After being "manhandled" by Ron, Yoruichi was already seething.
Now that someone had stepped on her tail, the fury in her chest boiled over.
My tail?
You dare touch my tail?
"Meow, meow, meow!!!"
The black cat arched her back, golden eyes full of scorn, glaring straight at Black Horse.
In that instant, not just Black Horse — even Garp and Rayleigh froze.
This was a Vice Admiral, the Director of the Naval Crime Investigation Bureau — a veteran with Observation Haki sharp enough to sense assassins before they drew breath.
So why hadn't he seen a cat's attack coming?
"I let Garp humiliate me, fine," Black Horse growled, veins bulging on his temple. "But being mocked by a damn cat?!"
He lunged, reaching for Yoruichi.
What followed was five minutes of pure chaos.
The tavern echoed with shouts and crashes, bottles clinking and chairs tumbling.
At first, Black Horse was the predator, chasing the cat.
But within seconds, it flipped — now Yoruichi was hunting him.
She darted between stools and bottles with lethal grace, claws flashing like blades.
He stumbled, backpedaled, slipped, cursed.
By the end, he was fleeing in circles like a rookie seaman.
When she'd had her fill, Yoruichi leapt lightly onto the windowsill, curled her body, and closed her eyes in satisfaction.
Black Horse, meanwhile, slumped against the bar, his once-solemn face now a mess of bleeding claw marks.
Rayleigh and Garp traded glances. Both men looked… disturbed.
"Even the cat in this tavern's a monster," Rayleigh muttered.
"Boss," Garp said, half-laughing, half-serious, "what breed is that cat? If this gets out, the Marines'll never live it down. A Vice Admiral mauled by a kitten."
Ron forced a sheepish smile.
"Ah, just a regular house cat."
Click! Click! Click!
Rayleigh sprang up, whipped out a small camera, and began snapping away at Black Horse's scratched-up face.
"Hahaha! These'll make front-page gold for Morgans! I could have that bird licking my sandals for these shots!"
"Guess I've just earned myself another month of free drinks!"
Black Horse lunged to stop him — far too late.
Marine Headquarters – Fleet Admiral's Office
Sengoku sat behind his desk, massaging his temples.
Across from him, Garp lounged on the sofa, leg crossed, cackling loudly.
"Sengoku, maybe tell the Five Elders to send someone else next time.
He won't be fit for duty for at least half a month."
Beside him, Black Horse sat rigid, face swaddled in bandages. Scratches ran down his neck and hands like tally marks of shame.
"Explain," Sengoku said flatly.
Black Horse lowered his head.
"...Got scratched. By a cat."
Sengoku blinked.
"You didn't dodge?"
"Couldn't. Armament Haki didn't work. Against a cat."
He sounded like he wanted to crawl into the floor and never come out.
Even Sengoku was speechless.
If he hadn't known Black Horse to be upright and disciplined, he'd have assumed the man was drunk or deranged.
Perhaps he should send him back to Zeffar for retraining…
"I'm fine," Black Horse said stiffly. "I can continue the mission."
Sengoku hesitated, then nodded.
"Fine. But be careful. And avoid the cat."
Garp chuckled from the sofa.
"Should've let me land a few punches, too."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" Sengoku's roar shook the walls.
Nightfall – The Universal Tavern
Upon hearing news that Ace was temporarily safe, Rayleigh didn't leave. He stayed, drinking through dinner, relaxed for once.
After the meal, he and Ron went outside to "fertilize" the old tree beside the tavern — the less said, the better.
When they finished, Rayleigh looked sideways.
"Kid, where's your Diao Chan?"
Ron, swaying a bit from the wine, grinned.
"On my waist."
Rayleigh froze mid-blink.
"…"
They returned inside, chatting idly. Rayleigh was just about to leave when the tavern door creaked open.
A man strode in — tall, clad in a long black robe, an iron mask covering his face.
Behind the mask, his eyes gleamed with a strange, glassy fervor — the look of a man who'd found holy purpose in madness.
The air shifted.
A chill rolled through the room, heavy and suffocating.
Rayleigh's instincts kicked in. He turned, body tense, posture lowering into a guard stance. For a heartbeat, he felt a flash of memory — the suffocating pressure of Rocks D. Xebec.
Ron, however, only smiled.
"The last simp finally arrives," he murmured. Then aloud, "Welcome. Take a seat, Mr. You Tanzhi… or should I say, Zhuang Juxian?"
The newcomer's voice was oddly gentle.
"You Tanzhi will do. A'Zi is used to calling me that."
He sat at the bar, metal mask glinting faintly under the chandelier.
"Bring me your finest. Tonight, I drink to joy."
Ron fetched a bottle and slid it over.
"A local favorite — Dong Wine."
You Tanzhi uncorked it, drank deep, and sighed with genuine pleasure.
"Pure, rich, untainted. Excellent!"
The flavor lingered — smooth and aged, a harmony of mellow spirit and fragrant depth.
He savored it like a man tasting peace for the first time.
"You seem… happy," Ron said, brow arched. "What's the occasion?"
Rayleigh, still watchful, said nothing but listened closely.
There was a dangerous calm in the man's aura — the kind that only came before something tragic.
You Tanzhi smiled beneath the mask.
"The girl I love… she's blind."
"But I've finally found a way to make her see again."
Rayleigh blinked.
"A treatment?"
"No."
"I'll dig out my own eyes," You Tanzhi said fervently, "and let the divine physician transplant them into hers. It's my will — my joy! For her, I'd give anything!"
The madness in his tone thickened, each word trembling with obsession.
He gripped his cup with shaking fingers, laughter bubbling beneath his breath.
Rayleigh stared, aghast.
He'd seen fools for love before… but never one who'd blind himself for it.
You Tanzhi lifted the bottle again, pouring the wine down his throat as if it could drown his reason.
Ron's voice cut through the air, calm as ever.
"You don't need to gouge out your eyes," he said lightly.
"I can cure A'Zi without them."
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