The moon hung high and full over Whiskey Peak, bathing the bizarre, cactus-shaped mountains in a pale, eerie light. The town square, which hours before had been a roaring epicenter of food, booze, and deceitful revelry, was now dead silent.
The only sounds were the distant, mournful howl of a coyote-wolf and the gentle clink of empty bottles rolling across the cobblestones.
Inside the main "Welcome House," the Straw Hat Pirates were asleep, their bodies sprawled over tables and floors in poses of pure, drugged exhaustion.
Outside, in the cold moonlight, Igarappi stood, his arms crossed. His jovial "Igarappoi!" persona had vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating demeanor of a Baroque Works Officer Agent. He stared up at the moon, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
This perfect, villainous tableau was interrupted by two soft thuds.
Miss Wednesday and Mr. 9, their faces grim, landed on the rooftop above him, then leaped down to the street.
"Mr. 8," Mr. 9 said, adjusting his stupid crown. "The perimeter is secure. What happened to the Straw Hat crew?"
Mr. 8 didn't turn. He just gestured with his chin toward the dark, silent house. "Oh, you mean them?" he said, his voice dripping with condescension.
Miss Wednesday felt a knot of anxiety. "What happened? Are they... dealt with?"
Mr. 8 let out a low, dry chuckle. "They have fallen, my dear Miss Wednesday... straight into hell."
As if on cue, the back door of the house creaked open. A tall, imposing figure stepped out, ripping off a tattered nun's habit to reveal the toned, muscular body of a woman with a brass-knuckle-adorned "Miss Monday" tattoo. It was, in fact, Miss Monday.
She cracked her knuckles, her expression one of pure, unrestrained fury.
"That... stupid, straw-hatted... BASTARD!" she growled, her voice a low rumble. "He... he... HE ATE EVERYTHING!"
Vivi and Mr. 9 blinked.
"He ate the entire town's food supply! The roasted cactus-lizard! The scorpion-skewers! The 1,000-person 'Welcome' paella! All of it! Gone!" She looked genuinely, personally, and murderously offended. "I didn't even get a bite!"
Mr. 8 sighed, the picture of a long-suffering manager. "Calm yourself, Miss Monday. Do not think so much about the food. Think about... this."
From his coat, Mr. 8 produced a rolled-up piece of paper. He unfurled it.
It was Luffy's bounty poster. 30,000,000 Berries.
The three agents gasped. Mr. 9's eyes bulged. Miss Monday's food rage was instantly replaced by pure, avaricious shock.
Mr. 9 blood ran cold. Thirty... million?! That wasn't a rookie. That wasn't an East Blue small-timer. They hadn't just partied with a rookie crew. They had drugged and were now planning to capture a certified, Grade-A, Grand Line-level monster.
"You... you all..." Mr. 8 sneered, scolding them like children. "Never judge a pirate's ability by how they look!"
"But... Mr. 8 ..." Mr. 9 stammered, "Thirty million... should we...?"
"It's already settled," Mr. 8 said, rolling up the poster. "He's asleep, just like the rest. The drugs in the food and wine were potent. Send a message to the boss. We've captured the Straw Hat crew. Then, confiscate everything of value from their ship. The ship itself looks... strange. The boss will want to see it."
Miss Monday grinned, cracking her knuckles again. "So, we just kill 'em now? I want the first punch on the rubber man. For the paella."
"No, you fool," Mr. 8 snapped. "If we kill them, the bounty drops by 30%. Dead bounties are always less profitable. No, we capture them. We hand them over to the World Government. They'll want to hold a public execution for them."
A new voice, lazy and laced with sleep, cut through the night.
"...Hey. Sorry, but... do you mind letting them sleep? They're pretty exhausted from the journey. Especially the perverted cook, he's a light sleeper."
8, Wednesday, 9, and Monday... froze.
They all looked up.
Perched on the very top of the highest building in the town was a figure. Silhouetted by the fat, white moon, he was sitting casually, cross-legged, his three swords gleaming.
It was the man with the green hair and the bellyband. Roronoa Zoro.
At that exact moment, a dozen Frontier Agents burst from the house, their faces pale with panic.
"Igarappi-sama! He's... he's gone! The swordsman! He wasn't in the room! The guy with the bellyband escaped!"
Vivi pointed a shaky, blue-nailed finger. "He's... he's... over there! On the top!"
Zoro let out a massive, jaw-cracking yawn, completely unbothered by the 100+ bounty hunters who were now emerging from the shadows, all staring at him.
"This is... Whiskey Peak, right?" Zoro called down, scratching his head. "One of the main bases for Baroque Works? You people are persistent, I'll give you that. You tried to recruit me back in the East Blue. Some fruit-themed weirdo... Mr. 7, I think. Turned him down. Kinda sliced him up. I figured you'd get the message. Guess not."
Mr. 8's face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The plan. The perfect plan. Ruined.
"He... he knew?!" Miss Wednesday whispered, horrified.
"It doesn't matter!" Mr. 8 roared, his purple hair-curls trembling with rage. "He's just one man! All Frontier Agents! Forget the crew! KILL RORONOA ZORO!"
---
On another rooftop, much more comfortable and with a better vantage point, two figures were sitting in magically-conjured, plush, velvet lounge chairs.
Ben and Nami were clinking glasses.
"Cheers," Ben said, taking a delicate sip of what looked suspiciously like a 50-year-old brandy.
"Cheers," Nami replied, finishing her own drink—a fruity, bright-orange concoction in a tall glass.
Then they see hundred of baroque work agents attacking Zoro.
"A hundred..." Nami whispered, her eyes wide as the swarm of 100 bounty hunters charged the base of the building Zoro was on. "That's... a lot, Ben. Zoro's tough, but... maybe a little help? A... a fireball? A... confusing mist? Something to thin the herd?"
Ben took another sip, looking utterly unbothered. "Nah."
He pointed. "Look at his stance. He's not trapped with them, Nami. They're trapped with him. Besides," Ben's eyes gleamed.
---
Zoro looked down as the first wave of agents began to swarm up the rock, climbing the building each other like ants, their swords drawn.
"A hundred..." Zoro muttered, cracking his neck. "How tedious. I was having a good nap, too. And the booze here is terrible."
He didn't bother with his santoryu pose. He just drew Wado Ichimonji and his new blade, Yubashiri.
He didn't wait for them to reach the top. He jumped.
He fell into the center of the charging mob like a green-finned meteor.
The bounty hunters, thinking they had him, all piled on. "WE GOT HIM! DOG-PILE!"
From the center of the 100-man pile, a bored voice was heard.
"...This is just... sad."
"TATSU... MAKI!"
A green-and-white whirlwind of pure, blunt-force trauma erupted in the street. Zoro, holding his swords backwards, spun like a top. It wasn't a Tornado of death. It was a Tornado of humiliation.
He wasn't cutting. He was hitting.
The sound was a symphony of THWACKS, BONKS, DOINKS, and OOFs.
Men were launched into the air, spinning like tops. They crashed into buildings. They clattered off the cobblestones. They landed in piles, groaning.
In less than ten seconds, the street was a sprawling junkyard of unconscious bounty hunters.
Zoro stood in the middle, dusting off his haramaki. "Tch. Barely a warm-up. Now... who's next?"
He looked up. The "bosses"—Mr. 8 , Miss Wednesday, Mr. 9, and Miss Monday—were staring, their faces a mask of pure, abject terror.
Back on the lounge roof...
"Well," Ben said, conjuring another drink for Nami. "That was disappointing. It took no effort."
---
Zoro pointed one of his swords at the remaining agents. "Alright. I'm tired. You. The woman with the... strength."
Miss Monday growled. "You're going to pay for that, pretty-boy!" She launched herself at him, her brass-knuckled fist cocked back.
Zoro just... sidestepped. "Too slow," he said, bored. As she flew past, he chopped her precisely on the back of the neck with the hilt of his sword.
THUD. Miss Monday was out cold.
"Next."
Mr. 9, filled with a misplaced, acrobatic courage, did a series of flips. "Hot-Blooded... BAT!" he screamed, swinging his steel bat.
Zoro didn't even move. He just raised Yubashiri. The bat connected with the flat of the blade and shattered.
Mr. 9 stared at the handle in his hand. "My... bat..."
Zoro punched him in the face.
THUD. Mr. 9 was out cold.
It was down to Miss Wednesday and Mr. 8. Zoro sheathed his two swords, leaving only Wado Ichimonji in his hand. He pointed it at Vivi. "You. The blue-haired one. You're next."
Vivi panicked. This... this wasn't just a swordsman. This was a demon.
"K-K-Karoo!" she shrieked.
Her giant duck, Karoo, who had been hiding behind a barrel, peeked out, quacking nervously.
"Karoo! It's time! We have to use... the technique!"
Up on the lounge roof...
"Oh?" Ben said, leaning forward. "A secret technique? This should be good."
Vivi leaped onto Karoo's back. She took a deep breath, striking a... pose.
"You... you may be strong, swordsman-san..." she said, her voice very seductive. "But... can you resist... THIS?! Charming... Perfume... DANCE!"
And... she... danced.
Atop her giant, terrified, waddling duck, Vivi began to... sway. She waved her arms and doing belly dance. She winked.
Then she released a perfume in the air.
Zoro when he smelled the gas started to feel suffocation.
He just... stared.
Vivi, seeing her 100-man army defeated in seconds, knew she couldn't rely on brute force. This... this demon... was beyond them. She had to use her other skills. Her assassin skills.
"K-K-Karoo!" she shrieked. Her giant duck, Karoo, who had been hiding behind a barrel, peeked out, quacking nervously. "Karoo! It's time! We have to use... the technique!"
---
"Oh?" Ben said, leaning forward. "A secret technique? This should be good." He pulled out a strange, brass-and-crystal device. It looked like an old-fashioned box camera, but it was covered in glowing, blue runes.
"What is that?" Nami asked.
"A camera I created using magic," Ben said, his eyes gleaming. ' I am not missing this. A princess... vamping... on a duck... Oh, this is going to be priceless.'
Down on the street...
Vivi leaped onto Karoo's back. She took a deep breath, striking a... pose. "You... you may be strong, swordsman-san..." she said, her voice seductive. "But... can you resist... THIS?! Charming... Perfume... DANCE!"
And... she... danced. Atop her giant, terrified, waddling duck, Vivi began to... sway. She waved her arms. She blew kisses. She winked. "...Kyuun~..." she cooed.
Zoro's reaction was... nothing. He just... stared. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated, stoic confusion. He looked at her. He looked at the duck. He looked at the sky. He looked back at her. He was genuinely trying to figure out if this was some kind of new martial art, or if she was having a seizure.
But as she danced, she was also discreetly uncorking two small, elegant vials hidden in her peacock-themed outfit. With a final, dramatic twirl, she tossed the contents into the air.
A fine, opalescent mist—a beautiful, shimmering, lavender-scented cloud—drifted from her and settled over Zoro.
Zoro, who had been bracing for a sword attack, inhaled.
His eyes went wide. The world... suddenly... stopped. It wasn't a poison. It was a high-grade, fast-acting paralytic anesthetic. It smelled... nice. And it was, he realized, stopping his lungs.
"Wha... cough... gasp..."
He dropped to one knee, his swords clattering on the stone. He clutched his throat, his body refusing to obey. He couldn't get a breath. His muscles seized. His vision began to blur, the world tunneling.
Up on the lounge roof...
Nami's drink stopped halfway to her lips. "Is... is he choking? Ben, is that poison?"
Ben lowered his camera, squinting. "Oh, dear. That's... 'Kool-Aid' perfume. A high-grade anesthetic mist. Smells like... lavender and regret. Nasty stuff. It's designed to incapacitate, not kill. Well, not quickly." He raised the camera again, the rune flashing. Click.
"HE'S TURNING BLUE, BEN!" Nami shrieked, jumping out of her chair. "He can't breathe! Aren't you going to do something?!"
Ben, still focused on getting the perfect shot of Zoro's gasping, fish-like expression, waved her off. "Hmm? Oh, in a minute. Look at his face! He's gasping like he just saw Sanji's cooking bill. This is golden blackmail material. 'Remember that time you were almost taken out by a duck and some body spray?'" Click. Flash.
"BEN! HE'S GOING TO DIE!"
"Relax. He's fine. He's a monster. He can probably hold his breath for... ten minutes? Maybe five. Let's see."
Down on the street...
Vivi, seeing the demon swordsman on his knees, gasping for air, felt a surge of pure, triumphant adrenaline. It worked! "Now, Karoo!" she shrieked. "He's helpless! This is the end, swordsman! Peacock... SLASHER!"
Tiny, spinning, razor-sharp discs flew from her fingers. "Karoo! Attack! Go, go, go!"
The giant duck, spurred on by his master's confidence, charged. Zoro, on his knees, his vision fading, his lungs burning, could only watch as the blue-haired girl and her giant duck charged him, weapons spinning.
Up on the lounge roof...
"BEN, HE'S GOING TO BE CHOPPED INTO DUCK-FEED! DO SOMETHING!" Nami screamed.
Ben let out a long, put-upon sigh, as if he'd been asked to pause his favorite movie. "Oh, fine."
He didn't stand up. He didn't even lower his camera. He just lazily flicked his wand from his lounge chair. "Ventus."
A precise, targeted, miniature-hurricane of pure, clean wind instantly materialized in the street. It didn't hit Zoro. It hit the perfume.
The lavender-scented, suffocating cloud was picked up, spun around, and blown directly back into the faces of the charging attackers.
"HAAAAAAH—cough... wheeze... what...?" Zoro gasped, his lungs filling with sweet, blessed, non-paralytic air.
Vivi and Karoo, however, were not so lucky. They ran full-speed into a wall of their own highly-concentrated anesthetic.
"My... my own... cough... gasp... perfume...!" Vivi choked, her eyes watering instantly.
Karoo, getting a full blast right up the beak, was worse. His eyes rolled back in his head. "QUAAAA....(gasp)...aaaaack...."
The duck, now high as a kite and completely numb, wobbled. His legs buckled. His steering... failed. He veered sharply to the left, tripped over an unconscious bounty hunter, and tumbled, beak-over-tail-feathers, taking Vivi with him.
They didn't just fall. They crashed, in a cloud of feathers, perfume, and quacking, tumbling head-over-heels off the rooftop they had just been standing on.
A distant, wet... CRASH... and then... silence.
Zoro was left alone. He was on his hands and knees, coughing, his sword still in his hand, surrounded by 104 unconscious bodies, a pile of feathers, and a lingering, very annoying smell of lavender. He was, once again, profoundly confused.
"What... just happened?"
He got to his feet, still wheezing. He looked at the remaining, terrified officers. Miss Monday (regaining consciousness), Mr. 9 (regaining consciousness), and Mr. 8 (regaining consciousness and fumbling for his saxophone-gun).
Zoro sheathed his two swords. He was annoyed now. "Right. You three." He didn't even use his blades. He just... punched them. THUD. (Miss Monday). THUD. (Mr. 9). THUD. (Igaram). All out cold.
Zoro stood alone on the street, surrounded by 104 unconscious bodies and a weird duck-feather. He sighed, sat down, and looked at the moon. "Weak... all of them. I'm going back to sleep."
Up on the lounge roof... Ben carefully stowed the Runic Camera. "Well," he said, conjuring a final brandy. "That was a 10/10 performance. I got everything."
Nami sighed, stretching, and snatched one of the magical photos from his hand. "Idiots. The whole island is full of idiots." She looked at the picture of Zoro gasping, his face purple. Her lips curled into a very familiar, greedy smirk. "So... how much do you think we can charge him for this?"
Ben's answering smile was pure, unadulterated mischief. "Oh, Nami... we're going to be so rich."