Three Days Out at Sea
The ocean was a liar. From the shore, it looked like freedom. From the middle of it, it looked like a blue, watery prison that wanted to kill you.
Sol sat cross-legged on the deck of The Coffin, staring at a seagull.
"If you poop on my boat," Sol warned the bird, pointing a callous finger, "I will cook you."
The bird squawked and flew away.
Sol sighed, leaning back against the mast. The reality of solo piracy was setting in: it was 90% boredom and 10% terror. He had no navigator, so he was relying on a basic compass and the sun. He had no cook, so he was eating dried jerky that tasted like leather bootlaces. He had no musician, so he was humming off-key sea shanties he barely remembered from the anime.
The Coffin was holding up well, though. The Ironwood hull sat low in the water, heavy and unyielding. It cut through waves rather than riding over them, making the ride jarring, but Sol didn't mind. He liked the stability. It felt like standing on land.
He checked his supplies. He had enough water for two weeks. Enough jerky for one.
"I need a map," Sol muttered, scratching his chest. "And I need a fight. My blood is stagnant."
He stood up and walked to the prow, scanning the horizon. His eyesight was sharper than a hawk's—a side effect of his body's enhanced physiology.
There.
On the eastern horizon, a speck.
Sol narrowed his eyes. It wasn't a rock. It was white canvas. Sails.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Customer approaching."
The Encounter
It took an hour for the ships to close the distance. Sol lowered his sail to slow down, drifting intentionally to look like a stranded vessel. It was a classic bait strategy.
The other ship was a caravel, sleek and fast, painted a gaudy shade of violet. The Jolly Roger flapping from the mast was a skull with a jagged crack running down the middle.
The Shatter-Skull Pirates? Sol guessed. Never heard of them. Probably fodder.
But fodder was better than nothing.
The caravel pulled alongside The Coffin. It towered over Sol's tiny sloop. A row of men leaned over the railing, jeering. They were the typical East Blue riffraff—missing teeth, bandanas, striped shirts, and an assortment of rusty weapons.
"Oy! Look at this sad little dinghy!" one of them shouted. "Is that a boat or a bathtub?"
"Hey, kid!" another yelled. "You lost? Did you drift away from your mommy?"
Sol looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. He didn't look scared. He looked like he was inspecting merchandise at a store and finding it lacking.
"I am a little lost," Sol called up, his voice cheerful. "I'm looking for a thrill. Have you guys seen any?"
The pirates laughed. The crowd on the deck parted, and a large man stepped forward.
He was at least seven feet tall, wearing a heavy trench coat despite the heat. His arms were wrapped in iron chains, and his face was a roadmap of scars. He had a 10-million Berry vibe written all over him.
"I am Captain Gigan," the man rumbled. "This is The Violet Impact. You are in my waters, boy."
"Your waters?" Sol raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see a receipt."
The crew went silent. Insulting the captain was usually a death sentence.
Gigan narrowed his eyes. "You have a smart mouth. I'll peel it off you. Board him! Take whatever supplies he has and sink that driftwood."
Four pirates grabbed ropes and swung down from the caravel, landing with heavy thuds on the deck of The Coffin.
Sol didn't move. He stood in the center of his small deck, hands in his pockets.
"Gentlemen," Sol said, his tone shifting. The goofiness evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculating excitement. "Welcome to the casino. The buy-in is high today."
"Get him!" the first pirate yelled, lunging with a cutlass.
Sol didn't even take his hands out of his pockets. He simply leaned his upper body to the left. The blade whistled past his ear, cutting a few strands of hair.
Too slow, Sol thought. Disappointing.
He took a half-step forward and checked the pirate with his shoulder.
It wasn't a shove. It was a collision. Sol's body density meant that getting hit by him was like getting hit by a rolling boulder.
CRACK.
The pirate's ribs shattered audibly. He flew backward, off the boat, and splashed into the sea ten meters away.
The other three pirates froze. They looked at the water, then at Sol.
"He... he barely touched him," one whispered.
"Next hand," Sol grinned, finally pulling his right hand out of his pocket. He beckoned them. "Come on. Don't fold yet."
The three attacked together. Two swords and a mace.
Sol dodged the mace, ducking low. He caught the wrist of the swordsman on his right.
"Too light," Sol critiqued.
He squeezed.
SNAP.
The pirate screamed as his wrist crumbled. Sol spun him around and used him as a human shield to block the other swordsman's strike.
Then, Sol kicked the mace user in the kneecap. The sound was sickening. The man collapsed instantly.
In ten seconds, four men were down. Sol stood amidst the groaning bodies, barely winded. He looked up at Captain Gigan on the high deck.
"Is that it?" Sol asked, genuinely hurt. "I built this boat for a challenge. You're insulting my craftsmanship."
Gigan was furious. His face turned a shade of purple that matched his ship. "You insolent brat! I'll crush you myself!"
Gigan vaulted over the railing. He was heavy, and when he landed on The Coffin, the entire sloop listed dangerously to the side.
"Careful," Sol warned. "She's sturdy, but she's not used to trash on the deck."
Gigan roared and unwrapped the chains from his arms. At the end of the chains were heavy, spiked iron balls. He spun them like propellers.
"Iron Flail Storm!"
Gigan unleashed a barrage of strikes. The spiked balls smashed into the deck, splintering the Ironwood.
Sol danced through the destruction.
Left. Right. Duck. Jump.
This was better. The wind from the flails was heavy. If one of those hit him, it would actually hurt.
Finally. A wager.
"That's good!" Sol laughed, ducking under a chain that took a chunk out of his mast. "That's the intent to kill I wanted!"
"Stop moving!" Gigan screamed, sweating. This kid was fast. Unnaturally fast.
"Okay," Sol said.
He stopped moving.
Gigan saw the opening. He brought both flails down in a crushing overhead smash aimed directly at Sol's skull.
Sol didn't dodge. He raised his right arm.
He didn't use Haki—he couldn't yet. He didn't use the Red Asura form. He just trusted his bone density and his raw muscle.
CLANG.
The iron balls hit Sol's forearm.
Sparks flew. The deck beneath Sol's feet cracked from the pressure.
But Sol's arm didn't break. The iron balls bounced off his skin like they had hit an anvil.
Gigan's eyes almost popped out of his head. "What... what are you made of?"
Sol lowered his arm. There was a red welt where the iron had hit him, and a small trickle of blood.
Sol looked at the blood. He wiped it with his thumb and looked at it.
"You made me bleed," Sol whispered. A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. "You actually made me pay the blind."
He looked up at Gigan. Sol's pupils were dilated. He looked like a junkie who just got his first hit in years.
"Now," Sol said, stepping forward. "Let's see if you can handle the payout."
Sol punched.
It wasn't a fancy technique. It was a straight right cross. But the torque generated by his dense body was catastrophic.
Gigan tried to block with his chains.
The punch hit the chains. The chains shattered. The punch continued. It hit Gigan's chest.
BOOM.
The sound was like a cannon firing. The air pressure released from the impact blew the hats off the pirates watching from the ship above.
Captain Gigan didn't fly backward. He folded. His chest caved in, and he was driven downward, through the deck of The Coffin, and got stuck halfway through the floorboards.
Silence.
The only sound was the creaking of the wood and the lap of the waves.
Sol shook his hand out. "Ouch. Hard head."
He looked up at the The Violet Impact. The crew was trembling. Their captain, a man with a 12 million Berry bounty (Sol estimated), had been one-shot by a teenager on a raft.
"Hey," Sol called up.
"Y-yes sir?!" the Quartermate squeaked.
"Throw down your Log Pose. And your map. And all your meat."
"R-right away!"
"And," Sol added, pointing to the stuck Captain Gigan. "You can have him back. He's boring."
The Aftermath
An hour later, Sol was sitting on his deck, eating a high-quality ham he had extorted from the pirates. He had a map spread out on his lap and a Log Pose strapped to his wrist.
The Violet Impact was sailing away as fast as the wind could carry it. They didn't want any part of the "Demon of the Dinghy."
Sol studied the map. He traced his finger along the blue expanse.
"Okay," Sol mumbled, chewing the ham. "I'm here. North of the Conomi Islands."
He looked at the bounty poster he had swiped from Gigan's coat pocket.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE Buggy the Clown Bounty: 15,000,000 Beli
"Buggy," Sol chuckled. "Orange Town is nearby. But..."
His finger moved further down the map. To the gateway of the Grand Line.
Loguetown.
"If I want the good stuff, I need to go there," Sol decided. "Smoker is stationed there. The Captain of the Marines."
Smoker was a Logia. Smoke-Smoke Fruit. Physical attacks wouldn't work on him unless Sol had Seastone or Haki.
Sol looked at his fist. It was strong, sure. It could break iron. But smoke? You can't punch smoke.
"A gamble with unbeatable odds," Sol grinned, his eyes gleaming. "Sounds perfect."
He grabbed the tiller of The Coffin and corrected his course.
"Next stop: Loguetown. Let's see if the Marines play fair."
End of Chapter 5