Foosha Village, East Blue
"Let me hold him for a little while!" Sabo whined, flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to reach baby Luffy, who was dozing peacefully in a makeshift sling tied snugly to Ace's chest.
Ace, however, narrowed his eyes like a stubborn dragon guarding treasure. He took a step back and extended an arm stiffly, shoving Sabo's face away without a word. The message was clear: Luffy is mine today. Back off.
Sabo pouted, fists clenched in frustration. "But Agatha san said we'd take turns! That was the deal! You had him all morning, Ace!"
"Shhh!" Ace hissed, dramatically throwing a finger to his lips like a secret agent on a stealth mission. "You're gonna wake him up!"
Sabo froze mid-retort, staring in disbelief as Ace turned his back and tiptoed away in exaggerated slow motion like a suspicious villain, shielding Luffy like he was smuggling royal treasure out of enemy territory.
Meanwhile, baby Luffy remained blissfully unaware of the civil war raging over his custody, snoring softly with a strand of drool glistening on his cheek.
It had been several months since Sabo had run away from his noble house and joined the Portgas household. In that time, the duo had become an inseparable band of brothers—bound by scars, secrets, and the occasional bruised ego.
Currently, the boys were enjoying a rare break. Their grizzled, eccentric mentor, Naguri, had left for a nearby island to take care of "grown-up stuff," which meant two glorious weeks of freedom. No combat drills. No endless hiking. Just pure, wild-child chaos.
Their bickering echoed through Agatha's cozy home—a humble, warm place nestled right beside the rickety old bandit lair. These days, the two homes might as well have been one, especially with how often the infamous bandit boss Dadan was found lounging at Agatha's place, feet up and mouth full.
Dadan sat on an old chair with a half-torn cushion, flipping through the latest edition of the World Times with all the elegance of a bored bandit queen. A cloud of pipe smoke hung around her like a halo as she chuckled at the brothers' antics.
From the kitchen came the gentle clatter of pots and the soothing hum of Agatha's voice as she prepared lunch.
"Agatha-chan! What's for lunch today?" Dadan called out, eyes still scanning the headlines—"Chaos in the New World".
"We still have that bear meat Ace and Sabo brought home last week," Agatha replied from the kitchen, her voice echoing like a blessing from the heavens.
Dadan nearly drooled right onto the newspaper. That wasn't just any bear. That was the bear. The beast of the woods. The bear that every bandit, beast, and even the bravest hunter in the region gave a wide berth. No one dared cross into its territory. No one… except two half-pint hellraisers armed with sticks, fire, and way too much reckless confidence.
The day they dragged the beast home had been unforgettable. Sabo and Ace had staggered into the clearing drenched in blood, clothes torn, bodies battered, and grinning like maniacs as they heaved the hulking carcass behind them. Agatha had dropped her ladle. Dadan had dropped her cigar.
"You—you two killed that bear?!" Dadan had shrieked, pointing at the monster like it had personally robbed her.
"Yup," Ace had said, smug as ever, one eye swelling shut. "It looked at me funny."
"And we might've accidentally wandered into its cave," Sabo added sheepishly, missing a shoe and sporting a deep gash that looked suspiciously like a claw mark.
Agatha had immediately turned into a war goddess, bandaging, scolding, and feeding them all at once. Dadan, meanwhile, had secretly been impressed—and even prouder of her chaos gremlins than ever.
Back in the present, the delicious aroma of bear stew drifted through the air, making Dadan sink deeper into her chair in bliss. A loud snore erupted from baby Luffy, still snug on Ace's chest.
Sabo, arms crossed and lower lip trembling, finally gave in. "Fine! But I'm getting extra meat at lunch."
Ace just smirked. "Only if you earn it. Maybe if you do give up on your time with Luffy, we can consider it."
Sabo's jaw dropped. "You tyrant! This is exactly why we need a custody chart!"
From behind the kitchen door, Agatha called out, "If anyone disturbs Luffy's nap, you're both getting kitchen duty and going empty-stomached the rest of the day!"
Silence fell instantly. Ace and Sabo froze in perfect synchronization, like two little fish caught in the eyes of a Sea King. Luffy snored again. Peaceful. Untouchable. Oblivious to the chaos he inspired.
At the base of the mist-draped mountain, where the rugged terrain cradled both the infamous bandits' lair and the now-lively Portgas household, a quiet tension hung in the air.
Hidden among the thick underbrush, more than two dozen soldiers clad in the dark uniform of the Goa Kingdom crouched silently behind the treeline, eyes trained on the cluster of homes further up the mountainside.
Their uniform had been dulled with mud and foliage, their weapons sheathed in cloth to mute the sound. This was not a formal arrest—they were here on a reclamation. A retrieval ordered in hushed tones by the noble Outlook III himself.
The captain, a grizzled man with a scar slicing down his cheek and eyes sharp as a hawk's, peered through a crude spyglass. His voice was low, but laced with irritation. "You're certain the old man is gone?"
The question made a few of the men shift uncomfortably. They all knew who he was referring to. Naguri—the old sea dog who appeared like a phantom whenever they tried to lay hands on the runaway noble brat.
One of the younger scouts nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir. I saw him sail off the island myself last week. He hasn't returned. I've kept watch every day. The boy—Sabo—is definitely in that house. And so is the other one, the dark-haired brat."
The captain's eyes narrowed as he followed the scout's finger to a modest wooden home nestled among the others, smoke curling peacefully from its chimney. The boy was right. The place looked like any other backwoods hovel—hardly the hiding place of a noble's heir. Yet that was the house that had eluded them for months.
"Captain," the scout added cautiously, "we do have one problem. This whole mountain… it's part of the Foosha village. It's the village of the Marine Hero."
A heavy silence settled over the group like a shroud. No one needed to be reminded what the name Monkey D. Garp meant. Even the greenest among them had heard the stories—tales whispered in the dead of night around campfires, or murmured over tankards of rum in seedy port taverns.
Garp. The Fist. The Marine Hero.
He wasn't just a man—he was a storm given flesh, a force of nature that pirates fled from and nobles feared. His wrath was not something you could buy your way out of, nor was it bound by the rules of rank or status.
And this village—Foosha Village—was his home.
Even the most bloodthirsty pirates, the cruelest slavers, and the haughtiest nobles of the Goa Kingdom gave this place a wide berth. They avoided it like the plague, not out of respect, but out of fear. Over the years, too many had tried to cross that line, and each story of what followed was more terrifying than the last—bodies found scattered like driftwood, ships sunk without a trace, entire crews vanishing in the night.
It was said that if you brought harm to Foosha Village, Garp wouldn't just hunt you down—he'd erase your name from history.
The tension among the soldiers was thick enough to choke on. A few exchanged uneasy glances, hands tightening on the hilts of their swords. They were trained men, hardened from skirmishes and guard duty, but this was different. This was Garp's territory.
But their captain—grizzled and gray, scarred from too many battles and too much ambition—had long run out of patience.
He clicked his tongue in irritation, snapping the spyglass closed and slipping it back into his belt. His eyes remained locked on the village above, cold and calculating.
"He's not here," he said, voice like gravel scraping steel. "That old marine hasn't been seen in months. And as long as we don't leave behind any evidence… no witnesses… no one will ever know what happened."
He turned, looking over his men with an intensity that brooked no argument.
"All those stories—they're just that. Stories. Rumors. Myths spread by drunk fishermen and cowardly peasants. Don't let them cloud your judgment. At the end of the day, Garp's still a Marine. He has to follow rules. Protocol. Chain of command. He can't act without proof."
He gave a bitter, almost amused smirk.
"So we don't give him any."
The words sank in slowly. More than a few men still looked unsure, but no one voiced dissent. Orders were orders.
"We retrieve the boy," the captain continued. "We erase any trace of us ever being here. No bodies. No noise. No trails. Once the noble brat is secured, we vanish back into the forest and away from the village before nightfall. Understood?"
He turned to the rest of the unit. "Do we have a layout of the homes?"
The same scout nodded. "That one,"—he pointed again—"is where the target is. Only two women inside. One built like a wild boar. The other…"
He paused, then chuckled with a leer that earned a few low snickers from nearby soldiers. The captain's lip curled, but he didn't bother to correct the man. Discipline wasn't his concern on this mission—results were.
"Fine. Take the noble boy alive. Preferably unharmed. Outlook wants his son back breathing, not broken. As for the rest…" He waved a dismissive hand. "Do with them as you please."
He didn't say it, but his eyes held the cold finality of someone who had long stopped caring about collateral damage. With a silent gesture, the order was given.
Weapons were drawn—swords unsheathed, rifles loaded. Faces hardened. Boots dug quietly into the dirt as they began the climb up the mountain path, creeping through the twisted roots and damp underbrush like hunting dogs closing in on a cornered fox.
What they didn't know—what not a single one of them considered—was that the homes they approached weren't filled with helpless peasants or unarmed women. They were walking straight into a hornet's nest. A den of bandits.
Rouge—known in Foosha Village as Agatha—paused mid-stir over the bubbling bear stew, her hand hovering in the steam. Something shifted in the air. A subtle threat. The faintest disturbance on the edge of her senses, like the brush of wind before a storm.
She turned off the stove without a word and moved quickly, silently, into the bedroom. Dust puffed up as she pulled out an old trunk from under the bed—untouched since the day she arrived in Foosha Village. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid the locks, revealing a bundle wrapped in oilcloth. Something that had remained hidden for years.
Dadan looked up from the doorway, the question forming on her lips when a sharp, familiar whistle cut through the air. She froze. The whistle was one of their signals—the coded calls of her bandit crew. A warning. Intruders. Armed. Dangerous.
"What's going on—?" Dadan started toward her, only to stop short as she saw what Agatha was unwrapping: a sheathed, slim-bladed rapier, the cloth falling away to reveal its elegant hilt, glinting with old battle-worn metal.
"Agatha-chan… you don't have to do that." Dadan's voice dropped low, firm but not unkind. "Garp trusted me to keep you and the kids safe. That means something. Let me handle this."
Without waiting for a reply, Dadan stepped out onto the front porch, her wide frame casting a shadow in the sun. Her hands were relaxed by her side, but her eyes scanned the treeline—and what she saw made her jaw tighten.
More than two dozen Goa Kingdom soldiers were already in the clearing, rifles leveled, blades unsheathed.
One of them stepped forward, noticing the burly figure step out, and shouted in a pompous, barked tone, "By the authority of the Goa Kingdom, you are hereby charged with the kidnapping and endangerment of a noble child. Surrender the boy immediately and submit to questioning!"
But even as he spoke, it was clear their words were hollow. Their guns were already cocked. The intent was never justice. It was extermination.
Dadan exhaled a plume of smoke as she dropped her cigar and crushed it underfoot. "You really want to wave that little toy in front of my face?" she growled, voice low and guttural. "Try it. I dare you."
Behind her, Ace and Sabo peeked out from the doorway, wide-eyed. What shocked them wasn't the group of soldiers in their yard; they could already tell they were here for Sabo—but their mother, standing calm and poised behind Dadan with a weapon. A blade none of them had ever seen, held like it was an extension of her soul.
Rouge didn't speak. She didn't need to. Through the subtle tremble of her long-honed senses, she was already using Observation Haki—sensing every hostile presence, every murderous intent in that clearing.
Little Ace started to step forward. "We should—"
"No," Rouge said softly. "Dadan's got this. Don't move."
Sabo frowned. "But they've got guns—"
"That's not going to matter."
At that moment, the Goa Captain locked eyes on Sabo through the crowd and pointed. "There he is! That's the boy! Hand him over, and maybe only you—" he pointed at Dadan "—will take the punishment."
Before he could finish, a soldier tugged urgently at his sleeve, pale-faced. "Captain…"
"What?" the officer snapped, irritated—until he noticed the other soldiers weren't looking at the house anymore.
They were looking around them. The treeline had shifted. It wasn't just the two dozen soldiers anymore. It was them... who were surrounded.
Out from the forest, the brush, the ridgelines, the shadows—over a hundred bandits emerged, armed to the teeth. Rusted cutlasses. Spiked maces. Knives. Flintlocks. Chains.
The Goa soldiers huddled up instinctively, backs pressed to each other, panic setting in like rot. One heavy-footed bandit stepped forward, a kanabo club slung over his shoulder. He let it fall in front of the captain with a thud that made the dirt jump.
"This… this is a misunderstanding," the captain stammered, sweat now pouring down his face.
"We were told this was just a house with two women and some brats. We—we didn't mean—"
One of the older bandits leaned toward Dadan and whispered quickly. His face was grim. They'd heard everything from their high perches in the trees—everything. The comments. The threats. What they had planned for Agatha. And worse.
Dadan's gaze darkened.
She turned slightly, her voice low and full of finality. "Agatha-chan, take the kids. Set the table for lunch. I'll be there shortly."
Ace and Sabo opened their mouths to protest. Agatha didn't give them the chance because she already heard what the bandit had told Dadan, and she knew these soldiers were not going to walk out of here alive.
She yanked both boys by the ear, dragging them back inside. Dadan closed the door behind them. And then turned back, the old wolf of the East Blue, her fists clenched at her sides.
"You come into my home... You threaten my family… And you think you'll walk away?"
The captain tried one last desperate plea. "We're soldiers of the Goa Kingdom! If you harm us, the royal army, the Marines—they'll come for you!"
One of the bandits cackled, slapping the side of his axe. "We're bandits, dumbass. You think we care?"
Dadan took a step forward, cracking her knuckles. "You picked the wrong mountain, the wrong village... and the wrong woman."
One of the Goa soldiers snapped. In a panic, he raised his rifle and aimed it at Dadan.
BANG!
A single shot echoed across the clearing. But it wasn't Dadan who dropped. It was the soldier. A hole between his eyes, his body fell to the dirt with a heavy thud—his rifle clattering beside him.
The bandit who fired stepped out from behind a tree, smoke curling from his flintlock. "Trigger-happy little shit."
That was the signal. What followed was carnage. The bandits descended like wolves—feral, fast, and furious.
One bandit hurled a chain that coiled around a soldier's neck and yanked—snapping it like twine. Another smashed a mace down on a rifleman's helmet, crumpling it—and the skull beneath it—like paper. Blades flashed. Blood splattered.
Screams filled the clearing.
The soldiers fought, but they were outnumbered, outmatched, and outwitted. A flintlock fired point-blank into a soldier's face. Another had his leg cleaved at the knee before being tackled and buried under fists.
Dadan moved like an avalanche. Her punches shattered ribs. One poor bastard tried to run—she picked up his own rifle and speared him with it.
"You were going to hurt her?" she snarled, grabbing a soldier by the collar and slamming him into the dirt. "You were going to sell my little Ace into slavery…?"
She raised a boot and crushed his face. A blood-red mist hung in the air now.
The captain, bloodied and crawling, tried to crawl away toward the woods. "Please… please—"
Dadan grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him.
"You came here for a child." With a roar, she hurled him into a tree. The captain's body smashed into the tree with a sickening crack, his ribs crunching like dried twigs on impact. He crumpled to the base of the trunk, gasping, his limbs twitching like a dying insect.
Dadan stalked toward him, each step deliberate, slow, inevitable—her silhouette cast long in the crimson light of the clearing, where bodies lay in brutal disarray and smoke still curled from spent powder.
The captain tried to lift his head. Blood oozed from his mouth, one eye already swollen shut, nose broken and twisted. He coughed, then begged—voice slurred and thick with panic.
"P-please… I-I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to?" Dadan growled, voice shaking not with uncertainty, but with the effort of containing her rage. "You marched up this mountain. With guns. With intent. And you dared to threaten my family."
She unslung the heavy kanabo the bandit had handed her earlier—a massive iron-studded club nearly as long as her arm—and raised it over her shoulder. The weapon gleamed under the mountain sun, flecked already with blood from others who had stood in her way.
The captain's eyes widened as his gaze locked on it. He whimpered. "W-we were following orders—"
Dadan's voice was a snarl now. "Then take this back to whoever gave them."
She swung. One clean, devastating arc. The sound was... Final. A bone-shattering CRACK, followed by silence.
The captain's head caved in like a melon, skull split open, blood and brain matter splashing against the tree bark behind him. His body twitched once—then stilled forever, crumpled at the base of the tree like so much discarded trash.
Dadan stood over him, her chest heaving, the kanabo dripping red at her side. The bandits around her didn't cheer. There was no celebration. Only the heavy silence of vengeance delivered. She spat on the corpse.
"You don't touch what's mine."
When it was done, the clearing was still. Bodies lay twisted and broken. Blood soaked the earth. The few soldiers who were still breathing moaned weakly, barely clinging to life. The bandits stood in silence, many of them bruised, bleeding, but victorious. None spoke.
Dadan looked up at the door.
It creaked open. Agatha stood there with Ace and Sabo beside her, trying to peek through, but Agatha blocked them firmly to keep them from seeing the carnage outside; after all, they were too young to witness such a scene.
Dadan gave them a wide smile still stained with the blood of those soldiers she had just killed.
"Alright. Let's eat."