In the middle of the town square of Whiskey Peak, I stood with my increasingly chaotic crewmates, surrounded by unconscious bounty hunters, while looking at our newest arrival to this party.
My mind, however, had what could only be described as an existential realization about train schedules.
'There is this feeling that I grew familiar with back in my world, the feeling when you're heading home after an event or something with the people you know. And suddenly, instead of taking the express train straight to your house where you can enjoy your solitude in peace, you end up taking the same local train as them because... what? Social obligation? The fear of seeming antisocial? The inexplicable human need to suffer together rather than efficiency?'
I'd only understood that impulse after finding myself entangled with a group of confusing, troubling, and surprisingly pleasant people.
But before that, I'd perfected the art of strategic platform positioning in case I needed to go back home by train, so I could avoid any awkwardness of being close to my classmates whom I didn't want to know.
It was about standing just far enough away that joining any group would require obvious, deliberate movement. This way, people will instinctively think that we are not from the same class, and the group itself will be immersed in their empty talk.
Plausible deniability in transit form.
'But here I am, about to board the metaphorical train straight into Baroque Works territory, Arabasta politics, spy games, and civil war. And I have absolutely no idea why I'm doing this instead of taking the express route to "literally anywhere else."'
The two figures that had emerged from the shadows stood before us with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested they'd practiced their entrance.
The man—Mr. 5, apparently—wore sunglasses despite it being nighttime, because of course he did. Fashion over function was clearly a Baroque Works hiring requirement.
The woman beside him, Miss Valentine, twirled a frilly parasol over her shoulder like she was attending a garden party rather than an assassination mission.
"Well, well, well," Mr. 5 said again, his voice carrying that particular smugness that made me want to test whether Hamon could be channeled through sarcasm. "Look at this mess, Miss Valentine."
Miss Valentine's giggle was like nails on a chalkboard—high-pitched, artificial, and clearly performed for an audience. It reminded me uncomfortably of certain girls from middle school who'd perfected the art of the fake laugh.
'The kind that says "I'm cute and harmless" while their eyes are calculating exactly how to destroy your reputation.'
"How pathetic!" she trilled, spinning her parasol with practiced ease. "And these are supposed to be our colleagues?"
"HEY!" Usopp's voice cracked with indignation. "Who are you guys exactly?! At least introduce yourselves properly if you are going to talk like you own the place!"
'You are exactly right, Sniper-kun. Though your words would have more effect if you didn't hide behind our captain like that.'
But Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine weren't looking at us. Their attention was fixed entirely on the four defeated agents, plus pet, at our feet, as if we were about as relevant as the cobblestones.
'Oh, that's rich. We just demolished an entire town of bounty hunters, and they're acting like we're furniture. Either they're suicidally confident or...'
I felt my Mantra ping—that subtle warning that meant genuine danger rather than posturing threats.
'...or they actually have the power to back up that arrogance.'
"Royal Guard Chief of Arabasta, Igaram," Mr. 5's voice dropped the mocking tone, becoming cold and professional. He adjusted his sunglasses with one hand, the gesture somehow making him look even more ridiculous. "Crown Princess, Nefertari Vivi."
The names hung in the air like a bomb with a lit fuse.
"By the orders of the Boss," Mr. 5 continued, his tone suggesting he was reading from a script he'd memorized, "we've completed our investigation into the spy activities within our organization. The results are conclusive."
Miss Valentine's giggle returned, but this time it carried an edge. "Two spies, infiltrating the Baroque Works for two years! How shocking!"
'Royal Guard Chief of Arabasta, huh. Well, that explains the Orxonesta, the not-bad martial power that is enough to annoy Luffy, who is a strong Devil Fruit user, and Nefertari Vivi's professional-grade tactics.'
I glanced at the barely conscious but extremely shocked form of Nefertari Vivi—or Miss Wednesday. The undercover princess who'd tried to kill me with chemical warfare, assassination techniques, and a knockoff genie duck.
'A whole kingdom's political situation compressed into one spy mission. And we're standing in the middle of it like the world's most reluctant audience members.'
"Wait, WHAT?!" Mr. 9's voice climbed several octaves. "Princess?! Royal Guard?! ARABASTA?!"
"That's..." Miss Monday's eyes had gone wide, her mind clearly racing through the implications. "Arabasta is one of the largest kingdoms in Paradise! If she's really the princess—"
"She is," Mr. 5 interrupted, clearly enjoying the revelation. "And her partner, the Royal Guard Chief, pretending to be the mayor of this frontier town. Both of them have been spying on our organization for two years, even managing to find the boss's secret."
CLICK!
Igaram—because apparently that was his real name—had managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Blood dripped from his wounds, his ridiculous hair finally losing its styled perfection, but his eyes held the kind of determination I'd seen in soldiers facing impossible odds.
"Mr. 9, Miss Monday," he said, his voice steady despite his injuries. "I apologize for deceiving you both. But I need your help. One final time."
The two agents he'd addressed—the acrobat and the muscular woman—stared at him with expressions mixing shock, betrayal, and confusion.
"You... you lied to us?" Mr. 9's theatrical demeanor had completely evaporated. "This whole time?"
"It was necessary," Igaram replied, and there was genuine regret in his voice. "I'm sorry. But right now, the princess's life is in danger. And I'm asking you, as colleagues who've fought together, to help me protect her."
CLUNK! SHIFT! CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!!
Miss Monday's massive pillar—the weapon she'd used against Zoro—suddenly shifted in Igaram's hands. Hidden mechanisms activated with mechanical precision, panels sliding open to reveal what looked suspiciously like a cannon barrel.
'Wait. That thing isn't just a club. It's a disguised rocket launcher. Who designs weapons like that? What kind of military procurement process—'
"Mr. 9! Miss Monday!" Igaram shouted again, already aiming the weapon in his hands despite the obvious pain. "Please Help Me! We're all going to be eliminated for our failure anyway! Might as well go down fighting!"
The two agents exchanged glances, their expressions cycling through shock, resignation, and determination.
"He's right," Mr. 9 said, his theatrical demeanor returned in full force. "If the Boss is sending cleaners, we're already marked for death."
"If we're going to die anyway," Miss Monday added, her soft voice carrying steel, "might as well help our friends."
'Friends. They're calling Igaram and Nefertari friends despite just finding out they were spies. That's... actually kind of touching. Misguided loyalty in a criminal organization, but touching nonetheless.'
"KAROO!" Igaram's shout cut through my thoughts. "TAKE THE PRINCESS AND RUN! NOW!!!!"
FWOOOOOM!
The pillar-bazooka fired with a sound like thunder, the explosive shell streaking toward Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine with lethal intent.
KABOOM!
The explosion engulfed both agents in a ball of fire and smoke that lit up the entire square.
"QUACK!!!"
The giant duck—Karoo—stood up from where it had been lying. It stood firmly despite the wound across its chest and wing. Blood still dripped from the cut I'd inflicted, but the duck's eyes held fierce determination.
SHIMMER! PHASE!
Karoo, despite its injuries, activated its power, and all of its body turned translucent, except the carpet on its back. Then the duck's form flowed into the fabric with that disturbing ghostly effect.
The flying carpet I'd seen earlier appeared, rolling itself out in mid-air like magic.
WHOOSH! GLOW!
The carpet began to levitate, its edges rippling as Karoo's presence animated it.
"No!" Vivi had regained her bearing at some point, her voice carrying genuine panic. "Karoo, you're hurt! You can't—"
FWOOSH!
The possessed carpet wrapped itself around Vivi's body, lifting her despite her protests. Within seconds, she was airborne, the flying carpet carrying her away from the square with surprising speed.
"WHOA!" Luffy's eyes had gone impossibly wide, stars practically visible in them. "A FLYING CARPET! That's so cool! I want one!"
'Of course you do. But could you please focus on "we're in the middle of a political assassination!" Right now, instead of "I want the magical carpet!"?'
"A magic carpet!" Usopp's voice carried awe mixed with his usual cowardice. "Just like in the stories! But why is it glowing blue? Is it cursed? Are cursed flying carpets a thing?!"
Sanji, for his part, had somehow produced a rose from nowhere—seriously, where did he keep those?—and was gazing at Vivi's departing form with hearts in his eyes.
"Ah, Miss Wednesday!" he called out dramatically. "Your grace! Your beauty! Even in flight, you shine like—"
"Shut up, cook," Zoro muttered, but his attention was fixed on the explosion cloud where Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine had been standing. "We have bigger problems."
WHOOSH!
The smoke cleared, revealing both agents completely unharmed.
Mr. 5 brushed some dust off his coat with casual disdain. "Bazooka rounds. How quaint."
'Unharmed. A direct hit from a bazooka at close range, and they're completely unharmed. Devil Fruit powers or exceptional durability?'
I didn't have to wonder long.
"Well," Mr. 5 said, cracking his knuckles with a sound that seemed louder than it should be. "That was unexpectedly dramatic. But ultimately pointless."
Then he reached up and…picked his nose…
'Did he just—did he seriously just pick his nose in the middle of threatening people? That's... actually, that's impressively disrespectful. I'd almost admire it if it wasn't so disgusting.'
Then Mr. 5 flicked the booger he'd extracted.
FLING!
"INCOMING!" I shouted, my Mantra screaming warnings.
KABOOOOM!!!
The explosion was massive.
"UUUWWWAAAAA!!!!"
"AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"GGYAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!"
The booger—the goddamn BOOGER—hit the ground between Igaram and the two Baroque Works agents and detonated like a military-grade explosive.
WHOOOOSH! CRACK!
The shockwave sent all three of them flying backward, their bodies ragdolling through the air like toys in a hurricane.
"HIS BOOGER EXPLODED!" Usopp's voice had climbed to frequencies that shouldn't be possible for human vocal cords. "BOOGERS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO EXPLODE!!"
"Devil Fruit," Zoro said grimly, his swords already halfway drawn. "Has to be."
I lowered my cloak that I raised to protect me from the sudden wave of heat, and looked at the guy.
'Right, it is this guy, the Bomu Bomu no Mi user (Bomb Bomb Fruit). Has to be. Which means literally anything that constitutes this guy can become an explosive. Boogers, spit, probably even his breath if he wanted to be particularly creative with biological warfare.'
THUD! CRASH! THUD!
Igaram, Mr. 9, and Miss Monday hit the ground in various states of unconsciousness and injury. Blood spread across the cobblestones, mixing with debris from the explosion.
But Mr. 5 wasn't done.
WHOOSH!
He moved with surprising speed, crossing the distance to where Igaram had fallen in a blur of motion.
"Damn you…!!!"
Swift-Swift-Swift!!!
And Igaram, like he was expecting it, took out hidden knives from his jacket and threw it at the incoming Mr. 5.
Mr. 5 didn't block it nor dodge it, he let it hit his body, and when it did—
Boom-Boom-Boom!!!
—Explosions sounded from the point of contact, repelling the projectiles thrown at him. His Devil Fruit ability acts as some sort of reactive protective armor.
Then, as he closed in on Igaram, Mr. 5's fist came up, glowing with that telltale shimmer that meant it was already primed to detonate.
WHAM! KABOOOM!!!
The punch connected with Igaram's already-injured torso, and the explosion that followed was devastating.
The Royal Guard Chief's body was launched through the air, crashing into a building wall hard enough to crack stone.
Miss Valentine, meanwhile, had targeted Miss Monday. The muscular woman was struggling to stand, her pillar-weapon lying useless beside her.
"Sorry, darling," Miss Valentine chirped, her voice maintaining that falsely sweet tone. "But failure and treason aren't tolerated in our organization!"
She suddenly moved with a surprising speed, like she had disappeared for a moment, and then appeared above Miss Monday with her strange parasol opened, and one leg high raised. Her body position shifted in a way that looked almost balletic.
Then—
WHOOOM!
I felt the shift through the air—a sudden, massive increase in momentum concentrated in that single raised leg!!
"Ten Thousand Kilo Press!"
SLAM! CRACK! BOOM!
The kick came down with the force of a falling meteor. Miss Monday didn't even have time to scream before the impact drove her into the ground, cratering the cobblestones beneath her.
'Weight manipulation, Kilo Kilo no Mi properly. She can change her mass at will. Combined with aerial mobility from that parasol...'
"What..." Luffy's voice was subdued, his usual grin fading slightly. "What happened?"
"Weight manipulation," I said, my mind analyzing what I'd seen. "She changed her body mass mid-attack. That kick probably weighed ten thousand kilos. Maybe more."
"Ten THOUSAND?!" Usopp's legs were shaking. "That's—that's five elephants! She can become five elephants with a single kick?!"
"Roughly," I confirmed.
Seeing what happened to his companions, Mr. 9—the theatrical acrobat—tried to flee, his contortionist body twisting as he ran.
But Mr. 5 didn't let him, he didn't need to even touch him.
"Breeze Breath Bomb."
He arrived close to Mr. 9, who'd held his bats and was preparing to swing it.
FWOOOOSH!
Mr. 5 simply exhaled in his direction.
KABOOM! CRASH!
The breath—his actual breath—exploded mid-air like a cluster of grenades, the concussive force slamming into the acrobat before he could even complete his swing.
Clang-Clang!!
The contortionist's body went down hard, his bats clattering from his fingers as he hit the ground unconscious.
Within thirty seconds, Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine stood in the center of the square, surrounded by the unconscious or groaning forms of their former colleagues. Neither of them looked winded. Neither of them looked concerned.
"That's..." Sanji had reached for his cigarette, his expression looking like he was uncomfortable. "That's too much. Even for enemies."
"Yeah," Zoro's expression had become completely serious, his earlier amusement at the cook's antics vanished. "These two aren't like the others."
Like the two, the tactical assessment ran through my mind automatically.
'Two Devil Fruit users with complementary abilities. Mr. 5 provided overwhelming offensive power with his explosive body parts. Miss Valentine offered a range from the devastating crushing force to the surprising mobility.'
"Well," Mr. 5 said, dusting off his hands like he'd just finished a mildly annoying chore. "That's three down. One more to go."
He looked up at the sky, where Vivi's flying carpet was rapidly becoming a distant speck in the moon-lit sky.
"Miss Valentine," he said, his voice carrying casual command. "Shall we?"
"Oh, absolutely!" Miss Valentine giggled, spinning her parasol even faster. "I do love a good chase!"
And then they flew.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!!
Mr. 5 kicked the air beneath him, and each impact created an explosion that propelled him upward like a rocket. He was literally flying by making the air explode under his feet, creating a trail of detonations that lit up the night sky.
WHOOSH! SPIN-SPIN-SPIN!!!
Miss Valentine reduced her weight—most likely—and used her parasol like a helicopter rotor. The frilly assist gear spun so fast it became a blur, generating enough lift to carry her into the air.
Within seconds, both agents were airborne, pursuing Vivi with the kind of speed that suggested this wasn't the first time they'd engaged in aerial combat.
"They're Flying!" Usopp shrieked, pointing at the sky with a shaking hand. "They Are Actually Flying! What The Hell Happening In This Town?!?!"
"That's so cool!" Luffy's grin was impossibly wide, his eyes tracking the aerial pursuit with fascination. "I want to fly like that too!"
'No. No, you really don't, captain. Your Devil Fruit already makes you immune to most physical attacks. Adding flight would make you insufferable.'
"The elegance!" Sanji had somehow recovered from watching Vivi flee and was now watching Miss Valentine's aerial acrobatics with hearts in his eyes. "The grace! Flying through the night sky like an angel! How beautiful!"
'That "angel" just crushed someone into the ground with ten thousand kilos of force. Your standards for beauty are deeply concerning, cook.'
Zoro, at least, looked appropriately wary. His hand rested on his sword hilts, his eyes tracking the two flying agents with tactical assessment.
"Those two are different from the others," he muttered, his voice low but loud enough for all of us to hear. "Actually dangerous."
"No kidding," I replied, my mind already running through scenarios. "Devil Fruit users with good combat-oriented abilities, creative way to use those abilities, fighting experience, and decent coordination. They most likely have more tricks up their sleeves than the earlier power show."
'And we're standing here watching them pursue a princess who's only remaining protection is an injured duck possessing a flying carpet. This situation has "disaster" written all over it in size-72 font.'
"So..." Usopp's voice was small, nervous, carrying that particular quality that meant he was about to ask a question we all already knew the answer to. "What... what do we do now?"
'Good question, sniper. The smart answer? Absolutely nothing. We walk away, get back on the Going Merry, and sail literally anywhere else. This isn't our fight. This isn't our problem. We have zero obligation to—'
"Please," Igaram's voice was weak, pained, barely audible over the sounds of groaning bounty hunters and distant explosions. "Please... help her..."
COUGH! COUGH!
Blood leaked from his mouth as he struggled to speak, his body broken but his determination somehow intact.
"You are strong… please… the princess... she's all Arabasta has left... if something happens to her... the kingdom..."
I opened my mouth to deliver what I knew would be a cold but practical assessment of why we shouldn't get involved.
Why, throwing ourselves into a kingdom's political crisis for the sake of someone who'd tried to kill us was strategically idiotic. Why—
"We've already involved ourselves enough with Baroque Works," I said, my voice level and final. "This is where we—"
"You'll be rewarded!" Igaram interrupted, desperation clear in his voice. "Anything you want! The royal family will give you anything! Just please... save her..."
'Anything we want. A promise as empty as it is predictable. What's a dying soldier's guarantee worth? Especially when the person making the promise might not survive the night, and the princess whose life he's bargaining with might not make it to morning?'
"We're not—" I started again.
"One billion Berri."
Nami's voice cut through the square like a knife through butter.
THUD-THUD-THUD.
She walked into view from one of the side streets, a small bag slung over her shoulder and an expression on her face that I'd learned to recognize as "navigator has made an executive decision."
'Oh no.'
"NAMI-SWAN!" Sanji practically materialized beside her, hearts replacing his eyes. "You're back! Did you find anything good in town?"
"Nothing," Nami said, her voice carrying false sadness that wouldn't have fooled a particularly stupid goldfish.
"This whole town is dead poor, they barely had any sort of money or anything of value other than some weapons. I almost felt bad enough to donate something."
The silence that followed was profound.
Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, and I all turned to stare at Nami with identical expressions of complete disbelief. Even Sanji's lovestruck facade cracked slightly, his eye twitching.
'Donate. She said donate. Our navigator, who charges crew members for emotional support, who treats every Berry like it's her firstborn child, who would probably monetize breathing if she could figure out how—that navigator claims she wanted to donate money out of pity.'
"What a kind heart!" Sanji recovered first, clapping his hands together. "What a generous soul! Nami-swan's compassion knows no—"
'What is he talking about? Does this man have a heart detector I'm not aware of? Because I'm pretty sure Nami's emotional capacity peaks at "slightly inconvenienced" and "actively calculating profit margins."'
But, out of everyone else, Nami was only looking at me. Her eyes had narrowed, her expression shifting to something between offended and challenging.
"What's with that look?" she demanded, her voice rising. "You don't believe in my kindness?"
'Kindness. She used the word kindness unironically while wearing that calculating expression. This is performance art. This has to be performance art.'
"If you took that much pity on them," I said, my voice deliberately flat with DeadpanHiki naturally overclocking, "then what's that bag on your back?"
Nami made a smile that looked so sweet, however, the look in her eyes could have sold ice to people in a blizzard.
"This is the price of my kindness, of course."
SLAP!
Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, and I simultaneously facepalmed. The sound echoed through the square like a drumbeat of exasperation.
Sanji started to do the same, caught himself mid-motion, and somehow transformed the gesture into enthusiastic clapping instead.
CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!
"Brilliant!" he declared, his eyes somehow heart-shaped again. "The perfect balance of compassion and practicality! Nami-swan truly is—"
'How. How is he trying this hard? The mental gymnastics required to maintain this level of delusion should qualify as an Olympic sport.'
"Hmph!" Nami's indignant sound was directed entirely at me, as if I were personally responsible for doubting her completely fictional charitable nature.
Then she turned her attention to Igaram, and her expression shifted to something sharper. More focused. The look of a woman who'd spotted an opportunity and was about to exploit it with surgical precision.
"We can help you," she said, her voice taking on a businesslike quality. "We can save your princess and deal with those two agents. But it's going to cost you one billion Berri."
CHOKE!
Igaram's eyes went so wide I thought they might actually pop out of his head. Blood spurted from his mouth as he tried to process the number.
"One... one billion...?" His voice cracked. "I'm-I'm-I'm just a soldier! I-I-I can't possibly guarantee—"
'Of course he can't. Even if he survived this night, even if we successfully saved Vivi, even if Arabasta somehow remained stable enough to honor the promise—that's a kingdom-breaking sum of money. The GDP of a small island compressed into a single payment.'
I wasn't surprised. Even a monarch would hesitate at that number. A mere servant, no matter how highly ranked, had zero authority to agree to such terms.
But Nami wasn't done.
"If you want our help," she said, her voice taking on an edge that suggested negotiation was over, "then you'll pay. Or is the princess's life not worth that much to you?"
'Emotional manipulation. Framing the refusal as a betrayal of loyalty rather than a simple economic impossibility. That's... actually pretty clever. Disgusting, but clever.'
Igaram's face cycled through several emotions—desperation, resignation, determination, and finally, a kind of grim acceptance.
"Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we have to save her first. Then we can negotiate with the princess herself about—"
It was a lie. An obvious, desperate, completely transparent lie. Even Nami had to know he was just saying whatever would get us to move.
'He's promising money he doesn't have authority to promise, banking on our greed or heroism or stupidity to save his princess first and worry about payment later. It's the negotiation equivalent of writing a check your bank account can't cash.'
But Nami smiled—genuinely smiled—and nodded.
"Deal," she said simply. Then, in the most natural commanding tone I'd ever heard from her, she added: "Alright, everyone! Go save and save the princess!"
"WHAT?!" Usopp and Zoro shouted simultaneously.
"I will save Miss Wednesday!" Sanji declared, already moving despite having no idea where to go.
"Buhahahaha! Sounds interesting!" Luffy grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Yosh! Let's go!"
I just sighed, the sound carrying resignation and acceptance in equal measure.
I could see exactly where this was going. Could trace the inevitable path from "rescue mission" to "kingdom involvement" to "civil war participation" to "fighting warlords" to "neck-deep in political intrigue we have no business being part of."
'This is it. This is the moment where I should put my foot down. Where I should point out the obvious problems with this plan. Where I should use my position as the crew's voice of reason to stop this train before it leaves the station.'
I looked at the kneeling Igaram, blood dripping from his wounds, but determination burning in his eyes.
I looked at the unconscious forms of Mr. 9 and Miss Monday, who'd chosen to help their colleague despite knowing it meant their own deaths.
I looked at the town around us, filled with bounty hunters who'd tried to kill us but were still just people trying to survive in this impossible world, doing something that is actually good, like taking out pirates.
And I thought about my other plans. The ones that didn't involve Arabasta or civil wars or political intrigue.
Then, an idea crystallized in my mind.
'If I'm going to be dragged into this mess anyway—and apparently I am, because my crew has collective decision-making skills comparable to a particularly reckless lemming—I might as well get something useful out of it.'
I reached into my Dimensional Bag, my hand closing around something I'd been planning to use eventually anyway.
The motorbike—Smoker's ridiculous motorcycle that I'd "liberated" from Loguetown—had been sitting unused since we'd entered the Grand Line.
'What I could get from Arabasta's royal family is still uncertain. A promise from a dying soldier, a reward from a kingdom that might not survive the week, a payment that might never materialize even if we succeed. And above all, the non-ignorable possibility for all of this to come crashing down on our heads if we fail miserably.'
'But...'
WHOOSH! EXPAND!
I pulled the motorcycle out, the machine materializing in a shimmer of displaced space.
'While what I can get from Arabasta is uncertain, with these resources literally lying at my feet, what I can start right now is not.'
"Everyone," I said, my voice carrying across the square. "Get on. We're on the clock."
Five heads turned to stare at me with varying expressions of surprise.
"Hachiman?" Nami's voice carried genuine confusion. "I thought you were against this?"
'I am against this. I'm against everything about this situation. But...'
I looked at the motorcycle, at my crewmates, at the distant explosions in the sky where two Devil Fruit users were hunting a princess protected only by an injured duck.
'Sometimes you take the train you don't want to take. Not because it makes sense. Not because it's efficient. Not even because it's the right thing to do.'
'You take it because everyone else is already boarding, and standing alone on the platform starts to feel more isolating than joining the chaos.'
"I am against this," I confirmed, swinging my leg over the motorcycle. "I'm against everything about this. But since we're apparently doing this anyway..."
I put my hand on the Barbossa sword and activated its power, controlling the turbine of the bike to start moving.
VROOOOOOOM!!!
The sound was like thunder, echoing off the buildings.
"...we might as well not be late to our own disaster."
'Welcome aboard, Hachiman. Next stop: neck-deep in political intrigue you have no business being part of. Please keep your cynicism inside the vehicle at all times.'
Luffy whooped with enthusiasm, already moving toward the bike. Sanji was right behind him, hearts still in his eyes. Even Zoro was approaching, resigned acceptance clear in his posture.
Usopp looked like he wanted to protest, but peer pressure and the promise of not being left alone in a town full of unconscious bounty hunters won out.
And Nami... Nami was smiling at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Something between gratitude and knowing amusement.
'Great. Just great. The navigator thinks I'm being heroic. This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding that leads to more expectations of heroism in the future.'
"Everyone on?" I asked, feeling the bike tense under the weight of five people.
"Good. Hold tight. This is going to be fast and probably illegal in several jurisdictions."
VROOOOOOOM! WHOOOOSH!
The motorcycle shot forward, carrying the Straw Hat Pirates through the streets of the town, chasing after flying assassins and a princess on a possessed carpet.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, past the tactical analysis and cynical commentary, a small voice whispered something I didn't want to acknowledge.
'You're not doing this for your own plans and strategic advantage. You're doing this because you've already boarded this train, and getting off now would mean admitting you care about these idiots more than you're comfortable with.'
I revved the engine harder, drowning out that thought with the roar of machinery and the wind rushing past us.
'Shut up, inner voice. We're doing this for perfectly logical, strategically sound reasons.'
The motorcycle moved faster, carrying us toward whatever chaos awaited.
And I didn't look back at the town square, at the navigator who was watching us depart, at the unconscious agents, at the promise of payment that might never come.
Because sometimes, the train you board isn't about the destination.
It's about the idiots you're traveling with.
Even if you'd never admit it out loud.
…
A/N: Alright, That's it for now.
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