Kurou had devised a plan, simple, direct, and grim.
Tonight, he would slip into Tom's quarters and stab him to death in his sleep.
On Buggy's ship, men like Tom were a dime a dozen. A low‑ranked combatant going missing wouldn't raise too many alarms. Kurou refused to believe that someone like Tom would have any real defenses while asleep.
But the truth weighed on him. He was planning to kill a living, breathing man, not a chicken. Even if he succeeded, Buggy would inevitably investigate. Everyone aboard knew how bitter the feud between Tom and Kurou was; once Tom's corpse was found, suspicion would fall squarely on him. The weak were worth less than ants in this world. Killing Tom would almost certainly mean being executed as an example, a public warning for the crew.
So Kurou's plan wasn't just murder. It was mutual destruction.
Kill Tom. Then take his own life. End it all.
Better that than living on like this, crawling through humiliation with no hope at all.
That thought burned in his chest as he took action. Being nothing more than the lowest‑ranked deckhand, Kurou had never been issued a real weapon, no katana, no cutlass. All he could find in the dark, airless storage deck was a rusty boning knife and a chipped square whetstone.
The knife was little more than scrap iron, long abandoned in a forgotten corner.
But Kurou fetched a basin of seawater and began to sharpen it anyway.
Scrape… scrape…
The knife screeched against the stone. In Kurou's eyes, the rusted blade had already transformed into a gleaming instrument of vengeance.
And truthfully, he wasn't far off. After steady grinding, the blade began to catch the light with a faint, dangerous edge.
He had no superhuman strength, no secret techniques. This was all he had.
Kurou wasn't the kind of man to endure forever. To keep swallowing humiliation would make him a coward, and he would despise himself for that.
"Your blood will repay what I've suffered," he muttered to the newly honed knife.
But when evening came, the plan he'd built all day was suddenly swept aside.
To be precise, he no longer needed to take revenge.
Buggy's ship was sailing toward Orange Town, a remote and relatively wealthy port in the East Blue. Buggy had recently acquired nautical charts of the East Blue and the Grand Line. He had learned that Orange Town was far from the Navy's watchful eyes and that its defenses were weak. So he'd decided to seize it for himself, his first true base of operations.
For the defenseless townsfolk, it would be nothing less than a one‑sided massacre.
But that was later. For now, we return to midday, when Buggy already saw Orange Town as his future prize and held a grand feast aboard the ship.
Pirates loved feasts. They might be violent and cruel, but they still craved freedom and revelry. A feast was their favorite indulgence.
Cooked sea‑beast meat still sizzled with oil, filling the air with rich aroma. Strange fruits and vegetables, half of them unrecognizable, were piled high on the tables. And most important of all was the liquor.
It was the liquor that washed Kurou's hatred of Tom away.
Tom wasn't only a bully; he was a drunk. When he wasn't tormenting Kurou, he was clutching a bottle. Worse, his temper soured with each drink. Whenever he got plastered, Kurou was his favorite target.
Those two habits, bullying and drinking, had made Kurou's life hell.
And today, those same habits brought Tom to ruin.
Buggy raised his glass, laughing wildly as he drank. His first mate Cabaji rode a unicycle, juggling knives for the crowd's amusement. The ship's tamed lion, Richie, belonging to the vice‑captain Mohji, devoured its meat in massive gulps, clearing its plate in seconds.
The sailors and fighters raised their cups too, shouting with excitement over their captain's plan to capture Orange Town. A fiddler played lively tunes to keep the drinks flowing. Kurou and the other lowly deckhands were ordered to carry trays of food and fruit between tables.
The revelry was loud, messy, and full of life, until Tom opened his mouth.
"Our Red‑Nose Captain is finally going to lead us to our own territory!" he roared.
He'd drunk nearly two bottles of brandy. As the saying goes, liquor gives cowards courage. Tom, swimming in alcohol, had uttered the one forbidden word he would never have dared sober.
The moment the word left his lips, the ship fell silent.
Every man slowly set his cup down.
Tom's voice had been loud enough for every soul on board to hear, including Kurou, who knew instantly that Tom's days were numbered.
All eyes turned to Buggy.
The clown's normally ridiculous face darkened, his painted smile stiffening into something deadly.
"Tom," Buggy said softly. "What did you just call me?"
His mouth twitched twice, tiny spasms of rage.
Tom blinked. Seeing the twisted expression on Buggy's face, his drunken haze began to lift. Cold dread crept up his spine.
He'd just committed the one sin no one survived.
Buggy's eyes glinted with icy malice. "Tie him to the cross."
The order was quiet. The executioners moved instantly.
A pair of pirates grabbed the dazed Tom and hauled him to a wooden cross‑shaped stake.
Cabaji set aside his unicycle, watching with open curiosity. He clearly knew what was coming and was looking forward to it.
By the time Tom was dragged to the bow and lashed upright, he was fully awake. Panic took hold. "Captain Buggy, please! I'm sorry! I was drunk! Spare me!"
Buggy did not even blink.
Anyone weaker than him who dared call him "Red Nose" earned nothing but brutal retribution. Every crewman knew it was taboo. Only Tom had been stupid, or drunk, enough to break it.
As the saying goes: Don't mess with death and death won't mess with you..
But Tom had invited it with open arms.
Now, tied to the cross at the bow, hell itself was about to begin.
And Cabaji, who loved nothing more than a good spectacle, was eager to witness this "magnificent" performance…
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150 P.S = 1 Extra Chapter