The island known as "Iron Port" earned its moniker following the arrival of Vice Admiral Iron-Jaw Murdock one year prior. Through his formidable physical prowess, he had successfully subdued every pirate who dared to approach its shores.
Rumors insisted that no pirate had ever escaped his grasp on the island, and thus, he was perpetually living up to his formidable title. Yet, an entirely unplanned incident was poised to occur.
His pristine white 'Justice' coat, draped around his broad shoulders, swung rhythmically from left to right as he strode with purpose.
"Let's move out, men."
"Yes, sir!" The marines stood at rigid attention, saluting the Vice Admiral after he had proclaimed an order that was absolute and meant to be obeyed without question. The marines promptly retrieved their various weapons, preparing to advance toward the location where the first squad had ventured.
"Hey, do you think something has happened?" One of the marines whispered to his partner.
"I believe so. I have not seen him this visibly angered before," the other marine replied in a hushed tone.
"Or do you think it's pirates?"
"I doubt it. What pirate in their right mind would enter Fortress Town, knowing full well they would not make it out alive?"
"That's true," the marine swallowed nervously, "I hope they're alright."
The soldiers trailed behind the Vice Admiral as they exited the marine base, which was situated in the town's central district.
The townsfolk immediately discerned the severe expression on Vice Admiral Murdock's face, and they instantly realized that something was amiss. Normally, it was exceedingly rare to witness Murdock exhibiting such palpable anger in the middle of the day; furthermore, the sight of the marines trailing behind him with their various firearms was a certain sign that something terrible had transpired—or was about to occur.
The streets of Fortress Town rapidly became a ghost town; the citizens, now engulfed in fear and trepidation, rushed into their various homes while hurriedly shutting down their stores and market stalls.
"By the way, I heard gunshots and screams cascading from the forest earlier today," a man spoke, nervously adjusting the apron around his waist.
"Do you believe something has happened to his soldiers?"
"I hope it is not another pirate attack."
"If it is a pirate attack, then rest assured, Vice Admiral Murdock will save us, as is his custom."
"I certainly hope so."
With that, the streets fell as silent as a graveyard; everyone had evacuated to their various homes and now watched anxiously from their windows as the town filled with marines scouting everywhere for any hint of pirates or other disturbances.
Murdock gritted his teeth as he led his soldiers toward the forest, the origin of the bizarre noises his men had come to investigate. "I must believe my men are safe and pray this is not some lousy pirate invasion," he muttered, clenching his fist so tightly that his own soldiers grew somewhat frightened.
Soon, the forest edge was visible to them, its tall trees and peculiar flora now coming into view. Murdock advanced without hesitation into the shadowy thicket. With a mere flick of his hand, he commanded his soldiers to fan out; they acknowledged the silent order with sharp nods and thumbs-up.
The Marines scattered like ants invading the territory of their prey, their rifles positioned at the ready and their swords unsheathed in anticipation of an ambush.
The sounds of birds frantically flapping their wings and their incessant chirping echoed throughout the forest, a disconcerting symphony that left the marine officers feeling creeped out and apprehensive; it was precisely like those films where you know you are walking straight into your own demise.
One of the marine soldiers advanced slowly, maintaining a state of high alert. He tilted his head left and right, meticulously scanning the area, while using his left hand to push aside the enormous leaves obstructing his path. His progress halted abruptly when he made contact with something… something that felt distinctly like a human form.
Standing completely still, he was seized by the paralyzing sensation that a demon lurking within the forest had grabbed his leg. Reacting on pure instinct, he fired his gun into the air and let out a piercing scream. He was, of course, utterly startled, and in such a harrowing situation, he could not possibly maintain his composure.
"What was that?" Vice Admiral Murdock heard the gunshot and immediately rushed toward the direction where a few of his soldiers had been scouting. He arrived only to discover his men lying unconscious and bound in the depths of the thick, isolated forest.
Different types of pests and insects were busily enjoying a family feast atop the bodies of the unconscious marine soldiers.
"Wha–?" One of the soldiers gagged, expelling a substantial amount of stomach substance from his mouth the moment he glared at his fallen companions.
"Hey, what happened? Talk to me," Vice Admiral Murdock commanded, crouching down and slapping his companion's cheek repeatedly until the man jolted back to life, gasping desperately for air.
Murdock had always been a marine who believed fervently in justice. This conviction had been present since his days as a Commodore, and it was this very principle—demonstrated flawlessly even when dealing with bandits and pirates—that had secured his promotion. He was a man of his word, who consistently viewed himself and his soldiers as equals, offering them the unwavering support and camaraderie they needed.
The marine soldier jolted back to consciousness, his chest heaving violently as if he had just been revived from his deathbed. His vision remained blurry until Murdock used his own cloth to gently wipe the grime from his face.
"Are you alright?" Murdock muttered, his tone low and saturated with concern.
The marine, glancing past the Vice Admiral at his fellow soldiers standing guard, suddenly felt a wave of reassurance and safety.
"Tell me what happened to you guys," Murdock demanded, his voice deceptively calm yet brimming with underlying rage.
The marine cleared his raw throat. "We were ambushed while scouting the forest… we had heard screams and gunshots."
"You were ambushed? By whom?" Murdock interrogated, veins bulging prominently on his forehead as the truth dawned on him. Some shitheads dare to defy me and ambush my men?
The marine swallowed hard. "By three individuals. One with white hair, another a swordsman, and the third, a sniper," he explained shakily. "They aren't just random people… They are the Blue-Eyed Pirates."
"The Blue-Eyed Pirates?!" Murdock and the surrounding marines exclaimed in unified shock, cold sweat sliding down their faces.
Enraged, Murdock ordered one of his soldiers to bring him the updated bounty posters for the crew. His eyes scanned the pages until they landed on the duo: a white-haired man and a black-haired swordsman.
'I feel like I've seen them before, but where… exactly?' He stared intently at the wanted poster, lost in thought, until a sudden, vivid realization struck him.
"The public bathhouse!" He exclaimed, precisely gritting his teeth in a furious soliloquy. "Those scum dared to bathe with me?"
Consumed by frustration, he flared up in uncontainable anger, crushing the wanted poster within his massive hands. "Let's move out. It's time for war!"
….
Immersed in their revelry, the Blue Eyed pirates celebrated wildly within the club. They drank and feasted while dancing alongside women clad only in their bras and panties.
The trio remained utterly oblivious to the profound trouble they had courted, meanwhile enjoying a carefree time in a town ruled by a Vice Admiral—who was far from a mere marine officer.
"Cheers!"
They sipped their liquor, vibing to the deafening music the DJ blasted. The structure was built sturdily and designed with a plethora of dazzling lights. Yet, no one present had discovered their identities as pirates; otherwise, the crowd would have engaged them in battle to collect their bounties or alerted the marine base situated in the town's center.
But this was no ordinary venue; it was an underground club. A club governed by thugs in suits, their bodies a canvas of intricate tattoos.
"Hey, Boss, we caught him while he was attempting to flee," one of the men snorted.
"Eh? I can't hear a fuckin' word you're saying! Come again!" the boss yelled, seated on his expensive couch with two girls dancing around him.
"We've caught the shithead who beat the hell out of our guys!"
"Hoh," grunted the petty boss, Kinto, who had been granted his position by the main boss. He stood up from his couch, dropping his Dom Pérignon onto the table. "So you're the one who beat the shit out of a relative of our Big Boss, huh? Well, we need to settle this our way!" He declared.
"The Big Boss?" The culprit muttered, still struggling to maintain his confidence as Gojo watched them from afar.
'Something decidedly fishy is going on here,' Gojo mused to himself.
"I don't know; might be a very distant relative," Kinto said with a dismissive smirk. "I hear he's a relative of a relative of a relative of a relative." Kinto tilted his head toward Kankuro, the beaten victim. "Right, Kankuro-san?"
"Y-Yes. I'm a relative of a relative of a relative," Kankuro muttered.
Kinto executed a sudden bicycle kick, sending Kankuro flying several meters backward. "You're missing one relative, you fool!" He scratched the back of his head in feigned exasperation. "He's a relative of a relative of a relative of a relative of a relative of a relative of my Big Boss."
"Boss, that's one relative too many," corrected one of Kinto's men, who was restraining the culprit.
"Never mind that," Kinto said, peeking into his nose with his pinky finger. "What I am trying to say is that all human beings are relatives, born from the same maternal ocean."
Ryuken sweatdropped. "Gojo, who are these weird people?"
"Probably one of the Big Boss's relatives of a relative of a re— " Ryuken smacked Gojo on the head before he could finish his sentence.
"Let's not get involved with whatever these thugs or bandits are doing. Let's get the hell out of here before we get busted by the marines," Jake said, sipping his champagne.
They exited the club, only to find the streets—which had previously buzzed with civilians—transformed into a ghost town.
"Am I drunk, or are these streets always this empty?" Gojo inquired, curious.
"Never mind that. It's going to be your last time under the sunlight."
An unfamiliar voice rang out, catching the trio completely off guard.
"What the hell are the marines doing here?!"
"Isn't that the man from the public bath?" Ryuken sweatdropped.
"Who would've thought he's a Vice Admiral," Gojo remarked, seeming calm despite being surrounded.
"I think they want a war!" Ryuken unsheathed his sword with a defiant smirk, while Gojo cracked his fists and neck.
"Make this interesting for me, Vice Admiral-san!"