Chapter 31: A Sense of Defeat
The air over the port seemed to have been punched away by the sheer sound of the impacts.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
It wasn't the sound of a fight; it was the sound of a heavy war drum being beaten without mercy. With every beat, the hearts of the onlooking Marines and the watching crowd clenched. This wasn't a duel. It was a pure, violent, overwhelming show of force.
Smoker's body flickered violently between smoke and solid form. His prized Logia ability had, ironically, become his cage. Every time he tried to dematerialize to avoid a blow, Kyle's fist—clad in Armament Haki—would follow, punching right through the smoke. It wasn't advanced internal-destruction Haki. It was just basic, solid Armament, like a gauntlet of black steel, that found his physical body and unloaded its full, brutal force onto it.
"Koff!"
A metallic taste filled Smoker's throat as blood trickled from his lips. He was running on pure instinct and his own formidable toughness. But Kyle's power level was beyond anything he'd imagined. Every punch was a siege hammer. Smoker's own Armament Haki, which he'd struggled to maintain, began to crack and shatter under the relentless storm, flickering like a dying light.
Kyle's attack rhythm was a work of art. He wasn't just brawling; he was systematically targeting the weakest points in Smoker's Haki defense. He was like a cruel teacher, using agonizing pain to point out every single one of his student's flaws.
Finally, with an uppercut that seemed to hold the force of a mountain, Kyle struck Smoker's abdomen. The string inside Smoker, stretched to its limit, finally snapped.
"Urk—!"
A pained, defeated grunt burst from his lips. His entire body was launched backward as if he'd been hit by a sea train. He flew in a brutal arc, spraying a mist of blood that glinted, chillingly, in the bright Loguetown sun.
He crashed onto the stone pier a dozen meters away like a broken sandbag, rolling several times before stopping. He lay face down, unmoving, his eyes rolled back. He was completely unconscious. Only the faint, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest proved the White Hunter was still alive.
Silence.
A dead, suffocating silence swept the port like a soundless tsunami. Everyone was frozen, staring at the impossible.
The infamous Captain Smoker... the symbol of absolute justice in the East Blue, the man who terrified pirates... was beaten?
And not just beaten—he was brutalized. Utterly defeated by a kid.
"C-Captain... Smoker!"
Tashigi's voice, cracking with tears, was the first to break the silence. The young swordswoman, who idolized him, ran to his side, her face a mask of terror. She trembled as she checked his pulse, her shoulders sagging in relief when she found one—weak, but steady.
She looked up, her eyes glaring at the figure in the center of the pier. Her gaze was a mix of fear, rage, and a sliver of terrified awe she didn't want to admit.
Kyle stood there, his breathing even, as if he'd just finished a light warm-up.
A horrible thought struck her: If he wanted to, he could slaughter them all. Without Smoker, they had no one who could stop him.
The other Marines snapped out of their shock. Their fear was replaced by a grim resolve. Without orders, they scrambled to form a fragile human wall in front of their fallen captain. They gripped their guns and swords, their knuckles white, ready to make a last, hopeless stand.
Killua and Gon ran up to Kyle's side. Gon wasn't celebrating. He looked worried. "Kyle, did you go too far? Is... is he going to die?"
Killua just jammed his hands in his pockets, trying to look cool, but his eyes showed he was thinking the same thing. He glanced at the unconscious Smoker and the wall of terrified Marines. "Kyle," he asked, his voice all business, "you sure he'll recover in ten days?"
Kyle, hearing this, rubbed his nose, a rare look of uncertainty on his face. He thought back to the feel of the impacts.
"Well... I was using 'external shock' techniques. It looks bad, but it's mostly surface damage. I avoided his vitals. With Marine medicine and how tough he is... ten days... should be fine? Right?"
His voice, for the first time, sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
And just like that, the three of them—completely ignoring the tragic, ready-to-die defensive line—started casually walking toward town, discussing Smoker's recovery schedule.
Their conversation drifted back to the Marines. Being so completely ignored... it was more humiliating than any taunt. It was a statement of absolute power.
As Kyle, Gon, and Killua strolled right past their defensive line—without giving them so much as a warning or a contemptuous glance—the string holding the Marines' fighting spirit snapped.
They deflated. Several of them collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, their faces a mix of dazed relief at having survived, and a deep, crushing, profound sense of defeat.