In the dead quiet of his rented room, Bardock sat cross-legged on the floor. His mind was replaying the clash between Hawkeye and Shanks. Since that day, he had lost count of how many times he had reviewed the memory. Every clash, every movement played out in his head like a high-definition movie, fresh and vivid.
Excluding that final, sky-shattering 'Divine Departure,' their duel could essentially be broken down into three phases.
Phase one was a pure test of swordsmanship. Their styles were polar opposites—one was heavy and overwhelmingly oppressive, while the other was blindingly fast and struck from impossible angles. They were perfectly deadlocked.
Phase two was when raw physical stats were brought into the mix. Their blade work became exponentially faster and more violent, yet they remained evenly matched.
Phase three was all-out war. Techniques, physical limits, Haki, massive flying slashes—they threw everything they had at each other, and still, neither yielded an inch.
Shanks had only resorted to 'Divine Departure' at the end because dragging the fight out any longer was pointless; it would have devolved into a pure war of attrition. Mihawk clearly felt the same way, choosing to sheathe his blade the moment he deflected that final strike.
Out of the entire duel, Bardock had the firmest grasp on phase one. He had missed a lot of the details in phase two—it was just too fast for his brain to fully process. As for phase three? He barely saw a damn thing. With all the dust, shockwaves, and howling wind, he was basically just watching the fireworks.
He had physically seen Shanks execute 'Divine Departure,' but he couldn't comprehend the mechanics behind it. Still, for where Bardock was right now, studying their phase one swordsmanship was the most valuable takeaway. Imitating the masters was the first step to becoming one.
'Fast, precise, and unyielding,' he thought, a grin spreading across his face. 'From now on, I'll train my right hand in Hawkeye's style and my left in Shanks's. That's going to be insane.'
'Just mentally putting myself in their shoes and analyzing why they chose to parry or strike in a specific way is already leveling up my battle IQ.'
'Eventually, it would be perfect if I could steal some club techniques from Professor Kaido. I'll fuse all three styles into my own martial art—the Ruyi Staff Style! I mean, what kind of Monkey King doesn't know how to swing a staff?'
'Alright, enough daydreaming. If I keep hyping myself up, I'll never actually get to work. Time to move!'
Bardock jumped up and immediately launched into his workout. On top of his brutal physical conditioning, he officially added swordsmanship drills to his routine. He painstakingly deconstructed the movements he had memorized from Shanks and Mihawk. At their core, they were just foundational sword techniques, but because they were executed by absolute masters, every subtle shift in footwork and wrist angle required deep, obsessive analysis.
Late into the night, the local tavern was still roaring with activity.
Bardock wasn't here to drink. He was hunting for a target. If he didn't secure some cash tonight, he was going to starve by the day after tomorrow!
His mark was a small-timer named "Iron Hook" Hawke. The guy only had a measly five million Berry bounty on his head—literally lower than Higuma the Bear, the mountain bandit from the East Blue. Hawke was the combat captain of the One-Eyed Pirates, known around these parts for his sheer brutality.
In truth, Bardock could have easily hunted a pirate with a much higher bounty. But the big shots always moved with a massive entourage of lackeys, and fighting them would cause a massive scene. Even a scrub like Hawke currently had two crewmates flanking him.
Sabaody was infamous for its overwhelming population of pirates, Marines, and bounty hunters. If he made too much noise, it would draw a crowd, and his low-profile days would be over.
It wasn't the right time to make a name for himself. Bardock had already planned to use a fake identity when claiming the bounty later.
He hadn't even thrown a punch yet, and he was already mentally cashing the check. That was the beauty of noob-stomping—absolutely zero pressure.
"Ahhh, that hits the spot! Come on, boys, keep up! We're hitting the entertainment district for round two!" Hawke slurred, leading his men out of the tavern's swinging doors.
"Yeahhh!" the two lackeys cheered, eagerly stumbling after him. Booze and women—wasn't that the whole point of setting sail?
Tailing the trio from the shadows, Bardock constantly scanned his surroundings. Once he confirmed there were no rival bounty hunters lurking about, he stopped hesitating.
He pulled on his blue hat, a face mask, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Don't ask why he was wearing sunglasses in the dead of night—his Fiery Golden Eyes gave him perfect night vision anyway. Pulling a solid metal baseball bat from his coat, he silently closed the distance.
The sea was filled with brainless idiots, and these three were prime examples. They were stumbling drunk with absolutely zero situational awareness. Bardock was literally inches behind them, and they hadn't noticed a thing. It was a miracle they had survived the Grand Line this long.
Thwack. Thwack.
One swing to the left, one swing to the right. He slammed the metal bat directly into the backs of the lackeys' heads in one fluid motion. They instantly crumpled to the ground like sacks of flour.
To his credit, Hawke actually displayed the reflexes of a combat captain. Instead of foolishly turning around to see what happened, he immediately threw himself forward, attempting a dive roll to evade any follow-up attacks.
But was Bardock really going to let him pull that off?
Obviously not. Hawke was only halfway to the ground when a crushing pain exploded against the back of his skull. His vision spun violently before fading to black.
"Too easy," Bardock muttered, dusting off his hands. He dragged them into an alley, tied all three of them up with pre-cut lengths of rope, and shoved their bodies into three large resin bubbles, leaving only their heads sticking out so they wouldn't suffocate.
"Let's go!" Bardock grabbed the ropes like a leash and walked down the street, dragging the three floating bubbles behind him as he headed straight for the Marine Base.
Fortunately, it was extremely late; otherwise, this bizarre parade would have turned a lot of heads. As he walked, Bardock seamlessly shifted from his human form into his Monkey King Beast Form. Then, using Size Manipulation, he shrank his body down until he was exactly ninety centimeters tall.
It was pure anime logic—despite his massive shift in height and body shape, his hat, sunglasses, mask, and clothes somehow shrunk perfectly to fit his new form.
Bardock remembered reading webnovels in his past life where transmigrators would use Roronoa Zoro's name while committing crimes to make him famous early. Well, Bardock was going to do the same for Chopper. Giving the little guy a fifty-Berry bounty on his first poster? The Marines were severely underestimating his boy 'Furbeard' Chopper!
The Marine Base stationed at Grove 66 had one extremely convenient feature: they processed bounties twenty-four hours a day. However, that only applied to bounties under fifty million Berries. Anything higher required a direct signature from the Base Commander, and the Commander certainly wasn't going to pull an all-nighter just to sign paperwork.
Bardock walked out with a cool five million Berries in cash. Only "Iron Hook" Hawke actually had a bounty. Handing over the two lackeys just earned him a "keep up the good work" from the officer on duty.
That didn't matter, though. When asked for his identity, Bardock officially registered himself as "Tony Tony Chopper," a bounty hunter completely covered in fur, going by the terrifying alias "Furbeard."
In the One Piece world, face blindness was practically a global epidemic. People recognized each other entirely through distinct traits. A specific hat, being super short, covered in fur, and using the name Chopper? That was more than enough. Hell, in the original manga after the time skip, a literal raccoon had successfully impersonated the real Chopper!
Fast forward to another late night. Bardock stepped out of the Marine Base with a fresh stack of bounty money and casually strolled away into the darkness.
"There goes that 'Blackjack' Chopper again," a Marine guard muttered from the gate. "He always comes in the dead of night."
"Yeah, this is his fourth turn-in this month," his partner whispered back. "Started with a five million Berry target, and now he just dragged in a twelve million one. Every single time, he walks in completely unscathed. Not even a speck of dirt on his clothes."
"Of course he's unscathed, he never fights anyone head-on! Why do you think everyone's calling him 'Blackjack'?! I heard during interrogations, every single pirate he's brought in said the same thing: they were walking down the street, and before they even saw who hit them, they were knocked out cold from behind!"
"Still, the Captain says he has to be pretty strong to pull it off..."
Bardock couldn't hear the rest of their conversation, nor did he want to.
'I'm so sorry, Chopper,' he thought, fighting back a smirk. 'I completely forgot that the Marines actually interrogate the pirates they process. I explicitly told them my badass nickname was "Furbeard," and they still went and branded you with a scummy title like "Blackjack" Chopper.'
He vividly imagined a timeline a few years from now, where a massive horde of vengeful pirates and bounty hunters would charge at a completely innocent, cotton-candy-eating Chopper, screaming, "Die, Blackjack Chopper!"
Bardock's mouth twisted in immense, "heartfelt sorrow" as a series of wicked, stifled chuckles escaped his lips. "Hehehe..."