"Fifty million? What's that? Can you eat it?"
The starving pirate leading the charge didn't even break stride. Hunger rang so loud in his ears it filtered out any sense of threat.
Atop the patched-together remains of his flagship, Krieg let out a cold snort.
"Spade Pirates, Flame Boy, whatever! They're all trash next to my fleet. Ignore the brat who doesn't know his place, boys! Loot! Whoever gets the meat keeps it!"
The atmosphere turned awkward, and Ace's confident smile froze.
He'd prepped a grand, heroic entrance, only for the audience to throw rotten tomatoes instead of applauding.
The corner of his mouth twitched, scratching his head in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.
"These guys... they really have zero respect, huh?"
By the window, the black-coated youth set down his glass.
Zaraki's massive coat draped over the chair like a dark curtain, the high collar obscuring his jaw.
From a distance, you only saw messy black hair, a lazy posture, and eyes too calm for a besieged diner.
Ace's gaze drifted toward him.
Though he couldn't make out the guy's face, a prickling sensation crawled over his skin the moment their eyes nearly met.
Danger.
Just like that, the feeling vanished.
Ace narrowed his eyes.
Before he could dwell on it, the starving pirates surged forward like a tide.
The main entrance shook under the impact, wooden planks rattling under the strain as panicked screams erupted across the restaurant.
"Damn it, they're really charging in!" Sanji clicked his tongue, cigarette clenched between his teeth, shifting his weight to draw a leg back.
Behind the counter, Zeff watched with a dark expression, one hand on his apron knot and the other resting near his peg leg.
Ace exhaled a slow breath, the embarrassment melting into something hotter.
"Alright then." A burst of sparks flickered at his fingertips. "If they won't listen to words, I'll teach them with fire."
Masked Deuce sighed. "Captain, these idiots are half-dead. They aren't charging because they're brave, they're charging because they can't think."
"So what?" Ace grinned, heat radiating from his skin. "Idiots still get burned."
Outside, Krieg raised his war spear and roared, his voice thick with savage frustration. "Break the door! Kill the cooks! Take everything edible!" Hoarse howls answered him.
At the corner table, Zaraki watched the spectacle with a faint smile.
The East Blue's so-called overlord had become a wounded dog, and Ace was worse.
Too arrogant. ....too convinced that turning into fire made him untouchable.
Zaraki could almost hear the stupidity crackling in those flames.
"Hey, you fire brat," Zeff's voice cut through the chaos without rising. "If you plan to keep standing there showing off, get out and settle this before they smash my floor."
Sanji bristled. "You old geezer! Why are you talking like I'm not here?!"
Ace laughed, broad and carefree. "Fine by me. Deuce, keep the others back."
He stepped toward the window, the air warping around him from the rising heat. Before jumping, his eyes flicked back to the corner table.
The black-coated youth hadn't moved.
He just sat there, elbow resting lazily on the tabletop, acting like none of this concerned him. That strange feeling of hidden danger returned for a split second, causing Ace's grin to widen.
'Interesting.'
The main entrance gave another violent shudder, hinges screaming under the pressure.
Several pirates had already started climbing through the side windows like feral animals.
One gaunt, sunken-eyed man stumbled halfway in, reaching desperately for a plate of leftover food. Sanji's kick buried itself in his jaw before his fingers even brushed the ceramic.
The man flew back outside in a spray of spit and broken teeth.
"Touch the food and die, trash!"
The restaurant descended into chaos.
Farther back in the crowd, several pirates pointed at the broken hulls and screamed for more rope, more planks, more time.
Their fleet was still sinking and their men were still starving, yet here they were, trying to rob a floating restaurant with their last scraps of strength. It was pathetic.
Zaraki let out a faint sigh.
The sound wasn't loud, but somehow Ace heard it clearly through the shouting.
Turning his head, he saw the youth had already risen from his chair.
He didn't rush.
He just reached out, grabbed the sword leaning beside the table, and adjusted the heavy coat on his shoulders.
There was no grand aura or flashy pressure, yet the moment he stood, the noisy room seemed to quiet down around him.
Ace's smile faded a fraction—not out of fear, but instinct.
The kind warning him something interesting was about to happen.
Zaraki didn't look at him, nor did he spare a glance for Sanji or Zeff.
He just tilted his head toward the side door leading to the unloading platform and started walking.
To anyone else, it looked like he was taking the smartest route out before the fighting got worse, but Ace kept staring at his back.
With every step, the plain blade at the youth's side shifted against the dark coat.
No wasted movement, no hesitation, no noise. By the time Zaraki reached the door, Ace's fingers had curled unconsciously.
'What was that feeling? It was like watching a sleeping beast stroll toward a battlefield!'
The black wooden door swung open to the salty bite of the sea breeze and the heavy stench of burnt wood as Zaraki stepped onto the slippery deck extension behind the Baratie.
Waves crashed against the restaurant's pontoons, sending up white foam that soaked his cuffs.
The massive black coat hanging from his shoulders swayed heavily in the wind, making him look broader and more imposing than he really was while hiding almost everything beneath its dark fabric.
Only the plain sword in his hand showed clearly, its tip tapping once against the damp planks with a dull, heavy knock.
Upstairs by the shattered window, Ace narrowed his eyes.
'The guy from the corner had finally moved, but between the coat and the backlight, his face remained hidden.'
Ace only knew one thing: this man was dangerous.
"H-help..." A faint, ragged voice rose from the water near the wreckage.
Right by Zaraki's boots, a pale hand clawed desperately at a broken plank before Don Krieg's scorched face emerged, smeared with blood, burns, and salt.
The overlord of the East Blue looked like a drowned dog dragged back from hell.
"It's you..." Krieg's pupils shrank to pinpoints as he recognized the silhouette above him. "You're the bastard who fired that shot..." His survival instinct screamed at him to beg, but his pride screamed louder.
"Die! For my grand ambitions!"
Krieg snapped his mouth open to reveal a hidden blowgun tucked under his tongue, while his right hand slid behind his back for his last explosive pistol.
At less than two meters apart, an ordinary fighter would never react in time.
Krieg's killing intent leaked from his tensed muscles a fraction of a second before he moved, but to Zaraki, that was more than enough.
He was too slow, too weak, and .... too boring.
Without even fully lifting his eyelids, Zaraki slammed his foot against the deck, bursting the planks beneath him as his figure vanished.
Up on the second floor, Zeff's eyes widened.
Even with his battle-hardened vision, all he caught was a blurred distortion tearing across the space between one heartbeat and the next.
A dull, brutal bang echoed over the sea as Zaraki reappeared behind Krieg.
The plain blade in his hand had never been used to cut; he'd simply reversed his grip and smashed the pommel into the back of Krieg's skull.
Krieg's body froze, the poison dart stuck uselessly in his throat and his trigger finger losing all strength, before the so-called Pirate Admiral rolled his eyes back and dropped like a sack of rotting meat.
He splashed backward into the water with a rapidly swelling knot on the back of his head.
The noise around the Baratie thinned into dead silence, broken only by the waves slapping against Krieg's floating body.
"What a trash..." Zaraki flicked seawater from his hilt, his voice flat with disappointment.
"That doesn't even count as a warm-up." Looking up, his eyes passed through the broken window and locked onto Ace.
"Well?" His mouth curved into a dangerous grin. "You look sturdier than that drowning dog. Maybe you'll last long enough to keep me interested."
Several Spade Pirates felt their scalps go numb at the provocation.
Ace froze for half a second before his shoulders began to shake—not from fear, but from excitement.
"Hah..." He pressed down the brim of his orange hat, a grin spreading across his face as flames crackled faintly at his fingertips.
"So that's how it is. No wonder the guy in the corner felt off." Stepping onto the broken window frame, he looked down at Zaraki with rising battle intent.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but I like this a lot better."
Masked Deuce's face dropped. "Captain! Don't be stupid! We're in the middle of the ocean!"
"So what?" Ace jerked his head up, his body bursting into orange-red flames.
He vaulted through the shattered window in a blazing arc, landing atop the half-sunken remains of the Dreadnaught Sabre.
The wreck hissed and steamed under his heat, damp planks drying instantly as their edges curled and blackened, scattering sparks over the waves.
Surviving pirates panicked and threw themselves overboard, scrambling to escape the collision of two monsters.
Zaraki watched the young pirate wreathed in fire and slowly rolled his shoulders beneath his heavy coat.
'So this was the Mera Mera no Mi.'
'The heat alone was enough to distort the air and boil the nearby sea into white mist.'
'Good. This was finally worth looking at.'
Ace stood high above on the wreckage, flames coiling around him like a second skin.
"Listen carefully," he called down, his confidence blazing brighter than the fire. "I don't care what kind of freak strength you have. I'm fire, Swords, bullets, fists—none of it can touch me." He raised one arm, half of it dissolving into pure flame to prove his point.
"I've been waiting a long time to fight a monster like you. But if you think that sword can cut fire, you're dreaming."
"Dreaming?" Zaraki echoed, lowering his center of gravity.
Beneath the great black coat, the pressure in his body began to rise—not with noise or spectacle, but with the suffocating density of something violent being held back by force.
"Common sense," he said softly, "is meant to be broken."
Ace's smile didn't vanish, but it tightened as his instincts screamed that the man below truly meant to cut him down.
Still, arrogance burned hotter than caution.
Ace drew his right arm back, the flames deepening from bright orange to a violent red as he compressed the heat into a single point.
The seawater hissed and boiled harder, filling the air with thick white vapor.
"Then come test it!" Ace roared, fire bursting wildly around him. "Let's see whether your sword is stronger, or my flames are hotter!"
The air between them snapped tight.
On one side stood a youth who believed fire made him untouchable, on the other stood a monster who wanted to cut through that belief.
And then, the clash began.
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