In a stretch of East Blue, three Marine Warships escorted a single, opulent cruise ship as it sailed leisurely along.
The sails of the flanking ships bore the insignia of different bases, but the middle Warship's white canvas carried only the seagull-and-scales crest—proof it hailed from Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
On the forecastle, Smoker clamped two cigars between his teeth and let the thick smoke veil his face.
Leaning against the cold rail, he stared at the pleasure ship ahead—still reveling through the night, strains of decadent music drifting over—and sighed quietly.
"Still can't stomach it after all these days?" A cold, mocking voice sounded behind him.
Smoker turned slowly.
A tall figure strode forward, the kanji for Justice fluttering on his coat.
The man's jet-black hair hung like a spider's segmented legs. Coupled with a vicious, icy face, it warned all strangers to keep away.
"Vice-Admiral Onigumo."
Smoker lifted a half-hearted salute, then pivoted back to the rail, drawing hard on his cigars.
Onigumo stepped beside him, cigarette dangling, and followed his gaze toward the cruise ship with a snort.
Smoke hissed through his teeth, carrying a rage he could barely leash.
"If you mean watching those World Nobles throw their daily orgy, treating us Marines like whipped dogs…"
His voice faltered as memories of the past days surged like bile in his throat.
"…watching them mutilate slaves they call property, or gun down commoners on a whim, while we play the loyal hounds, wasting ships and men to escort them, then no, I'm not "fine" with it. I'm furious."
Images flashed through Smoker's mind.
Days earlier, he had seen how these self-styled gods, the Celestial Dragons, swaggered.
A child of ten had blocked one's view of the sea and was shot dead without hesitation.
What enraged him more: a small fishing boat, already yielding, had been spotted in the noble's sight. The order came to ram and crush it.
He could still picture the bloated pig of a man, perched on a kneeling guard, waving wildly.
"Faster! Ram them! Wahahaha!"
When Smoker could bear it no longer and moved to intervene, Onigumo personally barred his path—those cold, absolute eyes forcing him back.
All he could do was watch the fishermen wave frantically, trying to row clear, before the gleaming hull smashed and ground their boat to splinters.
"Almost thirty and still so naibe?" Onigumo chuckled, blowing a smoke ring.
"Saint Charlimako is a Celestial Dragon—descendant of this world's creators, a World Noble. You think you can offend such a being?"
Baring white teeth, Onigumo leaned in and lectured, "Remember, Smoker. I saved your life that day, and the lives of your brats. You should thank me."
He straightened, looking down his nose. "It's precisely your lone-wolf attitude that keeps you a mere Captain. Justice demands order, and the World Government sets that order. Absolute obedience is a Marine's duty."
Smoker said nothing, only clenching his cigar tighter.
He could not argue, defying a Celestial Dragon meant death—for him and his men.
But was this the justice he had sworn to uphold?
Finding his sermon pointless, Onigumo shifted tone, "Wipe that scowl off. Lord Charlimako has a new whim—he wants to visit Loguetown."
Loguetown?
Smoker's frame tensed almost imperceptibly.
—
Meanwhile, in Loguetown.
Once Ryoma set foot on the harbor pier, he straightened his clothes and pulled a plain hooded cloak from nowhere. Tugging the hood low to hide most of his face, he strolled into the bustling streets.
He had no wish—fresh from a clash with a Marine Hero—to stir trouble in a town the Marines guarded heavily.
His goal was simple: play the ordinary tourist, indulge a few traveler's curiosities, then slip quietly into the Grand Line.
Loguetown, birthplace of the pirate king Gol D. Roger, was where the man's legend had begun and ended. Its fame eclipsed every other port in East Blue.
It was here Roger had, with a single dying sentence, hurled the world into the Great Pirate Age.
His influence still reshaped the globe, sending dream-laden pirates sailing in search of his fabled treasure.
Hence the town thrived: shops lined every street, crowds surged, commerce roared.
Yet beneath the prosperity, Ryoma sensed an unusual tension.
Patrols were thick, every Marine alert and hawk-eyed, sweeping the crowds as though hunting or bracing for someone.
Especially near the harbor.
'Some big shot must be coming.' He mused, but shrugged it off.
With Loguetown's notoriety, pirates came to pay homage, heightened security was normal.
From several streets away, he could still see the execution platform rising above the central square.
He drifted aimlessly, saving that landmark for last.
The square was already packed with sightseers, and the platform would be under the tightest watch—best not to cause a stir.
As Ryoma turned a corner, the curtain of a weapon shop was pushed aside, and a short-haired girl with dark blue hair, holding a long sword, walked out.
The girl wore red-framed glasses and carefully held the sword in her arms, a satisfied and cherished silly smile on her face as she lowered her head and gently wiped the shiny scabbard with her sleeve.
Ryoma paused.
The girl looked to be only fifteen or sixteen years old, and her face... felt somewhat familiar.
"Tashigi! What are you dawdling for?" An urgent reprimand sounded from nearby.
A Marine quickly ran to the girl, looking anxious.
"Hurry and return to your unit! Captain Smoker's warship is about to return to port, and a big shot is coming. The port has already begun a complete lockdown."
The girl, called Tashigi, immediately stood at attention in a panic upon hearing this, holding her sword and giving a somewhat clumsy salute.
"Yes! I'm very sorry!"
Tashigi? Smoker?
Ryoma stood across the street, taking in the entire scene, and instantly realized. So this was that muddled female swordswoman who looked exactly like Kuina.
So that's it.
No wonder the atmosphere in this town felt off, like something was missing. It turned out Smoker, that chain-smoking Marine who chases pirates everywhere, wasn't in town at all.
But... a big shot?
To cause such a stir among the Marines, even having Smoker escort them, their background must be quite significant.
Now that he was returning with that big shot, the Marines naturally had to clear the area in advance, putting on a formidable front.
Ryoma rubbed his chin, the part of him that enjoyed a good spectacle without caring about the consequences began to stir, but his rationality told him it was better to stay away from trouble at a time like this.
After all, he didn't want to run into more trouble here right after his "friendly exchange" with Garp.
Perhaps it's better to avoid the commotion first, find a place, and observe the situation.
(End of Chapter)
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