A thunderous boom shook the air as a high wall crumbled under the impact of a cannonball-like figure.
"You idiot! Calm down already. The truth is, those people are all…" Zoro retracted the right leg he'd used to kick Luffy flying and shouted his explanation toward the front.
"No more explanations."
Amid the clatter of shifting rubble, the Straw Hat boy's silhouette slowly emerged from the smoke-shrouded ruins.
"You bastard!" Luffy gave Zoro no chance to speak. His face darkened as he pressed down on the straw hat atop his head.
"You actually slashed all the townspeople who welcomed us with open arms—you ungrateful jerk. I really misjudged you!" With that, Luffy charged at Zoro in a storm of boundless fury.
"I'm gonna pound you flat! Gum-Gum… Gatling!"
Luffy's fists flew like the wind, countless shadows raining down on Zoro like a ferocious tempest. Zoro, unwilling to waste energy on a pointless fight, was off his game. He swung his twin blades to parry a few blows, but soon the torrent of fists overwhelmed him. Taking several direct hits, Zoro strategically retreated.
Leaping back to put distance between them, the green-haired swordsman felt the stinging heat on his face and finally snapped—his own idiot captain had ignited real fire in him.
Even a clay figurine has a temper!
"Guess the only way to get through to an idiot like you is to knock you out first." Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, Zoro tied on his bandana with a menacing glare and drew Wado Ichimonji between his teeth.
Battle intent blazed in Zoro's eyes. "Perfect. I've been wondering which is stronger—martial arts or swordsmanship!"
"Bring it!" Luffy roared, charging again as both arms stretched exaggeratedly backward.
Zoro's gaze sharpened like a blade's edge. He rushed to meet Luffy, leaning forward, crossing Snow-Walker and Sandai Kitetsu before his chest.
The gap between them vanished in an instant.
"Gum-Gum…"
"Three-Sword Style…"
"Rocket!"
"Demon Slash!"
BOOM! …The violent clash echoed far into the silent night.
(The Straw Hat Demolition Crew has begun construction. All unrelated personnel, please evacuate immediately.)
The continuous rumbles from afar made Sherlock frown slightly. He leaped down from the rooftop, sizing up the uninvited Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine in the distance before turning Vivi's face toward them.
"You know these two?"
At the sight of them, the flush on Vivi's cheeks drained to ghostly white. She stammered, "They're senior agents of Baroque Works—Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine."
Vivi knew all too well that these high-ranking Baroque Works operatives showing up here spelled nothing but trouble.
Mr. 5 slipped back into his smug, holier-than-thou swagger, lifting his chin at Sherlock and barking an arrogant command: "Kid! Hand over Princess Vivi, or you die!"
Hearing him, Vivi's last sliver of hope vanished. Despair crashed over her—this was like escaping a tiger's den only to be stalked by two wolves picking at the scraps.
Princess Vivi? Her?
Sherlock studied the pale-faced Vivi with mild surprise, wondering what kind of insane plot twist this was. Moments later, he gathered his thoughts, calmly adjusted his glasses, and asked the pair with perfect composure, "If I hand her over, will you let me leave safely?"
Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine exchanged glances but said nothing.
As if. Baroque Works never left living witnesses on an assassination job.
Seeing they wouldn't answer immediately, Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He already knew.
"No deal, then. Nothing more to discuss!" He pushed up his glasses, used his Devil Rope to shift Carue and Vivi aside, and locked his pitch-black gaze on the two killers.
Hope flickered back to life in Princess Vivi's eyes—she might actually survive this!
A cool night breeze swept past. Battle hung in the air.
"Ahahahaha!" Miss Valentine suddenly cackled like a lunatic. "What a stupid choice! One kilo…"
The lemon-painted blonde snapped open her parasol. Riding the night wind, she floated upward like a kite until she hovered above Sherlock.
"Allow me to bury you! Ten thousand kilos!"
The moment the words left her mouth, Miss Valentine seemed to become ten thousand kilos. Her petite frame plummeted like a meteor straight at Sherlock.
—Now you see me, now you don't!
BOOM! Amid billowing dust, Miss Valentine smashed straight through Sherlock's illusion and cratered the ground with impressive depth—only to find herself stuck.
"That attack pattern is beyond idiotic…" Sherlock adjusted his glasses. His real body materialized beside the pit. He turned to Mr. 5, only to see the explosively coiffed sunglasses-wearing man casually picking his nose.
Rolling the booger into a ball, Mr. 5 curled his finger, leveled his right hand, and leaned forward in a shooter's stance.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—this guy's not about to…" A chill ran down Sherlock's spine. The man with a mild germ phobia had faced hundreds of Marines without flinching, yet for the first time he considered fleeing without a fight.
"Booger Bomb!" With a flick, the booger shot straight at Sherlock.
"#@%&! He's actually throwing boogers at me—disgusting!" Sherlock stared in horror at the slowly approaching projectile. His mind went blank like a typhoon had swept through it; he forgot to dodge.
As for reflecting it back with a mirror—Sherlock would rather take a bullet than touch someone else's booger.
"You bastard, know your limits!!" Sherlock roared in furious outrage.
In his emotional turmoil, he instinctively activated his fruit power. The space in front of the booger rippled like disturbed lake water. The next instant, the booger veered ninety degrees skyward.
A violent explosion boomed overhead, the fireball blooming like festive fireworks against the starry night… ００００
"What happened? Why did my Booger Bomb fly into the sky?" Mr. 5 looked up, baffled. When he lowered his gaze, Sherlock was already long gone, vanished in a blink.
"Fast runner…" Mr. 5 pushed up his sunglasses and smirked at the stunned Vivi. "Heh heh heh. I'll deal with that glasses guy later. First, you."
He started walking slowly toward Vivi.
Vivi struggled hard against the ropes binding her, but it was useless. Despair filled her beautiful eyes as his shadow loomed closer.
"Quack quack quack!" Carue squawked in rage, but it changed nothing.
Mr. 5 drew a pistol, blew into the barrel, and aimed at Vivi on the ground.
"Farewell, Miss Wednesday—no, I should say: Nefertari Vivi."
Vivi closed her eyes in resignation, biting her lip. Images of family and friends flashed through her mind; tears slipped free against her will.
A dull thud, followed by a scream.
No gunshot. Vivi's eyes snapped open in joyous shock.
The glasses guy who'd supposedly fled had somehow returned. He gripped a long staff and was brutally pummeling the unconscious Mr. 5.
"You son of a bitch, throwing boogers at me??!!" The memory fueled Sherlock's rage; his strikes grew heavier. Splattered blood even flecked Vivi's face, reminding the princess she wasn't fully safe yet.
"Y-you didn't actually run?" Vivi asked cautiously.
"That was just an illusion to fool the enemy."
Sherlock tossed aside the iron staff, delivered one last vicious kick to the half-dead Mr. 5, then willed the Devil Ropes binding Vivi and Carue to dissolve.
"Didn't realize you were a princess. My apologies for the earlier rudeness." Sherlock bowed elegantly to Vivi.
Staring at the blood-spattered yet refined young man, Vivi wisely stayed put. She gave an awkward smile, about to speak, when noise nearby interrupted.
"Damn that glasses bastard!" Miss Valentine clambered messily from the deep crater—only to face over a hundred primed muskets and a pair of ice-cold eyes.
Sherlock snapped his fingers. A long rope materialized.
"Surrender or die." He adjusted his glasses and spoke flatly to the dazed Miss Valentine.
The lemon-loving agent glanced at the half-dead booger-bomb man on the ground, then at the hundred dark muzzles above. She swallowed hard.
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