Some distance away from Gin and Binko, another clash had just reached its blood-stained conclusion. Hibari stood tall amidst the barren expanse of sand, his rifle resting on his shoulder, its barrel still warm and smoking faintly in the dry air. Beads of sweat formed a slick trail down the side of his face.
At his feet lay Zala, infamously known as Miss Doublefinger, her once-menacing form now crumpled and unconscious on the ground. Blood seeped out of several jagged wounds across her body, staining the golden sand a dark, angry red.
Her trademark spikes ability, had finally retracted, their gleaming menace extinguished. Yet even now, Hibari couldn't bring himself to breathe easy.
"She's down… at last," he muttered under his breath, running the back of his hand across his damp forehead. "Damn it. She's not just deadly—she's… she's chaos wrapped in a human skin. If I just let my guard down, I will be a pincushion."
His voice was steady, but inside, his nerves buzzed like a live wire. He lowered the rifle's barrel slightly but kept his finger near the trigger. Just in case. There were rules about opponents like her: never assume victory too soon, never trust their stillness.
A salt-scented breeze swept through the desert-like coast, tugging faintly at his torn sleeves. For a second, things felt still, like the end of a storm. And then—
BOOM!
The explosion shattered the moment like glass. It roared from somewhere behind a nearby dune, sending sand cascading down its slopes and a flock of startled birds scattering into the sky. Hibari's head snapped in the direction of the noise, his rifle instinctively raised.
"What the—?" His voice trailed off as his sharp eyes locked onto a familiar, ridiculous figure barreling down the ridge.
Someone was sprinting, zigzagging wildly from side to side, arms flailing in barely controlled panic. Behind him, puffs of sand erupted in erratic bursts, each small explosion chasing his every move like taunting specters.
"Huh?" Hibari squinted, his mind racing. "Wait a second—"
As the figure stumbled closer, tripping over their own feet before scrambling up again, the realization struck him like a slap.
"Stev?!"
Sure enough, Stev was tearing across the open sand with the grace of a drunk acrobat, arms flailing wildly as though that might somehow make him faster. Explosive marbles flew from his hands, arcing through the air like sparks from a firecracker before landing behind him in bursts of sand and flame.
"AAAAAGGGHHH! DON'T COME AFTER ME!" he bellowed, his voice cracking between desperation and sheer terror.
The sand behind him rippled unnaturally, rising and falling in ominous waves.
"Oh, I am coming after you!" an unhinged voice screeched, cutting through the chaos like nails on glass.
With a deafening crack, the ground exploded as Miss Merry Christmas erupted from the shifting dunes as if hell itself had spat her out. Dirt and debris clung to her tattered coat, a wicked grin splitting her face as her razor-sharp claws gleamed under the sun. She launched herself at Stev, murder in her eyes, like a predator toying with its prey before the bloody kill.
"Brat! Stop running and let me cut you!" she snarled.
Stev shrieked like someone who had seen his life flash before his eyes more times today than was healthy. He dove to the side, a pitiful barrel-roll that barely pulled him clear of her claws. The sand tore up in sprays as her attack whiffed, missing him by a literal hair.
"Not today!" Stev gasped, scrambling to his hands and knees. Without thinking, he jerked a handful of smoky black marbles from the patched-up pouch at his waist and flung them blindly behind him. He didn't stop to aim, didn't even turn to see if they'd hit the mark.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion tore through the desert air, sending waves of heat and a plume of sand skyward. Stev shielded his face as debris rained down, sweat and panic burning his skin. For a split second, blessed silence followed the booming blast.
"Did I get her…?" he asked aloud between heaving breaths, squinting back through the settling dust cloud.
The silence broke.
"You missed, brat!"The voice clawed at him just before she did. Without warning, Miss Merry Christmas burst out of the ground right beside him, her smile a jagged crescent of triumph and vengeance. She lunged forward in a whirlwind of shrieking fury, claws bared and already mid-swing.
"I'm slicing you to ribbons, NOW!"
Everything seemed to slow.
Stev's instincts screamed for him to move—roll, dodge, run—but his body was frozen. His feet were cemented to the spot, every ounce of his composure crumbling as death swept toward him, her claws carving the air an inch from his neck.
A thunderous bang shattered the moment.
Miss Merry Christmas jerked sideways, the force of the bullet driving into her side like a charging bull. Her body spun wildly before she hit the ground in a crumpled heap, tumbling several meters through the rough sand.
"AGH!" she snarled, clutching at her bleeding torso with one shaking hand. Her sharp gaze darted around, fury and confusion flaring behind her wild eyes.
Far off, Hibari lowered his rifle, eyes sharp. "That's should put her down."
Stev didn't waste the moment. He spun and yanked another tool from his belt — a compact, spinning shuriken-shaped explosive.
"Catch this!"
He hurled the weapon toward her prone form. The shuriken sliced through the air, silent and deadly, before finding its mark, embedded just below her ribs.
BOOM!
Flames and smoke erupted in a violent burst, churning up sand and scorching the air in a wave of raw heat. The blast swallowed her in an instant.
Stev stayed crouched, braced against the ground. Seconds crawled by. The smoke hung heavy in the air, twisting and curling on itself as the desert slowly exhaled. Finally, it began to clear.
At the site of the explosion, there, Miss Merry Christmas lay eerily still, half-buried in the smoldering sand. Her charred coat clung to her limp form, and her claws hung useless at her sides. The shallow rise and fall of her chest was the only sign she wasn't dead.
Stev let out a ragged breath, dropping to one knee as his adrenaline began to wane. "Man… that was way too close…"
A shadow loomed just behind him. "You done playing tag?" came Hibari's calm, almost indifferent voice.
Stev looked up, offering a crooked grin over his shoulder. "Hey, I had everything under control."
Hibari raised one brow, skeptically. "Right. You really have it under control."
"You don't believe me?"
"Whatever. Let's regroup with the others," Hibari said, already moving toward the distant dunes. His tone, clipped and efficient, left no room for debate.
Stev lingered for another moment, glancing back at Miss Merry Christmas's prone form.
"You really think she's down for good?" he asked, voice laced with wary doubt.
"She's not getting far—not unless she enjoys bleeding out," Hibari called over his shoulder, not bothering to stop or look back. "Come on."
"Right. Because a bleeding assassin is definitely not the kind of thing that'll come back and haunt us later," Stev muttered.
He then stuffed his hands into his pockets as he jogged to catch up.
...
In another place.
A flash of swirling light scattered across the landscape, and out of thin air, two figures materialized, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
One of them—Galdino, better known as Mr. 3—scrambled back instantly, gasping for breath. His wide eyes darted toward the man that came together with him.
"What did you do?" Galdino hissed, his expression a mix of fear and fury as he steadied himself. Beads of sweat clung to his temple despite the mild breeze of their new environment.
The other man, one of the Orcas, simply stood up and dusted himself off, calm and composed. His gaze seemed sharper now, colder. And the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips was both aloof and unnerving.
"You look surprised." The man's voice was smooth but carried a sinister undertone. "Didn't expect that, did you?"
Galdino narrowed his eyes, instinctively taking a step back. "What is this place? And how the hell did we ger here?"
The man tilted his head ever so slightly, his movements deliberate, almost calculated. "So many questions. You really don't understand what just happened yet, do you?"
Galdino's jaw clenched. His instincts screamed at him to prepare for an attack, but confusion held him in place. "Stop stalling and answer me!"
The man chuckled softly, a sound wholly devoid of warmth. "Tell me your name first," he said. "Then I'll humor you."
Though his mind raced, Galdino knew he was at a disadvantage. He needed to buy time, to find some sense of control in this situation. "It's… Mr. 3," he muttered, his words clipped with caution.
The smirk on the man's face widened, tinged with mockery. "Mr. 3, huh? A number for a name. How quaint." He crossed his arms, an air of amused superiority radiating from his posture. "Doesn't exactly scream creativity, does it?"
"What's your point?" Galdino growled through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin as his surroundings continued to unsettle him.
"Relax," came the man's response, his voice dangerously calm. "It's only polite that I share my name in return."
He took a deliberate step forward, his presence looming. "My name is Friday," he said, his grin sharpening menacingly. "But don't let that confuse you—I'm not the same person you were just fighting."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Galdino demanded.
"Let me make it simple for you," Friday replied, his tone almost taunting. "You knocked out Kruz, didn't you? You thought you were so clever. So smug." He laughed softly, almost mockingly. "But you didn't realize what you were really dealing with."
Friday spread his arms as if gesturing to some invisible force. "Kruz is… let's say, the polite half of me. The predictable one. And when you pushed him too far—when you struck him down—you woke me up."
His grin turned sharp, predator-like. "Now, the fight isn't between you and Kruz anymore. It's between you and me. Between you… and Friday."
Galdino flinched, a flicker of unease passing across his face. His mind raced to piece together the puzzle. The guy in front of him didn't feel like the same person he struck before, and the palpable shift in his aura sent a chill down Galdino's spine.
Still… there were gaps in what he understood. "Fine," Galdino spat, trying to shake off the growing dread. "So you've got some kind of split personality. Whatever. But that doesn't explain this—"
He gestured wildly to their surroundings, his voice nearly cracking as frustration and confusion burst forth. "How did we get here? What even is this place?"
Hearing that, Friday's expression softened. He inhaled deeply, taking in the serene sights around them, as though savoring a long-lost memory.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, ignoring Galdino's tone entirely. "Take a look around, Mr. 3. Isn't it fascinating?"
Reluctantly, Galdino's gaze wandered. He hadn't paid much attention earlier, but he noticed it now—the landscape was a stark contrast to the barren desert where they'd clashed only moments ago. The air was fresher here, tinged with the fragrant scent of blooming flowers. The ground beneath them was soft and alive with color. Petals danced lazily on the breeze, and sunlight fell just right, casting a golden glow over the rolling fields.It was disarming. Almost… calming.
Galdino shook his head, trying to block the warmth of the scene from getting under his skin. "Don't change the subject," he snapped, his voice cutting the stillness.
"Oh, but this is the subject," Friday replied, spreading his arms wide once again. "This… this is Spring Island. A nostalgic little corner of the Grandline."
Galdino blinked, his brows furrowing as unease replaced his fleeting appreciation. "Spring Island…" He took another cautious step back. "How… how did we—?"
"You're slow, aren't you?" Friday interrupted, his tone condescending. "I brought us here."
Slowly, Galdino's mind trudged through the implications. "You mean…?"
"That's right." Friday's smirk returned, wicked and triumphant. "I'm a Devil Fruit user. I ate the Saku Saku devil fruit, and my power can tear through space. Right now, you're exactly where I want you to be."
The weight of his words hit Galdino like a freight train. Eyes widening, he stiffened, his stance instinctively defensive.
"Are you impressed?" Friday asked, his tone laced with mockery. "Or are you just terrified?"
Galdino didn't answer, his fists tightening at his sides as the vines of dread twisted deep in his gut.
"Good," Friday whispered, his voice low and ominous. "Because the real fight begins now."