Gin vs Mr 4.
The desert wind howled, swirling sand between the broken stones where Gin stood, blood dripping from his mouth, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. His tonfa were nicked, his knuckles scraped raw.
Across from him, Mr. 4 stood tall and unbothered, dragging his massive iron bat along the ground. Gin had already exchanged a few heavy blows with the giant—clashing tonfa against bat with sparks flying—each strike shaking the earth beneath them. However, that's not the reason whe he was bleeding.
The main reason was because of surprise elements from seeing the weird dog. Just a moment ago, while the two exchanged some few strikes, Gin saw this dog trotting casually like a normal dog, tail wagging innocently. Gin's eyes flicked to it, wary but unalarmed.
The dog walked further until it reached some distance away at his back. Then, without warning, the dog barked sharply and unleashed a cannonball that whistled straight at Gin. He dove aside just in time as the blast erupted against the rocks.
Before he could recover, Mr. 4 swung his massive bat in a brutal arc. Gin's body barely had time to react—the heavy blow caught him on the side, sending him sprawling, and tumbling for a few meters.
That's how Gin bled.
Now, Mr. 4 yawned, reaching into his coat and pulling out a shiny fruit. With zero urgency, he took a loud *crunch*, munching on it while watching Gin sway.
"Done already?" he said, chewing slowly. "Let me guess—thought your little sticks would crack this?"
He rapped a knuckle against his plated chest—thick armor beneath his coat, sand-blasted but untouched.
Gin narrowed his eyes. That clanging knock, that smug grin, that overconfidence, reminds him of someone he was familiar with.
He reminds him of his former captain...Don Krieg.
A flash of memory: that same damn armor. That same arrogant face. And the blood of weaker crewmates splattered across it.
Gin's grip on his tonfa tightened.
"You're just another walking fortress, huh?" he muttered. "Guess I've got experience breaking those."
Mr. 4 grinned lazily, but his eyes sharpened just a bit. "Then let's see if you learned anything from getting crushed."
In a sudden burst of speed unnatural for his size, Mr. 4 dug his foot into the sand and twisted, spinning his massive bat overhead in a controlled arc. The bat howled through the air, not a wild swing, but a practiced motion with perfect timing and momentum.
Gin blocked with his tonfa, but the sheer force of the blow rattled through his arms and sent him sliding back through the sand.
'Tch. He's not just strong. He knows how to swing that thing.' Gin thought.
He gritted his teeth, then countered with a flurry of close-range strikes, targeting Mr. 4's knees, side, and ribs. However, each blow clanged harmlessly against the heavy armor beneath his coat. Mr. 4 shifted his stance with surprising control, rotating his hips to redirect impact like a seasoned fighter.
"I was a home-run king in East Blue," he said flatly. "Timing's everything."
Suddenly, the canon dog, Lassoo barked — the signal.
A baseball bomb shot from his mouth again, arcing deceptively high.
Gin tracked it — too high to hit me directly, he thought. But then he realized too late.
Mr. 4 lunged high, showing a grin. With a clean swing, he smacked the midair ball, curving it like a fastball.
Gin eyes widened. He is actually aiming for it?
The blast caught him just as he dodged,sending him tumbling once more. Gin barely stood up, but the second Lassoo bomb came behind, this one aimed straight at his back. The explosion went off near his shoulder, throwing him forward.
Mr. 4 was already on the move. He stepped in, spun, and brought the bat down vertically in a finishing blow.
Gin barely glanced at the incoming attack; too fast to dodge. Too late to block.
Time slowed.
In the flash of a second, Gin's eyes narrowed. His battered body screamed in protest, but his mind clicked into place — focused on a technique that he have been trying to
*"Shigan... speed, force, will... A single thrust... through armor."*
He inhaled sharply.
Then — he thrust.
Not a swing. Not a block. A precise, needle-like drive of his tonfa forward, aimed directly at the vulnerable joint in Mr. 4's shoulder.
CRACK!
The blunt tip of the tonfa hit home — smashing into the connective point beneath the armor plating. The sound of tearing muscle and popping bone rang out as Mr. 4's arm twisted backward unnaturally, his grip loosening on the bat.
"Grrraagh—!!" Mr. 4 stumbled, his weapon crashing beside him with a heavy thud.
At that moment, the baseball exploded behind Gin, but the shockwave only pushed him forward — right into range.
He didn't hesitate.
"Shigan: Twin Fang!"
Twisting his hips with perfect timing, Gin crossed both tonfa and drove them into Mr. 4's chest — one striking high, the other low. The force was focused, tight — like two bullets exploding on contact.
BOOM!
A shockwave burst through the air. Mr. 4's armored plate dented inward, the breath leaving his lungs as he was launched backward — crashing through a sandstone pillar, coughing blood.
Gin stumbled forward slightly, breathing hard. He looked down at his trembling hand, still humming with the recoil.
"…Heh. Shigan."
A smile crept on his face. Finally, he managed to perform the Shigan. Look like battle pressure was the best way to force the potential out.
At the distance, Lassoo barked in panic — the living weapon trying to turn, preparing another shot.
Gin turned toward it, eyes cold.
"Are you really a dog?," he muttered his inquiring thought. "You're barking and shooting some damn cannon. Which one are you?"
He rushed Lassoo, slipping under its awkward spin, and drove one tonfa into its mouth, jamming the barrel.
Lassoo barked in confusion — and then Gin twisted hard*, forcing the pressure back into its body.
BOOM!
The cannon-dog exploded from the inside, smoke bursting from its mouth and back as it collapsed in a sparking heap, smoking and twitching.
Gin stood aside, chest still heaving, he watched the dog twitching for a moment, before it stopped moving. Then, the thing returned into its cannon form.
"So, it was a cannon?"
Gin hold the cannon in his hand, checking it out. "This...doesn't seems to be alive."
Gin threw away the cannon. He then turned toward Mr. 4, who was still groaning, unconscious and half-buried in the sand. He heaved a sigh, feeling relieved that he won the fight.
"Let's check on the others."
Gin took one last, lingering glance at the chaotic scene before he forced himself to walk away. The air still hung heavy with the dust and despair of the recent conflict.
Unbeknownst to him, tucked away within the folds of Mr. 4's coat, a small, mottled fruit that had been hidden was undergoing a silent, bizarre transformation. Its colors deepened, twisting into strange, unnatural patterns as it absorbed the ambient energy of the battlefield, waiting for a new owner.
As Gin strode through the dry sand, his eyes landed on an odd tableau. There sat Binko, one of his crewmates, perched awkwardly on a straw mat. In front of him, a small girl with a beret—Miss Golden Week—was completely absorbed in scribbling on a drawing pad. Binko, for his part, was mechanically sipping from a cracked teapot, his expression vacant yet peaceful.
Gin's brow furrowed into a deep frown. "You kidding me? The heck is he doing?" he muttered under his breath.
He altered his path and approached the pair, standing over them with a posture of clear disapproval.
"Having a sweet time, huh Binko. Must be nice, huh," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sipping tea, looking at the scenery... all while we're trying hard, fighting our opponents."
Miss Golden Week, busy with her intricate drawing, replied without even looking up, her voice airy and detached. "He is influenced by my Colors Trap. The 'Green of Soothing'. So, he will sit there, continue sipping tea for a while... it's a very peaceful color, you know."
Suddenly, the pencil stopped moving. She paused, her small frame going rigid. She slowly turned her head, her gaze meeting Gin's cold, steel-grey eyes. The realization hit her like a physical blow: she was speaking to a crew of the enemies.
Silence descended upon the small clearing, thick and heavy. The only sound was the faint slurp of Binko sipping his imaginary tea. Gin's eyes slowly turned sharp and cold, the easy sarcasm vanishing in an instant, replaced by a predator's focus. Miss Golden Week, whose real name was Marianne, began to sweat bullets.
"So, you are the one who trapped him, huh." Gin's voice was low and dangerous.
Marianne scrambled backward off the mat, her small hands fumbling with all those drawing. The next moment, she dashed away, trying to escape as fast as her short legs could carry her. But Gin was not going to let her go; her attempted escape was futile. In two long strides, he easily caught her and lifted her clean off the ground by the back of her coat.
"Ah! Don't kill me!" she shrieked, struggling frantically to break free. Her small feet kicked uselessly in the air, but Gin held her in an iron grip. "Please, I didn't do anything bad! I was just... relaxing! Let me go!"
Gin stared at the struggling, short girl. She was barely more than a child, a powerful fighter in her own right, but physically insignificant in his grasp. He was not sure what to do with this one. She wasn't a powerhouse like Mr. 4, nor a tactical mind like Miss All Sunday; she was just... strange.
"What do you mean you didn't do anything bad?" Gin's grip tightened. "You incapacitated one of my friends and you were part of the crew that tried to ruin this entire kingdom."
"But I didn't fight anybody!" Marianne protested, genuine tears welling in her large eyes. Her struggle intensified slightly as she tried to argue her case. "My job was just to make people happy... or sad... or whatever the color dictated! It's an art thing, not violence!"
Gin let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire Alabasta conflict. This situation was quickly becoming absurd. He lowered her slightly, allowing her boots to touch the parched earth, but his vice-like grip remained firmly on the back of her coat.
"Release him from that stupid trance of yours. Now," Gin ordered, pointing a rigid finger toward Binko, who remained a statue of serene tea-sipping.
Marianne, eager to show she was cooperating and terrified of Gin's cold glare, nodded frantically. With her free hand, she quickly smeared the small splash of green paint she had discreetly applied to Binko's teapot.
The effect was instantaneous. Binko gasped, blinking hard as if emerging from a deep fog. The teapot dropped from his hand and shattered on the ground. The moment the fog lifted from his mind, his anger flared. He recognized the source of his humiliation immediately.
He rushed forward, and roughly pushed the still-captured Marianne down onto the straw mat.
"How dare you trap me!" Binko roared, his face red with indignation. He reached for the short dagger sheathed at his hip. "You think I don't dare to kill you?"
Bonk!
A sharp, solid sound echoed through the clearing. Binko cried out in pain, clutching his head where something hard had just connected. He spun around, eyes watering. "Gah! Who dare hit me... huh? Gin? Why are you here?"
Gin stood there, his expression unmoved, a heavy boot raised slightly. "Stop causing trouble. That girl didn't do anything bad to you," he corrected, his voice flat. "It's your own damn fault for walking right into her trap."
Binko blinked several times as the logic slowly processed in his thick skull. Gin was right. He had seen the weird kid with the paint and the teapot and just... walked over. He scratched his throbbing head, an awkward smile spreading across his face as his embarrassment morphed into sheepishness.
"Right. Yeah, I guess that's true," Binko mumbled, kicking awkwardly at a stone. He quickly changed the subject, trying to brush away the humiliation. "So, what's going on with your fight? Did you finish that giant guy with the bat?"
"I beat that guy," Gin replied nonchalantly, the sheer strength and brutality of the fight lost in his understated tone. "Let's go. We need to find the others and help them."
"What about her?" Binko pointed a less enthusiastic finger at Marianne.
Gin glanced down at the girl. She looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Gin simply shrugged. "Bring her along. We can figure out what to do with her later."
With that, Gin turned and started walking, while Binko fell in line, pushing Marianne along in front of him.