The West Blue—among the Four Seas, it was the one most tangled in power and influence.
If one were to ask which sea had the most pirates, the strongest pirates, or the most lawless pirates, the answer would be the same every time: the West Blue.
But pirates weren't its only plague. The West Blue had something none of the other three seas could claim—the Mafia.
In simple terms, they were the underground crime syndicates ruling over the land. While such groups existed in other seas, nowhere did they wield influence like they did here—strong enough to contend with kings and governments. To put it another way, this place was like a more chaotic version of Mexico.
Chaos and disorder weren't exceptions here—they were the rule.
Yet in this sea of corruption and crime, there was one small corner that remained pure, a place untainted by the surrounding filth—the Mia Kingdom, under the jurisdiction of Marine Branch 133, centered in Ang Town.
The Mia Kingdom was one of the many small island nations scattered across the world of One Piece.
It consisted of sixteen islands of varying size, their combined land area totaling only about 600 square kilometers—roughly the size of Seoul in the real world.
However, its economy was far inferior to that of a great power's capital city. The total population was a modest 150,000, making Mia neither prosperous nor powerful. By the world's standards, it was a small, middling nation; even within the West Blue, it barely ranked above the lower tier.
The Marine base itself was located in Ang Town, on the easternmost island of the kingdom. The island measured just 45 square kilometers, home to fewer than ten thousand permanent residents—a quiet, coastal town.
After more than ten days at sea, the warship of the 133rd Branch finally docked at Ang Town's military harbor on a bright, peaceful afternoon.
A long wooden gangway was lowered from the ship. Colonel Kane led his men down in strict formation, posture straight and face solemn.
Marines along the pier halted in their duties to salute him. Their respect for Kane was evident in every gesture, every sharp motion.
He had brought only a hundred men to Marine Headquarters for his report, yet his branch boasted nearly two thousand. The port was bustling with activity, and as the soldiers snapped to attention and saluted, the show of unity and discipline was almost impressive.
Even at a glance, it was clear—Kane's authority here ran deep.
At the back of the disembarking line, Yoriichi Tsugukuni watched quietly, his expression unreadable but his mind alert.
His first impression of Colonel Kane had never been a good one. He couldn't quite put his finger on why—it was simply instinct. Kane was not like Garp or Zephyr, whose strength and hearts were worn plainly on their sleeves. There was something hidden, shadowed, about this man. And Yoriichi's instincts told him not to trust people like that.
When he'd first boarded Kane's warship and been assigned to "boiler duty," that unease had only deepened.
Work like that should have been handled by servants or maintenance staff, not regular soldiers.
So where were those men?
Had the positions simply been erased on paper, while their salaries still "existed" somewhere else—perhaps in someone's personal ledger?
It was an uncomfortable question, and one that didn't need to be asked aloud.
In a branch of two thousand marines, there should have been at least a hundred laborers or aides. Their wages, rations, and supplies would add up to a tidy sum.
And since the Marine budget from Headquarters was allocated by personnel count, a clever officer could easily pocket the difference.
Which meant Kane could be siphoning off funds through "ghost pay" positions—a trick not unknown among corrupt marines.
So when Yoriichi mingled with the other soldiers, he kept his guard up. He smiled when needed but never spoke too freely.
In his eyes, Kane might well be one of those officers—the kind who lined their pockets while preaching duty and justice.
Still, seeing how the local soldiers looked up to him so earnestly… Yoriichi couldn't help but wonder.
"Was I overthinking it?"
His expression softened slightly as that thought passed through his mind.
After their arrival, Yoriichi and Cyrus were assigned under the command of a Marine sergeant.
"Yoriichi Tsugukuni, Cyrus—welcome to the 133rd Branch," the man greeted them warmly. "You've been assigned to my squad."
"Name's Santos. I'm your squad leader. Counting you two, that makes twenty-one of us."
"Come on, I'll show you to the barracks. From now on, you'll live and work alongside the rest of the squad."
Sergeant Santos looked to be in his early twenties, about 180 centimeters tall, with a solid, athletic build. His face bore a simple, honest kind of strength—and his enthusiasm as he welcomed the two newcomers felt entirely genuine.
Yoriichi greeted Santos with his usual calm politeness—neither distant nor overly friendly, just enough to be courteous. To him, Santos was a colleague, nothing more and nothing less.
Cyrus, on the other hand, was far more open. He grinned and returned the greeting warmly.
"Haha, that's fine," Santos laughed, mistaking Yoriichi's reserve for shyness. "You'll get used to things soon enough."
With his easygoing smile, Santos led the two newcomers to their quarters.
Their assigned room was an eight-man dormitory, but it was empty when they arrived—the others were still out training. The air smelled faintly of sweat and soap, and the place was simple but tidy: bunk beds lined against the walls, lockers at the foot of each, and a small window letting in the afternoon light.
By the washroom stood a vacant bunk—the only open spot.
Santos pointed toward it.
"That'll be your beds. Top or bottom, you can pick between yourselves. Don't mind being near the toilets; the others already claimed their spots. Marines have to learn to live with a bit of hardship, right?"
As he spoke, Santos dusted off the mattresses himself, the gesture as casual as it was kind.
Yoriichi, silent as ever, let his sharp eyes wander across the room, noting the order and discipline reflected even in how the beds were arranged. He and Cyrus said nothing more about the arrangement, simply helped tidy the bunks and laid out their packs.
When they were done, Santos guided them to the quartermaster to collect their bedding and personal items—sheets, blankets, uniforms—and soon enough, both were settled in.
Santos didn't leave right away. Instead, he stayed to explain what kind of duties their squad handled.
The 133rd Branch was stationed in Ang Town, but its jurisdiction extended far beyond—roughly a hundred kilometers of ocean in every direction, centered on the Mia Kingdom.
Santos's unit, he explained, wasn't a front-line combat squad but part of the reconnaissance and patrol corps. Their job was to sail the nearby waters, monitor pirate movement, and report any suspicious activity to the main base. They weren't expected to fight unless absolutely necessary.
It was, as Yoriichi immediately understood, a team that gathered intelligence rather than engaged the enemy.
Both he and Cyrus nodded in acknowledgment, quietly memorizing every detail.
After the briefing, Santos gave them a brief tour of the base—barracks, mess hall, training ground, armory, and the docks where patrol vessels were moored. The layout was simple, but efficient.
By evening, the two joined Santos and the squad for dinner in the mess hall. Laughter and chatter filled the room; the air smelled of stew and sea salt. Introductions were made, hands were shaken, and just like that, Yoriichi and Cyrus were officially part of the squad.
The next morning, their first mission came.
At sunrise, the patrol vessel from the 133rd Branch cut through the calm waters, its white sails gleaming in gold light.
Yoriichi stood on deck, a telescope in hand, his expression as tranquil as the sea. He slowly scanned the horizon.
The ocean stretched endlessly—blue, unbroken, peaceful.
Nothing seemed amiss.
Then—something flickered on the edge of his vision.
A small black speck, far off against the glittering horizon.
"Hm?"
His eyes sharpened. He adjusted the telescope, focusing on the speck.
There it was—a ship. A large one, and oddly, it bore no flag.
Yet it was heading directly toward them.
"A ship without a flag… coming straight for us?" he murmured.
The unease in his chest deepened. He turned and called out,
"Captain Santos, sir—something approaching from the east!"
Santos came over, took the telescope, and after a brief glance, laughed lightly.
"Relax, Yoriichi. That's the Loro Trading Company's merchant ship—probably heading back to the Mia Kingdom."
He handed the telescope back with a reassuring grin, as if the matter were settled.
But Yoriichi didn't lower it. His instincts told him something was wrong.
As Santos turned to leave, Yoriichi spoke again—calm but firm.
"Captain… are you sure that's a merchant vessel?"
He lifted the telescope once more.
Through the lens, the "merchant ship" had changed.
Where there had been bare masts moments ago, a flag was now unfurled—whipping in the sea breeze.
A skull grinned upon it—painted in bright, sickly pink.
Yoriichi's eyes narrowed.
"That… doesn't look like any merchant flag I've ever seen."
Then—
"Fweeeeeee—!"
A sharp, piercing whistle split the air from above—shrill, metallic, and unmistakable.
An incoming shot.
(To be continued…)
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