denser. Energy, clearer and more potent than ever before, coursed through his veins, humming just beneath his skin. It was raw and untamed, but it was his.
"Good," he murmured, a slow smile spreading across his face as he clenched his fist, feeling the new strength thrumming within him.
Suddenly, the tangerine branches were shoved apart with frantic force.
"WHERE IS THE ENEMY?!" Luffy yelled, his eyes wide and darting around, his body coiled for a fight even though he was clearly still half-asleep.
Mario stared, utterly bewildered. "There is none," he said, his voice laced with confusion.
Luffy blinked, looking around the peaceful grove. "Huh? I could have sworn I felt something… really strong…" he mumbled, scratching his head before yawning
„Strange… i felt something. Something dangerouse right now" said Luffy confused still half asleep.
His Haki hadn't just evolved. It had burst forth with such raw, unconscious power that it had physically rippled the environment and—most astonishingly—had been strong enough to subconsciously startle his captain awake.
Mario was surprised Luffy felt that. The ripple in Haki. Somehow his captain started to feel Haki. He was also getting stronger. Mario was glad that Luffy started his understanding earlyer than expected. And mybe he could teach his captain a litle about Haki a bit earlyer. Only if Luffy were not such a chaotic character and actualy listen to him. But after Alabasta he will definetly try.
„Nothing, Captain. Just… trying something out. Go back to sleep," Mario said, keeping his voice calm and even, though his heart was still thrumming from the breakthrough.
Luffy, still more asleep than awake, grumbled as he shuffled away. „Ugh… stop training all the time, or at least let us sleep. Even Zorro and Sanji woke up startled…"
His voice trailed off as he disappeared back towards the men's quarters, likely to collapse back into his bunk mid-stride.
Mario stood alone in the rustling quiet of the grove, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face.
Even Zorro and Sanji?
That was the true measure of his progress. Luffy's Observation Haki was instinctual and powerful, a primal radar for threats and strong wills. For Mario's untamed burst of Conqueror's-like energy to have pierced through his captain's deep sleep was one thing.
But for it to have also registered on the refined, battle-honed senses of Zorro and Sanji? That was something else entirely. They weren't Haki masters yet, but their instincts were sharper than any blade. They had felt it too—a ripple in the very atmosphere of the ship, a pressure that didn't belong.
„They are getting stronger," Mario smiled to himself, a fierce pride warming his chest.
He retrieved the worn CP0 manual from its hiding place, its pages feeling more like a partner now than a forbidden text. With his Haki evolving, it was time to expand his arsenal. He needed mobility, a way to dominate the battlefield. His eyes scanned the pages, settling on two key techniques: Geppo (Sky Walk) and Rankyaku (Air Blade).
His focus shifted to Rankyaku first. „So, it says here you need to kick at a supersonic speed, creating a vacuum that sharpens the air into a blade…" he murmured, reading the description. The theory seemed deceptively simple—a swift, precise leg movement. But as he stood and attempted the motion, he immediately hit a wall. His kicks were powerful, trained by sparring with Sanji, but they lacked the specific, whip-crack precision and the innate flexibility the technique demanded. He tried to force the vibration, the high-frequency tension the manual described, but his muscles protested, the movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
„I'm not that good with kicks, I must say…" he sighed in frustration, lowering his leg. His strength had always been in his upper body and his hands—the precise, focused power of Shigan felt natural. Kicking felt… foreign.
Then, a heretical thought, born from Roger's own unconventional approach, sparked in his mind. Roger had questioned why one would only coat their fists. Mario now questioned the manual itself.
„Can I do this with a hand?"
It was a deviation, a potential dead end, but his intuition screamed that it was his path. Ignoring the illustrated diagrams of perfect kicks, he focused his will. He channeled the same principle—the supersonic motion, the creation of a vacuum—but concentrated it into his arm. He held his hand rigid, fingers together like a blade, and practiced the swift, cutting motion through the air.
The first attempts were pathetic, little more than weak gusts. The tenth was no better. The twentieth produced a faint swish. But he persisted, adjusting the angle of his wrist, the tension in his forearm, the snap of his elbow.
Then, on the thirtieth try, something clicked. There was a sharp, clean SWOOSH! A visible, crescent-shaped ripple of compressed air shot from his hand, slicing through the night and skimming across the surface of the sea before dissipating.
Mario stared at his hand, then at the fading ripple on the water, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across his face.
„This way is much easier."