Before long, the dozen or so Fishmen who hadn't engaged in combat were already inching their way toward the seaside. Their movements were slow, careful and not running, but certainly not sticking around. With them were the two hostages, Genzo and the village farmer.
A few of the braver villagers noticed and began to follow at a distance, pitchforks and hoes in hand. But their courage only went so far. No one dared get too close, only watching them closely, to make sure the two hostages are safe.
Back in the center of Cocoyashi Village, Nami stood with a deeply furrowed brow, while looking at the direction where those fishman choose to retreat.
"Something wrong?" Zino asked, glancing at her.
Nami turned her head toward him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "They still have Genzo. Why aren't you doing anything to rescue him?"
"That guy with the pinwheel?" Zino glanced sideways, calm as ever. "Relax. They're safe."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked sharply. "He's got a blade to his throat!"
Zino didn't flinch. Instead, he pointed across the battlefield where the sounds of clashing steel still echoed.
"Because we've got two hostages of our own."
Nami followed his gesture. Kuroobi and Chew were still locked in their brutal battles. Zoro exchanging fierce sword strikes with the trident-wielding Fishman, and Alvida keeping Chew at bay with swift, mace-like counters.
"You're betting on Zoro and Alvida?" she asked, incredulous. "You really think they'll win?"
Zino gave a small grin. "I don't think. I believe."
Nami raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that why you let the Fishmen choose who they'd fight?"
He shrugged. "Yes… and no. I gave them the choice to avoid unnecessary chaos. But I also wanted Zoro and Alvida to grow. Battles like these push people to their limits—and beyond."
Nami looked at him quietly for a moment, sensing something deeper in his words. "But what if they can't win?" she asked softly.
Zino didn't hesitate. "They will."
There was no arrogance in his voice. Just certainty.
That certainty caught Nami off guard. She stared at him, searching for even a sliver of doubt—but found none.
Just then, Kaya, who had been standing quietly nearby, spoke up with urgency. "Zino! I saw Ussop earlier. He ran off into the trees, but… those three Fishmen are still chasing after him!"
Zino blinked once. "Oh, right… Ussop."
He tapped his forehead lightly as if scolding himself. "Almost forgot about him."
Kaya frowned. "He might be in real danger…"
Zino turned toward the forest path Ussop had taken and cracked his knuckles.
"Alright. You two stay here," he said to Nami and Kaya. "If things get messy, don't be a hero. Stay hidden if you must."
"Zino," Nami started, but he had already taken a few steps forward. Seconds later, he vanished into the trees in a flash, leaving only a swirl of dust in his place.
Nami and Kaya watched him go.
...
Near the Silent Orca.*
The air crackled with tension as the battle between Hatchan and Don Krieg raged on, drawing the attention of even distant onlookers. The earth around them was scarred by slashes, gouges, and broken debris from their furious clash.
Hatchan, the six-armed octopus Fishman, stood tall and relaxed, his six swords gleaming under the afternoon sun. His breathing was steady, and aside from a few scuffs, he looked mostly untouched—still smiling with maddening confidence.
Opposite him, Don Krieg looked far worse for wear. His body bore dozens of shallow to deep cuts, his once-pristine clothes stained with blood and torn fabric. His brass knuckles—the only piece of equipment Zino had failed to confiscate—were slick with both sweat and blood. Yet, he remained upright, his pride and fury forcing him to endure.
"Damn octopus…" Krieg spat, blood mixing with the sand at his feet. His eyes blazed with frustration. "If I had my armor, you'd be nothing but sashimi by now!"
Hatchan tilted his head, his tone mocking. "Armor? What use are those walking scrap metals? Pfft. With or without them, you'd still be fish food."
Krieg growled, his pride wounded deeper than his body. "My armor is stronger than anything your kind ever touched! It's made for war!"
"And yet here you are. Bleeding. Barely standing." Hatchan said with a shrug. "Maybe your armor was just as empty as your honor."
Krieg snarled, stomping forward, ready to punch again—but Hatchan's stance shifted.
The Fishman suddenly tightened his grip on all six hilts, a grin stretching across his face.
"Less talk. More fight." Hatchan announced, bending his knees.
Then he sprang.
"Tako Ittōryū: Dai Gekisen! (Octo Sword Dance!)"
A blur of motion.
Hatchan spun forward like a cyclone, his six swords becoming a shimmering whirl of steel and fury. The air screamed from the sheer speed of the rotation. Dust and sand exploded outward as he closed the gap in an instant.
Krieg braced, arms up, using his brass knuckles to shield his torso and head.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Steel rang against steel. Sparks flew.
Krieg staggered backward, parrying two swords at a time, but the numbers overwhelmed him. One blade scraped across his side, tearing open flesh. Another slashed across his leg. A third stabbed deep into his shoulder, nearly making him drop to one knee.
"GRAAAH!"
Krieg roared in pain, punching out blindly in between parries, but Hatchan was too quick.
The storm of blades pressed on.
"You've got two arms—I've got six! Do the math, Blockhead!" Hatchan bellowed mid-spin.
Krieg faltered, his steps shaky now.
Blood spattered the sand.
Hatchan finally halted his spin, all six blades drawn back into an offensive stance. Krieg panted heavily, his knees trembling. The pain in his body was overtaking the will in his mind.
"You… filthy fish…*" he growled, before coughing up blood.
"Still standing? I'll fix that." Hatchan said, preparing to end it. He once again lunged forward to attacks.
A short distance from the battlefield, Sanji and Gin sat side by side, just far enough from the clash between Hatchan and Don Krieg to avoid getting caught in the flying sand or ringing steel.
From where they sat, they had a clear view of the fight unfolding between the fish and man.
Sanji let out a slow exhale and whistled. "Looks like that octopus freak's gonna win."
Gin, watching intently, nodded. "Yeah… that fishman is overwhelming. Captain Krieg's tough, but… without his armor, he's at a real disadvantage."
Sanji raised an eyebrow, turning his head slightly. "Still calling him 'Captain' after he sucker-punched you and left you to rot?"
Gin didn't respond at first. He kept watching Krieg, his eyes unreadable.
"...He saved my life once," Gin finally muttered. "Back when I had nothing. I would've died nameless. He gave me a purpose. I owed him."
Sanji went quiet. He stared off at the ocean for a moment, letting Gin's words settle in the air between them.
Then, without looking at him, Sanji said softly, "I think you've already paid off that debt."
Gin blinked and looked over. "What?"
"You've been at his side through thick and thin," Sanji said. "Helped him build his fleet, followed him to the Grand Line, fought his battles, took his beatings, cleaned up his messes. You even risked your life just now trying to save him when he didn't deserve it."
Gin clenched his jaw but said nothing.
Sanji turned to look at him directly now. "Gratitude has its limits. There's no honor in loyalty to someone who throws it back in your face."
Gin didn't answer, but his grip on the cloth around his wound tightened.
"And besides," Sanji added, flicking away a stray piece of ash from his cigarette. "He said it himself—he doesn't need you."
Gin winced, as if those words had struck him harder than any punch Krieg had ever thrown. The memory of Krieg's cold dismissal replayed in his mind.
'You've gone soft. You're not worthy of being my crew.'
For all his silence, the conflict in Gin's eyes said enough. It wasn't easy, breaking free from loyalty that had defined him for so long.
Sanji watched him quietly, then sighed and leaned back again. "But hey, it's your life. Just don't let a man like that chain you down forever."
Gin glanced at Sanji from the corner of his eye. There was no mockery in the cook's voice—just a quiet understanding.
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the clash of swords and fists in the distance.
Finally, Gin turned his attention, looking up to the sky, whispering almost to himself, "Maybe… it's time I decided who I really want to be."
Sanji didn't reply—but he smiled faintly, flicking his lighter open again.
Meanwhile, the tide of battle between Hatchan and Don Krieg was shifting rapidly. What had started as a wild flurry of swords and steel had now turned into a desperate fight for survival.
Krieg's body was a mess of deep gashes and bruises. Blood trickled from his lip, and one eye was nearly swollen shut. His breathing was ragged, and each step came with a grimace. But even so, the glint in his eyes hadn't dulled—instead, it had sharpened.
He wasn't going to die here.
Seeing another six-sword whirlwind bearing down on him, Krieg gritted his teeth. *He's fast... but predictable.*
He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the movement of Hatchan's six arms. Each sword followed a rhythm—a flow—and in the middle of chaos, Krieg found a pattern.
With one final burst of will, he charged into the storm of blades.
CLANG!
His brass knuckles met one of the spinning swords with precision. The impact jarred his whole arm, but the blade cracked and spun out of Hatchan's grip.
CLANG! SNAP!
Another punch broke the second sword. Then the third. Fourth.
"W-What?!" Hatchan's eyes widened as Krieg shattered his weapons one after another, fists hammering like pistons. "Ah! My swords!"
The last two blades flew from Hatchan's hands, clattering uselessly across the sand.
"How dare you!" Hatchan bellowed. "You'll pay for that!"
But Krieg wasn't listening. Panting, bleeding, but burning with raw fury, he shouted, "Don't get cocky, you damn sushi platter! It's payback time!"
He lunged forward with all the strength he could muster.
"Steel Bullet Fist!"
A rapid barrage of heavy punches exploded from his fists, each blow aimed directly at Hatchan's face and torso, forcing the fishman to stumble backward.
But Hatchan didn't flinch. In fact, he smiled.
"You think I'm afraid of your little punches?! Let's see whose fists are stronger!" He cracked all six knuckles. "Tako Drill!!"
With a bellowing roar, Hatchan spun all six arms like a cyclone and charged. His fists twirled into a deadly drill formation, aiming to drive straight through Krieg's assault.
CRACK! BAM! THUD!
The two clashed head-on, fist against fist—knuckles against bone. One of Hatchan's spinning fists connected with Krieg's jaw, twisting his head violently to the side. But Krieg retaliated with an uppercut, striking Hatchan square in the chest.
BAM! BAM!
Their punches collided again in midair, neither side want to gave an inch. Blood sprayed with each strike, and their muscles tensed each time they delivered their strongest strikes.
"GRRRAAAHH!!"
"DON'T THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME!!"
Their war cries echoed across the beach, mixing with the crashing waves.
For a moment, the chaos paused. Both warriors stood locked in place, breathing like bulls, fists raised and bodies trembling. The air was thick with tension.
Then… Krieg's knee buckled.
He staggered.
His eyes, bloodshot and wild, flickered with disbelief.
Thud!
Don Krieg collapsed forward, his body crashing onto the sand with a heavy thump. The brass knuckles on his fists sank partway into the ground, and his limbs twitched once—then went still.
Hatchan blinked, caught off guard for a split second. "Huh? He's already down?"
A beat passed.
Then, a wide grin stretched across his face, his sharp teeth gleaming.
"YOSSHAA!! I WIN!!"
The octopus bellowed, pumping all six arms into the air.
He glanced down at the unconscious Krieg, who now lay still like a broken doll in the sand. "Told ya. My fists are stronger!"
Hatchan huffed proudly, brushing some blood off his lip. "And that's for hurting Mohmoo, you jerk!"
With that, Hatchan gave one more harmless nudge to Krieg's shoulder—just for emphasis—and crossed his arms victoriously.
Meanwhile, a fair distance away, Sanji and Gin had watched the whole brutal finale in stunned silence.
Sweat trickled down both of their faces.
Sanji leaned toward Gin and muttered, "He still looks pumped. Do you think… he's coming for us next?"
Gin's eyes flicked toward Hatchan, who was flexing all six arms and nodding to himself with pride.
"I don't doubt that he will," Gin replied with a grimace. "We're the ones who knocked out that sea cow of his."
They glanced at each other, feeling uncertain.
"Gyaah! Help!!"
Right at this moment, a guy suddenly came, running out of the forest, while shouting in fright. Behind him, three fishman were rushing out after him.
The newcomers surprised Hatchan who was still celebrating his win, and the resting duo at the distance. Sanji saw the escaping boy and got surprised.
"Long nose!?"