Chapter 77: The World Trembles (and Simps)
The Grand Line is a living, breathing beast, but information? Information is the poisoned blood that pumps through its veins, and today, that blood was carrying a lethal dose of chaos.
News Coos—those tireless, feathered harbingers of financial ruin and world-altering drama—struggled against the atmospheric pressure of the New World and the searing heat of the Paradise desert. They carried a payload that was too absurd to be true, yet printed in black and white: two new, devastating threats. One was cute, and one was cruelty incarnate. The world, in its infinite foolishness, believed they were dealing with a pair of simultaneous disasters. Only a handful of people knew the impossible truth: the cute disaster and the cruel disaster were the very same man.
The secret was airtight. And the world, completely fooled, began to tremble.
Crocodile's POV — Rainbase, Alabasta
The air inside the VIP office of the Rain Dinners casino was a controlled environment, meticulously cooled to mimic the civilized air of the North Blue, a purposeful rejection of the scorching hellscape of the Alabastan desert outside. But today, the control had failed. The air felt brittle, arid, and charged with a dangerous static. It smelled like sulfur and the slow, grinding erosion of a four-year plan.
Sir Crocodile sat in his high-backed leather chair, a silent, statuesque figure in the room's heavy shadows. He wasn't simply angry; anger was a hot, fleeting emotion for lesser men. This was a cold, reptilian rage—the deep, calcified fury of a predator whose perfectly laid snare had been disturbed by something small and yet devastatingly effective.
On the polished mahogany desk before him lay a meticulous spread of documents, arranged with the precision of a court-martial.
Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine: Status—Missing in Action. Last reported location: Whiskey Peak. Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek: Status—Missing in Action. Last reported location: Little Garden. Miss All Sunday (Nico Robin): Status—Silence. Absolute, unforgivable silence.
Crocodile took a slow, deliberate drag from his Cuban cigar, the ember glowing an angry red in the dimness. The smoke curled around his face like a venomous snake, obscuring the scar that traced its path across his nose. "She stopped calling," he rasped, his voice a low grind of gravel and glass.
Miss All Sunday. The woman whose intellect he respected perhaps more than any other living person. The woman who breathed information. She had never, not once in four years, missed a communication. And now, she had vanished, leaving only the stench of betrayal.
He reached out a hand, his golden hook glinting as it moved, and swept aside the report detailing the missing agents. His focus narrowed onto the pair of bounty posters.
The first was an absurdity.Straw hat Lucy, The Captain of Cutest Pirate Alive. 50,000,000 Berries. And right next to it, the rookie crew poster, featuring the small, cheerful face of the boy in question: Sunny. The Cutest Pirate Alive. 200,000,000 Berries.
"Audacity," Crocodile sneered, the word tasting like sand on his tongue. "A rookie crew, not even thirty days into the Grand Line, planting a flag on my island."
The fact that they had brazenly claimed Whiskey Peak, the very doorstep of his organization, was a slight that demanded a public, brutal execution. They were small-time, arrogant, and clearly unaware they had stepped into the jaws of a titan.
But it was the second poster that commanded his true, crystalline terror. He didn't just look at it; he studied it, his eyes boring into the void-blue silhouette.
Abyss Assassin. 2,600,000,000 Berries.
The God Killer.
"Two point six billion," he hissed, the number a painful reminder of his own stagnation. "He's been a myth. A ghost story the World Government uses to scare the Four Blues into line. And now... he's in Paradise."
The report detailed the Abyss Assassin's M.O.: a phantom who targeted only the most protected, the most high-value targets. He hunted Nobles, yes, but he also systematically wiped out organized criminal rings that exceeded a certain threshold of wealth or influence. He was a force of destructive purification, a walking natural disaster.
Crocodile stood up, the leather of his chair groaning under the sudden movement. He walked to the massive window overlooking the casino floor, watching the ignorant masses gamble away their lives.
The rookie. The assassin.
He ran the calculation over and over in his mind.
"It's not a coincidence," he muttered to his reflection in the glass. "Whiskey Peak falls to the rookie. Little Garden goes silent to the rookie. And simultaneously, the Abyss Assassin—who has no known crew, no known ship, and no known allegiance—suddenly moves from the West Blue and operates in the exact same theatre as the rookies."
He clenched his remaining hand. "Robin," he spat, tasting the betrayal. "She hasn't joined the rookie. She's done what she always does: she followed the power. She traded a Warlord for a monster who hunts gods for sport."
His logical conclusion was sharp and deadly: Nico Robin had convinced the Abyss Assassin that he, Sir Crocodile, was the next high-value target. She had vanished not because she was captured, but because she had upgraded her protection. The rookie crew? They were either a distraction, an easily disposable shield, or, worse, they were the Abyss Assassin's own, incredibly clever cover.
"I will not be played for a fool," Crocodile vowed, his voice low and dangerous. He slammed his golden hook onto the desk, pinning the Abyss Assassin's wanted poster to the wood with a violent, final thud.
"Mr. 1," Crocodile barked, the single word cutting through the charged atmosphere.
From the deepest shadow near the door, Daz Bones stepped forward, his steel form radiating impassivity. "Boss?"
"Recall everyone. All of them," Crocodile ordered, turning from the window. His eyes were shadowed pits of malice, but the calculation was clear. "The Officer Agents. The Millions. The Billions. Empty the Spiders Cafe. If the Straw Hats are coming to Alabasta, they are not coming for a vacation. They are coming for me."
He pointed his hook at the pinned poster. "If this phantom thinks he can use a pack of children as a decoy to get to my operation, he will learn that in the desert, I am the only God. I will bury them so deep the history books will forget their names before the month is out. Adjust the strategy. Prepare for a two-front war: the public threat of the rookie, and the shadow war against the Assassin. I want every agent ready. I want every move predicted."
The very air in the room felt like it had been dehydrated into hostile sand. Crocodile leaned back, a grim smirk twisting his lips. He was now battling a loud, flashy rookie with a cute bounty and a silent, terrifying shadow who could warp into any fortress. He would destroy them both. He had to. His legacy, his power, and his Utopia demanded it.
Boa Hancock's POV — Amazon Lily
The grand, opulent chambers of the Pirate Empress were usually a shrine to silence and self-worship. Tonight, they were a cauldron of unhinged, escalating desire.
Boa Hancock lay splayed across her massive, silk-covered bed, her hair a luxurious, dark waterfall cascading over the pillows. Her breathing was ragged, her skin flushed a deep, magnificent crimson. She looked like a goddess in the throes of a sublime, agonizing fever.
In her hands, she clutched two posters, side-by-side, holding them up to the light of the ornate lamps that lit her room.
The first was the rookie. Straw Hat Sunny. The Cutest Pirate Alive.
"So adorable," she sighed, her eyes welling up with tears of appreciation. "He is an angel. He is a work of art. The pout... the cheeks... he is a perfect doll! I want to squeeze him until he pops!"
She kissed the 'Cute' poster tenderly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. But she quickly averted her eyes, seeking the true source of her current delirium.
The second poster. The one printed on heavy, ominous stock, radiating darkness even in the lamplight.
Abyss Assassin. 2,600,000,000 Berries.
The God Killer.
"Oh, my..." she moaned, rolling onto her back and holding the poster high. "Abyss Assassin... you cruel, magnificent, delicious beast."
She reread the confidential Marine briefing for the hundredth time. It was a document detailing the Abyss Assassin's specialty: 'Knocking.'
Subject utilizes a technique identified as 'Knocking' to induce paralysis and systemic organ failure. Victims—specifically those of Noble descent—were found in states of extreme, prolonged agony, their nervous systems rewired to transmit constant pain signals. The psychological damage inflicted upon the targets is often judged to be far greater than the physical.
To a sane person, this was a horror story. To Boa Hancock, a former slave who bore the indelible mark of the Celestial Dragons on her back, it was the greatest love letter ever written. It was violence rendered as high art. It was the absolute, final, and most glorious revenge.
"Seven of them," she whispered, her voice trembling with an exquisite combination of pleasure and righteous fervor. "You didn't just kill them... you made them suffer. You made them know fear. You broke them like the insects they are."
She was shivering, a deep, full-body tremor. The heat pooling in her belly was threatening to consume her.
Her imagination, usually a sterile fortress of disdain, had been completely overrun.
The Fantasy: She was in the Holy Land of Mary Geoise. The world was burning. Beside her, the Abyss Assassin—a towering, faceless silhouette of void-blue Haki—stood triumphant. He held a Celestial Dragon in a grip that was slowly, deliciously paralyzing the noble. "For you, my Empress," the Assassin purred, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble that promised eternal, shared cruelty.
"Make him scream, my love," Hancock replied, leaning against his chest, her eyes half-lidded. "And then... we shall rule this shattered world together." She kicked her legs into the air, a high, desperate KYAAAAA echoing in the room. "A wedding! We must have a wedding! It will be a grand, magnificent ceremony built on the rubble of the Red Line! We will have twenty children—no, thirty! All strong, all cruel to the wicked! All beautiful and terrifying!"
Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She needed to stabilize. The Abyss Assassin was her ultimate ideal, the personification of her justified vengeance. But the cute one... the cute one was her reward.
She sat up abruptly, her dark hair wild, and reached for the plushie sitting on her nightstand. It was the custom-made doll of the rookie, Sunny. Big eyes, blue cloak, messy hair.
"My little angel," she breathed, aggressively patting the plushie's head. Pat. Pat. Pat. "You are so innocent, Sunny. You are the light to his darkness. The balance is intoxicating! I love the light! I worship the darkness! I must have both!"
She held the 'Cute' poster in one hand and the 'Cruel' poster in the other. Two separate men. One her reward, one her destiny. It was perfect.
She looked around her lavish room. The posters weren't enough. The plushie wasn't enough. The fantasy wasn't enough.
"Sandersonia! Marigold!" she shrieked, the command resonating with the full power of the Pirate Empress.
Her sisters burst into the room, their weapons drawn, tails poised. "Sister! Are we under attack?! Is it the Marines?!"
"Get the finest black silk! The velvet! The silver thread!" Hancock commanded, pointing imperiously at a pile of fabric. "We are making a body pillow! Life-size! Immediately!"
"A... body pillow?" Marigold asked, lowering her bow, confusion etched on her face.
"Yes! For the Abyss Assassin!" Hancock snapped, already measuring the velvet with her fingers. "It must be six-foot-seven! It must be made of void-blue velvet! I want the aura stitched in silver thread! I want to feel the Killing Intent when I sleep! Hurry! If I do not snuggle my cruel, beloved Phantom tonight, I shall die of longing!"
The sisters sighed, but obeyed. The Empress must have what she desires. For the next two hours, the grand chambers of the Kuja Palace became an intense, highly-focused garment factory, creating a massive, faceless silhouette of comforting, world-ending cruelty.
Whitebeard's POV — The Moby Dick
The Moby Dick sailed with majestic arrogance through the New World, the sea churning slightly beneath its massive hull. The deck was a scene of controlled chaos, but the usual boisterous energy was temporarily replaced by focused discussion.
Whitebeard, attached to his medical equipment but far from infirm, sat in his usual spot, the mast's shadow covering his great bulk. He held a barrel of sake in one hand and, like Crocodile, two distinct wanted posters in the other.
"Gurararara!" Whitebeard laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Look at this, Marco! A rookie crew, not even thirty days into the Grand Line, planting a flag on Paradise ! The insolence! I like it!"
Marco the Phoenix, looking exhausted by the mere effort of standing, leaned against the rail. "It's bold, yoi. But that's the rookie crew. They'll either be eaten by the sea or by a Warlord. It's this one that has my attention." He pointed a tired finger at the black poster.
Abyss Assassin. 2,600,000,000 Berries.
"He's been a ghost story in the Four Blues for years," Marco continued, his expression serious. "A phantom we couldn't confirm. Now he's confirmed in Paradise, and he's operating in the same area as this rookie. It's a logistical nightmare for the World Government."
"He killed Celestial Dragons," Thatch whistled, tossing a pineapple into the air before slicing it perfectly with a knife. "Seven of them. In the manner described? That's not piracy, Pops. That's a declaration of war against the concept of the World Government. He's a true threat."
Whitebeard's eyes narrowed slightly, a thoughtful gleam of respect shining through the liquor haze. "He's not a crew. He's a singularity. Someone that powerful, operating alone, with no interest in territory or gold... he's fighting his own war. And he's using the chaos of the rookie wave to mask his moves."
Whitebeard's focus was on the tactical shift in the world's balance. A new pirate king contender and a silent god killer. Two separate problems.
Then, the calm shattered. A blinding stream of flame shot high into the sky from the far side of the deck, followed by a roar that shook the main mast.
"LUCY!!!!"
Portgas D. Ace, standing on the figurehead, holding a crumpled copy of the rookie's bounty poster in a fist engulfed in flames, looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. He was on his usual hunt for Teach, but this news had hijacked his entire nervous system.
"Ace, calm down, yoi," Marco sighed, used to his brother's volcanic affection. "You're going to singe the sails."
"CALM DOWN?!" Ace roared, spinning around, tears of pure brotherly rage streaming down his face, instantly evaporating from the heat. "LOOK AT THIS, MARCO! My sweet, innocent little sister! She has a bounty! Fifty million berries! That's wonderful! Except for the fine print! READ IT!"
He shoved the rookie crew's poster into Marco's face. Marco squinted at the text next to Lucy's name: "'Captain of the Cutest Pirate Alive'..."
"BECAUSE OF A MAN!" Ace screamed at the ocean. "She's getting famous because she's associating with some pretty-boy! Who is this Sunny?! Why is he 'Cute'?! Is he touching her?! I bet he's touching her! Is he making her do dangerous things?!"
Ace began to pace, burning circles into the deck. His entire focus was fixed on the familial connection—his little sister, the light of his life, getting involved with a rookie heartthrob. The world-breaking Abyss Assassin, two billion berries strong and a confirmed God Killer, didn't even register as a connected threat. Ace saw two completely separate newspapers: one about the global terror, and one about his sister's questionable choice of friends.
"She's too young for boys with names like Cute Sunny!" Ace wailed, beating his fist against his flaming thigh. "I have to find Teach, but after that? I'm finding this Sunny! I'm going to have a talk with him! A talk involving fire and pain! If he breaks her heart, I will burn the ocean until there's no water left for him to sail on! I won't let some pretty-faced rogue compromise my family!"
Whitebeard watched his son, a slow, fond smile spreading across his face. "Gurararara. Let the girl live her life, Ace. She's strong." He took a massive swig of sake. The young fool is more worried about a heartthrob than a world-ending phantom. That, my sons, is the focus of family.
Kaido's POV — Onigashima
The skull dome of Onigashima echoed with the sounds of destruction. Massive stone pillars lay in rubble from a recent burst of destructive rage. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of strong liquor.
"Wororororo!"
Kaido, the Strongest Creature in the World, was incredibly drunk. He smashed his kanabo into the floor, shattering more stone and sending subordinates scurrying.
"A flag in Paradise?!" He took a massive swig from his enormous gourd, sake spilling down his dragon-scaled chest. "Audacious! Arrogant! I love it! A rookie claiming territory before he even hits the New World? That's the spirit!"
He looked at the two wanted posters tacked messily to his throne.
The first was the rookie. The Cutest Pirate Alive. "Looks like a weakling," Kaido grumbled. "But his spirit is strong. He'll need a good death."
His attention immediately drifted to the other poster. The one that excited his deep, suicidal despair.
Abyss Assassin. 2,600,000,000 Berries.
"And this one... slaying dragons? Celestial Dragons?" He burped, a cloud of flame escaping his lips. "Hah! Finally! Someone with the guts to kick the world in the teeth! He's a true killer! Someone who might actually be able to do it."
He slammed the gourd down. "Bring him to me! Send Jack! No, wait, Jack is a fool. Send a message! Tell the Abyss Assassin I have the strongest liquor in the world! Tell him if he wants to change the world, he should come to Wano and try to kill the King! I want to see if he breaks... or if he joins! Wororororo!"
Kaido saw two distinct problems: an arrogant rookie who needed crushing, and a terrifying phantom who might be a worthy opponent or a useful tool for destruction. The thought that they were one and the same never crossed his drunken, suicidal mind.
Big Mom's POV — Whole Cake Island
"Mamamama!"
Charlotte Linlin, the Pirate Empress of the New World, sat amidst a mountain of confectionery delights in the Hall of the Gourmand, her giant figure looming over her assembled children. Saliva dripped onto the table as she stared at the two posters with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
"Look at this, Perospero! A new power in the Grand Line!" She shoved a handful of semla into her mouth, chewing noisily, her eyes wide and manic. "That Abyss Assassin... killing Nobles? Dangerous. Very dangerous. That means power! That means strong genes!"
Her eyes shifted to the other poster. The one of Sunny, looking adorable and windblown.
"And look at this one! The Cutest Pirate Alive! So cute! So precious!" Her eyes spun, entering a fugue state of genetic acquisition. "Imagine the children! Powerful and adorable! Rare specimens! Maaaamamama! We need to send an invitation to the Tea Party immediately! They are both perfect genetic stock!"
She slammed her fist on the table, making the wedding cakes rattle. "I want the strongest one to marry my strongest daughter, Pudding! And the cute one? He must marry one of the twins! If they survive Alabasta, I want them in the family! If they refuse, I'll eat them both! They look like they taste like sunshine and death! Delicious!"
For Big Mom, this was a dual genetic lottery. The cute pirate offered a desirable appearance, and the deadly assassin offered raw, terrifying power. She had to secure both bloodlines.
Shanks and his Crew POV — The Red Force
The Red Force was anchored off a relatively calm, wintry island, but the atmosphere aboard was anything but serene. The crew was mid-party, celebrating the arrival of the newspaper—specifically, the bounty of Monkey D. Lucy.
Shanks, his face already flushed with sake, raised a massive tankard high, his grin wide. "Dahahaha! Look at Lucy go!"
He slapped Benn Beckman on the back hard enough to send a ripple through the first mate's usually immaculate demeanor. "Fifty million, Benn! And the title? 'Captain of the Cutest Pirate Alive'? That's a title! Better than 'Red Hair', eh?"
Benn Beckman simply smoked his cigarette, his expression unreadable, and pointed his chin at the black poster lying on a nearby crate. The one that almost no one else was paying attention to.
"It's a wave, Shanks. But this one... this is a tsunami." Benn's voice was low, sober, and completely devoid of humor. "The Abyss Assassin. Confirmed. Two point six billion. That's not a rookie threat. That's an Emperor-level event."
"He's a ghost, Benn," Shanks countered, taking a swig. "He doesn't want territory. He wants to wipe out the garbage. Let him do the world a favor."
"He's operating in the same area as the rookie crew," Benn noted, puffing a stream of smoke. "And he's known for taking high-profile contracts. He's not just a killer; he's an efficient operator. If he's targeting the rookies, or using them as bait, we need to know."
Shanks simply laughed, throwing the Abyss poster over his shoulder, where it was immediately trampled by a dancing Yasopp. "Who cares about the edgy stuff! Lucy got a bounty! We'll worry about the assassins when they stop by for a drink. DRINK!"
The crew cheered, completely missing the fact that the two most powerful threats in Paradise were standing right next to each other on the front page.
All Around the World Reaction
In a Marine Base in the North Blue: A female Lieutenant Commander was meticulously cutting out Sunny's poster, slipping it into a plastic protector, and taping it inside her locker, blushing furiously. She wrote a small note: The world's too cruel for someone so cute. In a Tavern in Mock Town: Pirates were roaring with laughter at the "Cutest Pirate" title, taking bets on how fast he'd be crushed. But when one whispered the name Abyss Assassin, the entire bar went dead silent, eyes darting nervously to the shadows in the corner. The difference in reaction was night and day. In Mary Geoise, the Holy Land: The Five Elders sat in a room that felt colder than ice, looking at the Abyss Assassin report. They didn't speak. The silence was the sound of true fear taking root in the heart of the world, fear of a phantom that was completely uncontainable. They ordered a full-scale covert operation to track the Assassin, completely ignoring the 'cute' distraction. Syrup Village — Kaya's Room
The room was warm, smelling of old parchment and fresh ink. Books on medicine were stacked high on the desk. Kaya sat there, rubbing her eyes, tired but resolute. She looked at the photograph on her desk—a picture of Usopp, striking a heroic, ridiculous pose. She missed him intensely. She missed the lies, the stories, the comfort of his presence.
Pop.
The air in the middle of her room distorted, a soft, brief displacement.
Suddenly, a very confused, pajama-clad figure appeared, dropping a half-full glass of water onto her antique rug.
"Ugh... ow. What the—" Usopp groaned, rubbing his head. He looked around wildly. "The Merry? The waves? Did I sleepwalk to the mast?"
He slowly registered the furniture, the smell, the wallpaper. His eyes landed on the petite, shocked figure by the desk.
"Usopp-san?!" Kaya gasped, dropping her pen. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Usopp froze. His eyes lit up like lighthouses. "Kaya!"
He instantly scrambled to his feet, trying to look cool despite the water stain on his pajamas. "I... uh... I was just in the neighborhood! Defeating a new species of Sea King that attacks ships only at night! But I thought, 'The brave warrior Captain Usopp must take a detour to see his lady love!'"
Kaya didn't care about the ridiculousness. She didn't care about the sudden appearance. She only saw him.
She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him with a ferocity that surprised both of them. "You're here! You're really here!"
Usopp's arms came up slowly, hugging her back with a desperate tightness, burying his face in her hair. All the stress of the Grand Line, all the fear of giants and seakings, faded into the simple, absolute safety of her embrace.
From the void, echoing faintly in the room, a voice drifted out—teasing, affectionate, and utterly devoid of the Abyss Assassin's coldness.
"Two hours, sniper king. No more, no less. And try not to lie about sinking the whole Red Force this time."
Usopp choked back a laugh, tears of relief welling up in his eyes. "I've got so many stories, Kaya," he whispered, holding her tighter. "You won't believe the giants... or the wax man... or the beautiful, crazy, dangerous little witch who makes our weapons..."
For two hours, in a quiet room in the East Blue, the brave warrior told his exaggerated tales. And the girl who loved him listened, her laughter filling the room, knowing full well that no matter how much the world changed, no matter how many terrifying assassins roamed the seas, this quiet, loving peace was the only thing that truly mattered.