The Sand Crocodile was seething with frustration. Although the incident had erupted suddenly, he remained calm and rational beneath the surface.
His initial instinct was to disown Mr. 5 completely—cut ties and deny any connection—but would the Five Elders really believe such a claim? His second thought was to dissolve Baroque Works entirely. Yet, after years of planning and investment, could he afford to discard everything so easily? Abandoning the Alabasta operation would mean surrendering his long-laid ambitions. Would all his effort be for nothing?
Despite his disdain for the World Government, the Four Emperors, and the Marines, the Sand Crocodile prioritized his interests above all. He was pragmatic—ready to play humble when necessary.
Resolute, he traveled to Mary Geoise to answer the summons. He had decided—Mr. 5 would be sacrificed without hesitation. But no matter the price, Baroque Works had to be preserved. It was his key to conquering Alabasta, the foundation for claiming the ancient weapon Pluton. If the World Government uncovered the truth about Nico Robin's involvement, it would all unravel. That couldn't happen—not yet.
He needed to endure until he secured the throne of Alabasta and unearthed Pluton. With an ancient weapon in hand, what power could oppose him? Not the Navy, not the World Government—no one.
While Sand Crocodile rushed to the Holy Land to mitigate the fallout, the Landoluff Theatre Troupe had finally arrived in the City of Water, Water 7.
The old director, Randoluff, had regained his vigor. He knew better than to live in fantasies at his age. He once held illusions about the integrity of Enies Lobby, but reality shattered those. Life, however, had to go on.
Aside from "Miss Jaina," whose mysterious wealth came from a grandfather who "planted tea trees in the mountains," the rest of the troupe was utterly broke. Whatever possessions they'd had were left behind on Enies Lobby.
Now they were penniless in one of the Grand Line's most expensive cities. Survival was the priority.
Randoluff made a firm decision: feed the troupe first, then find a way to earn enough for a ship and resume touring the Grand Line.
As they exited Blue Station and stepped into Water 7, the sight that greeted them was breathtaking. A magnificent central fountain sprayed high into the air, waterways ran between bustling stone-paved streets, and the air buzzed with laughter and industry. Compared to the cold, bureaucratic oppression of Enies Lobby, Water 7 felt like a vibrant spring.
Most troupe members, including Vivi, had never been here before. Only a few, such as Randoluff and the finance manager, had passed through briefly in years past. They remembered the city's heavy business taxes and strict oversight of foreign ships.
But taxes or not, they had no choice now. The only plan was to earn, buy a ship, and sail onward toward the New World.
Without props, their traditional stage performances were impossible—but they weren't discouraged. Stepping into a crowded plaza, they split up, each displaying their talents. Some recited poetry, others sang operatic ballads or played music. Randoluff performed elegant, traditional swordplay in a corner, drawing an eager crowd.
Even Bucky the Clown joined in, juggling colorful balls at first, then ramping up the spectacle. Soon he was doing tricks on a tightrope, throwing in flips and twists, eliciting applause after applause.
Karoo waddled around with a paper bag, inviting people to play origami games. It worked better than expected.
Vivi didn't sit idle either. Like a reluctant office worker pushed into performing at a company party, she stepped forward. Clad in a crimson dress, a rose between her lips, she danced a fiery flamenco. Her body moved with a confident rhythm, the veil swirling and spinning. The citizens of Water 7 couldn't take their eyes off her.
After her performance, she sold several rabbit foot charms—an old desert tradition she repurposed as "lucky souvenirs." Then she sat back, watching the others perform.
Belo Betty approached her silently. "You're pretty wealthy, aren't you, Your Highness?"
Vivi answered coolly. "Me? Wealthy? You must be joking. When I left the palace half a year ago, my life savings amounted to only 500,000 Berries. That's the total of over ten years of allowances. That's rich?"
Betty exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "I looked into your family. The Nefertari name used to have a good reputation. But in recent years, that image has changed among the commoners. Why is that?"
Vivi looked her in the eyes. "You run the Revolutionary Army's intel network. You must have plenty of reports. What do you think?"
Betty didn't hesitate. "Someone's targeting your father's throne."
It was a sharp observation. Despite the distance, Betty had pieced together the Sand Crocodile's schemes using fragments of intelligence. She leaned in slightly.
"Need help? You and your father… you seem like good people. And good kings. You'll need allies."
Vivi's smile twisted into a sneer. "And the cost of your help? Turning Alabasta into a Revolutionary Army base? Letting you train soldiers and build weapons there? When the Navy comes down with full force, you'll leave without a trace. What happens to me and my father then? Are we supposed to run too? After all that, how many of Alabasta's ten million citizens will be left alive? One million? Less? The price of 'being good' is too steep. I'll handle this myself. I don't need your help."
That ended the conversation. They turned and walked in different directions.
Vivi returned to her makeshift stall, selling small trinkets. Betty, meanwhile, mingled with the actors and stagehands, clearly hoping to draw the troupe into the Revolutionary Army's orbit. Vivi didn't interfere—so long as Betty didn't use her Devil Fruit abilities, everyone was free to make their own choices.
By sunset, the troupe had earned just enough to cover food and lodging for a few days.
Just as they were about to leave the plaza, they ran into a group of spirited young people holding banners.
"Hey, are you all visitors? Welcome to Water 7! The city is currently electing a new mayor. If you're tight on funds, we're looking for people to join our canvassing team. Free lunch provided by Galley-La, and we've got hotel partners offering free stays!"
These campaigners clearly had experience. Their chatter was smooth, if a little rehearsed. But compared to the cold indifference of Enies Lobby, their warmth—real or not—felt like sunshine.
And for the weary troupe, it was enough.