Little Hawkeye was still Hawkeye—same frosty aura, just shorter.
He answered Dimon's challenge with a flat "…no," then turned away.
Being ignored by a kid—fatal blow to one's dignity.
As a responsible adult (currently ten on paper), Dimon had to salvage his pride. This was a matter of the Kid-King's honor.
"Don't tell me you're scared, brat?" he needled.
Knuckles: instantly harder than sea-stone.
Dimon's smile almost cracked as he tightened the hand on the boy's shoulder. Little Hawkeye's face shifted—this "kid" was freakishly strong. He held the hiss down and said, low:
"What do you want?"
"Introductions. I'm Dio. Plenty of high-status brats call me big bro. You can too."
Dimon finally let go, patted the reddening shoulder. "Come on, mini-Hawkeye. You're not actually afraid, are you?"
After a beat, the boy slid his blade back onto the rack, said nothing, and followed them out—massaging his abused shoulder with a sharp breath. It hurt. His arm had almost gone numb.
"Dimon—uh—"
"I'm Dio right now."
Buggy groaned. "Dio-bro, can we stop wasting time on kids? We need to— ow!"
Dimon flicked his forehead. "You are a kid. He's older than you."
"Not the same! I'm a Roger pirate!" Buggy rubbed his new bump, teeth bared in pain.
Shanks murmured, "Buggy… that Mihawk feels strong."
"How would you know?"
"Swordsman's intuition."
Trailing behind, young Hawkeye kept a few paces' distance, listening to their whispers without catching everything. Finally, he couldn't hold it.
"I have a name. Don't call me Hawkeye. And where are we going?"
"Less talk. Keep up," Dio said, hands in pockets.
He didn't hurry the duel. He opened Observation instead, sweeping the town for interesting "voices." If Mihawk was here, odds were other seedlings had sprouted too.
"Hmm?"
He caught a peculiar signal—small body, loud engine. Stronger than many grown men.
"This way."
They wound through seven turns and a lane into a cramped alley.
A six-or-seven-year-old sat on the stones, sorting coin purses.
"1,000… 3,000… tch. That's it?"
"A thief, huh? Skipping school already?" Dio stepped up. "You need discipline, kid."
The boy looked up, scowling. "Who are you? What's it to you?"
"Heh. Buggy, Shanks—go."
Shanks rolled his eyes. Buggy launched in, eager to demonstrate "Roger-crew" authority—and promptly got into a messy grapple where he was the one getting thumped.
"Damn it—feel my true power!"
Buggy stopped sandbagging, finally wrestled the brat down, and plopped on his back like he'd bagged a sea king. "D—Dio-bro! Got him! Mouthy little gremlin!"
Hawkeye said nothing—but even he admitted these idiots weren't normal kids. The red-nose brawler moved well.
Dio crouched. "Where are your parents?"
"Don't have those," the boy snapped. "Take the wallets and beat it."
So he thought they were after the loot. Dio snorted. "Name?"
"...Smoker."
Ah. The shame of the four Logias. Dio squinted at him; didn't look much like his future self yet.
"How old? Why steal?"
"To eat. Do you only ask dumb questions?"
Knuckles: harder—again. The Kid-King hadn't expected to be disrespected by two brats in one day.
"Auntie can't, uncle won't," Dio muttered, then straightened. "Buggy—bring him."
Buggy hauled Smoker upright. The boy glared but shuffled along, baffled by this small, chaotic army: Dio the boss, three mini-goons, zero adult supervision.
They'd barely cleared the alley when Dio felt another strong presence. This one didn't need finding—it was already following.
He veered toward an abandoned warehouse by the docks. Sunlight striped the dust.
"Come out. You've tailed us long enough."
Everyone jumped. Eyes turned to the door.
"Gu-hahaha… sharp one, kid." A man in a black suit and ash-blue coat stepped inside.
"Observation Haki," Dio said, giving him a once-over. "Why tail us?"
"Two remnants of the Roger Pirates at one thousand apiece—Shanks and Buggy. I can see." The man's smirk tilted. "Curious what you brats were plotting. But more curious— you've awakened Observation already?"
That surprised him. Haki out here—outside the New World—was rare as a sober Fish-man. He'd heard of it, but hadn't learned it yet.
"I'm Dio—"
The o hadn't finished when the man's vision lost him.
No—Dio's speed just outstripped the eye.
Impossible. From a kid?
Before he could react, pressure hammered his back; a hand grabbed his slicked hair and drove him to the floor.
Dio sat on him like a paperweight. "And your name?"
"...Crocodile."
Inside, the sixteen-year-old howled. One move. One. Pinned by a child. Worse—he was Logia, Sand-Sand Fruit. He tried to slip into grains—and failed. Whatever this brat did, it found him anyway. A mountain on his spine; no room to twitch.
"Thought so," Dio said, amused. No busted arm, no facial scar—pre-Luffy model.
"Dio-bro!" Buggy yelped. "He recognized us! That's bad. Let's just—get rid of him!"
"Wait—"
Sweat slid down Crocodile's temple. Was he about to be murdered by toddlers?
"I wasn't going to sell you out. I only saw you."
"Relax, sand-boy." Dio patted his greased pompadour—thunk thunk. Nice resonance.
He flashed teeth. "The old era is ending. I'm putting together a vessel to carry the new. You're all new era… so you're getting on my ship."
He leaned closer, voice light and lethal.
"Refuse—and I sink you."
Buggy swallowed. Shanks went still. Mihawk's fingers tightened on the practice blade. Smoker scowled, not understanding but recognizing gravity when it pressed on his bones.
On the square not far away, the scaffold creaked in the noon heat. A crowd inhaled as one.
On a high balcony, a cup met a saucer.
And somewhere in the alleys, a Marine patrol turned the wrong corner and headed straight for the warehouse door.
—To be continued…
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