Sarquiss pushed himself up, forcing his trembling arms to obey, and rose to his feet. He glared at Gojo, who was standing calmly in front of him, as if nothing had happened.
From the corner of his eye, through the shattered entrance of the pub, he could see both his subordinates lying motionless just inside the building. Their bodies were sprawled across the wooden floor near the broken doorway, blood seeping slowly around them in dark, thick pools. Clearly, they had received fatal wounds.
Seeing this, Sarquiss felt his anger surge, hot and suffocating. Not only had he been humiliated by Gojo in front of everyone, but his subordinates had also been injured to this degree—no, butchered.
This bastard…
His pride screamed louder than reason. Revenge was the only thing on his mind.
"You will pay for this, you bastard!" Sarquiss roared, his voice carrying across the open street.
In one swift motion, he unsheathed his massive blade—a giant kukri that gleamed wickedly under the sunlight. Planting his feet firmly against the dirt road, he lowered his center of gravity, his muscles tightening as he assumed a proper stance. Even the air seemed to grow tense as he prepared his signature move.
"Big Chop!"
Without hesitation, he launched forward.
Sarquiss moved like a human buzzsaw, the heavy blade spinning at terrifying speed as he closed in on Gojo. Dust kicked up from the ground beneath his boots as he shot past Gojo in a blur, landing several meters behind him. His boots scraped harshly against the rough street as he skidded to a stop, carving shallow lines into the dirt.
The onlookers had seen this move before. The moment they recognized the stance, the spin, the sheer ferocity, their hearts sank.
When Sarquiss used Big Chop in earnest, very few walked away.
It's over… some thought.
Until they heard it.
Clang.
A metallic sound rang out—sharp and clear in the open air.
Sarquiss blinked.
The giant kukri in his hand… was cut clean in half.
The upper portion slid off slowly, as if reluctant to accept reality, before dropping onto the street with a dull thud in front of him. For a brief second, silence swallowed the entire area.
Then a warm sensation spread across his chest.
A thin red line appeared on his torso—then widened.
A large wound split open across his chest, a perfectly clean sword cut. Blood spilled out, staining his clothes before dripping onto the ground beneath him. His breath hitched in disbelief.
There was only one person who could have done this.
Gojo.
Gojo flicked his wrist lightly, shaking the blood off his sword. Crimson droplets scattered onto the dirt road before he calmly slid the blade back into the sheath strapped to his back. The sharp click of metal settling into place was faint, almost casual, beneath the distant murmurs of the gathered crowd.
Without haste, he began walking toward Sarquiss.
His footsteps were steady. Unhurried.
Soon he stood right in front of him.
Looking Sarquiss dead in the eye, Gojo said in a cold, even voice, "Now you will take me to your boss—your captain. Got it? Or you die."
There was no anger in his tone. No shouting.
Just certainty.
Sarquiss felt his throat go dry. After hearing Gojo's words, he knew they were absolute truth. This man would not hesitate. There was no bluff here.
So he didn't retort. He didn't spit out flashy words or shout empty threats. He didn't try to maintain any false bravado. Because right now, even a single wrong word might cost him his life.
The injury on his chest was severe—blood still flowed steadily—but it wasn't fatal enough to kill him instantly.
This was how the physique of the One Piece world worked.
Even if someone's back were snapped, they would still cling to life. Injuries that would have meant instant death in Gojo's previous life on Earth—the world he had transmigrated from—were survivable here. Ridiculous durability, Gojo had once thought. But useful.
Without giving Sarquiss time to gather himself, Gojo grabbed him by the collar, his grip firm and unyielding.
"In which direction should we walk?" Gojo asked casually.
Sarquiss winced from the movement but quickly answered, "I—I will take you to my captain."
Gojo simply shook his head.
"No need to worry," he said calmly. "I will carry you. You guide me. Just tell me."
There was something humiliating about the way he said it—like Sarquiss wasn't even worth the trouble.
Sarquiss swallowed the bitterness rising in his chest and muttered, "To our left."
Immediately, Gojo began dragging him forward by the collar, as if hauling a sack rather than a man. Sarquiss's boots scraped against the rough street, leaving faint streaks of blood behind them.
Step by step, Gojo walked toward the place where the captain of the Bellamy Pirates was.
…
Wherever Gojo passed, dragging Sarquiss along with him, a faint trail marked their path. Blood seeped steadily from the wound on Sarquiss's chest—not heavy enough to form a pool, but enough that droplets and thin red lines stained the dusty road. Each step left behind proof of his defeat.
The scraping sound of Sarquiss's boots against the ground mixed with the low murmur of the street.
And the humiliation burned worse than the wound.
Almost every pirate and pirate hunter on Jaya Island knew who the Bellamy Pirates were. They knew Sarquiss. They knew he was the first mate—the right hand of Bellamy. A man who had once strutted through these same streets with arrogance, blade resting proudly on his shoulder.
Now he was being dragged like a rag doll by someone much younger. Defeated. Powerless.
The scene was impossible to ignore.
As pirates and bounty hunters turned to look, surprise spread across their faces. Some widened their eyes. Others froze mid-step.
But it didn't take long before surprise turned into something else.
Mocking smiles.
A few pirates even laughed openly, nudging each other and pointing toward Sarquiss. Low chuckles followed them as Gojo walked past, steady and indifferent.
Sarquiss clenched his teeth.
Remember their faces…
Yet none of them dared to say anything about Gojo.
If Gojo was ruthless enough to cut down Sarquiss—the first mate of the Bellamy Pirates—without hesitation, then who were they in comparison? No one wanted that sword turned toward them. So the laughter was directed only at Sarquiss.
No one insulted Gojo. No one stepped forward.
They simply watched from a safe distance as he passed.
…
On the other side of town, inside a lively restaurant, the mood couldn't have been more different.
Bellamy was partying with his crew.
Loud laughter filled the room. Bottles clinked together. The smell of alcohol and roasted meat hung thick in the air. Bellamy sat at the center of it all, grinning widely, a wine bottle in his hand. Two women were seated close to him, and he was clearly enjoying the attention, leaning back in his chair as if the world belonged to him.
He was having a good day.
Then suddenly—
The restaurant door slammed open.
A pirate—clearly one of the Bellamy Pirates' crew members—dashed inside, breathing heavily, sweat visible on his forehead.
"Something bad happened, Captain!" he shouted, panic clear in his voice. "Something very bad happened!"
As soon as the pirate shouted those words, the cheerful atmosphere inside the restaurant shattered.
Bellamy, who had been laughing loudly just moments ago, froze mid-drink. His expression darkened instantly. The grin vanished from his face as irritation flared in his eyes.
Without a word, he hurled the wine bottle toward the crew member.
The bottle spun violently through the air.
The pirate barely ducked in time. The bottle smashed against the wall behind him, shattering into pieces as wine splashed across the floor.
"You bastard!" Bellamy barked, his voice thick with anger. "Why are you shouting? Don't you see we're having a party here?"
The music had already died down. The women beside him shrank back slightly.
The crew member swallowed hard but forced himself to speak.
"Captain, I didn't mean to disturb you," he said quickly, breathing unevenly, "but Sarquiss has been defeated by a young man… and he's being dragged throughout the town. That young man is bringing him here."
Silence fell over the entire restaurant.
Bellamy's eyes widened for a split second.
Then rage took over.
He was shocked—shocked that someone had managed to defeat Sarquiss so thoroughly. Sarquiss wasn't weak. And yet not only had he been beaten, he was being dragged across town like trash?
And then another thought struck him.
Did that bastard have no fear of the Bellamy Pirates?
He dared to target his first mate. Dared to humiliate him in front of the entire island.
The veins on Bellamy's forehead bulged.
This wasn't just an attack on Sarquiss.
This was a slap to the face of the Bellamy Pirates.
Bellamy abruptly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Where is that bastard?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Take me to him."
He didn't wait for a full answer and immediately began walking toward the crew member. The pirate quickly turned and hurried out, not daring to slow down.
Behind him, Bellamy followed with heavy steps.
And not just him.
The rest of the Bellamy Pirates rose from their seats as well. The party was over. No one was in the mood to drink anymore. Their pride had been trampled the moment their first mate was dragged through the streets.
One by one, they followed their captain out of the restaurant, faces hardened, hands gripping their weapons.
Their crew's name was being rubbed into the dirt.
And they were going to respond.
----
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