The deck of The Piece of Spadille was a mess of groaning bodies and discarded weapons. The last of the bounty hunters, a desperate and greedy pack who had underestimated the Spade Pirates, were now thoroughly defeated.
Ace, standing amidst the chaos with his hands on his hips, surveyed the scene. His chest was still heaving slightly, not from exhaustion, but from the lingering thrill of battle. He grinned, a flash of white in the afternoon sun.
"Alright, you bastards!" he boomed, his voice echoing across the deck. "Grab your buddies and get the hell off my ship!"
A low, threatening growl rumbled in agreement from nearby. Kotatsu, the crew's oversized lynx mascot, padded silently to Ace's side. Its golden eyes were fixed on the defeated men, tail twitching like a whip. Though it possessed a surprisingly gentle nature, especially around Jerry, it was still a wild beast at its core, and its protective instincts were sharp.
Whether it was Ace's fiery command or the intimidating presence of the massive cat, the conscious bounty hunters scrambled to their feet. They hastily grabbed their unconscious accomplices, dragging them by the arms and legs towards the gangplank connecting to their own battered ship.
Kotatsu wasn't content to just watch. It darted between the fleeing men, a flash of tawny fur, herding them along with sharp, guttural snarls whenever someone moved too slowly. Once the last enemy was off their ship, the lynx trotted back to the center of the deck, its demeanor shifting instantly. It spotted Jerry approaching and flopped onto its side, exposing its belly and letting out a soft, chirping "Mrrrrrow~" as it began to rub against his leg.
Aside from its warning growls, Kotatsu sounded just like a slightly-too-large housecat, a trait that endeared it to the entire crew. However, it reserved its most affectionate displays for two people: Jerry, the mobile cafeteria who always had a perfectly grilled fish, and Ace, the mobile heater.
As the bounty hunters' ship limped away into the distance, a moment of silence fell over the crew. It was the calm after the storm, the shared breath after a successful fight. Then, as one, they erupted in a deafening cheer.
"Hahaha! Alright, you know what this means!" Ace shouted, his earlier intensity replaced by infectious excitement. "Party time!"
"YEAH! PARTY!"
The deck transformed in minutes. The grim aftermath of battle was swept away by the boisterous energy of celebration. Banshee, the crew's boisterous brewer, rolled out a fresh barrel of her strongest ale with a hearty laugh. Ganryu, the quiet giant from the Long-Arm Tribe, found a peaceful corner to enjoy a comically large platter of roasted meat. Music, laughter, and the clinking of tankards filled the air. It was a chaotic, joyous symphony—the quintessential sound of a pirate victory.
Jerry leaned against the railing, the familiar weight of his Fishing Rod in one hand while his other idly scratched behind Kotatsu's ears. He watched Ace down a mug of ale in one go before calling out with a smirk.
"You're getting popular, Captain. It seems like everyone wants a piece of you these days, friend or foe."
Ace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a sigh that was part frustration, part pride. "It's this damn bounty. Every time we get closer to the end of Paradise, the flies get bigger and stickier."
It was true. As they sailed nearer to the Sabaody Archipelago, the gauntlet of enemies had grown progressively stronger. Yet, despite defeating several notorious pirates along the way, Ace's bounty hadn't budged to much since the incident on Gunnas Island. Jerry had a theory. He suspected that either Garp or Sengoku was pulling strings behind the scenes, trying to keep Ace's profile just low enough.
If Jerry's memory of the future served him right, the World Government would soon extend an invitation for Ace to become one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea after he defeat one of them. But Jerry didn't know which one.
"Hey, you should be happy. At least you're not me," a slurred voice interjected. Skull, the crew's Chief Intelligence Officer, stumbled over, his afro slightly askew and his face flushed with drink. "Nobody's after my head… which means I have to pay for my own drinks! It's a tragedy!"
Jerry just chuckled and gently pushed the man's head away. "You're drunk, Skull."
The party was in full swing, a whirlwind of sea shanties and drunken boasts, when a sharp, piercing cry cut through the noise.
"Yeeeooow!"
Kotatsu shot up from its relaxed sprawl, fur bristling and ears pinned back. The lynx stared intently into the distance, hackles raised.
It was as if someone had hit a pause button. The music stopped. The laughter died. Every head on the ship snapped in the direction of the cat's gaze. A thick, unnatural fog was rolling in, swallowing the horizon and clinging to the surface of the water like a shroud. And emerging from its milky depths was the silhouette of a ship.
"Are those bounty hunter scumbags back for more?" someone muttered nervously.
But then another silhouette appeared, and another, and another. It wasn't a single ship; it was a fleet, moving in a coordinated formation, their prows cutting through the waves with military precision. As they drew closer, the emblem on their sails became clear: a massive seagull crest above the bold, block letters of the word [MARINE].
"That's a Marine fleet," Skull said, the alcohol seemingly vanishing from his system, replaced by the thrill of information. He squinted, his collector's eye for detail kicking in. "And I recognize it… They're here for us. That's the fleet belonging to 'Nailhand' Isuka."
"'Nailhand'?" Jerry repeated, slowly reeling in his fishing line. "What kind of nickname is that? Was she a carpenter before joining the Marines?"
The Marine ships were fanning out, their intent obvious: to encircle and trap The Piece of Spadille.
Deuce, ever the strategist, was already shouting orders. "Wallace, hard to port! They're trying to box us in!" he yelled to their Fishman helmsman. He turned to the ship's library. "Teacher! Get me the charts for this area, now! If I remember correctly, there's a reef field nearby. We can use it to break their formation!"
The crew sprang into action, their celebratory laziness replaced with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned pirate crew. But as they scrambled to their posts, a new voice, cool and feminine, cut through their preparations from behind them.
"Don't even think about running. Your journey ends here."
Everyone froze. There, standing on their own deck as if she'd materialized from the fog itself, was a young woman. She wore a standard Marine officer's coat draped over her shoulders like a cape, the word "Justice" emblazoned on the back fluttering in the sea breeze. She had a lean build, a sword with a simple hilt at her waist, and a defiant look in her sharp eyes. Her hair was short and a striking shade of orange. But what drew Jerry's eye was the back of her hand as she rested it on her sword's pommel—it was marred by the puckered, discolored skin of old, severe burn scars.
Without a moment's hesitation, a series of gunshots rang out. Bang! Bang! Bang!
From an unseen perch high in the rigging, Mihar, the crew's resident teacher and master sniper, had opened fire. The bullets flew from impossible angles, aimed to maim and disable.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The woman didn't flinch. With a contemptuous sneer, her sword flashed from its sheath in a blur of silver, deflecting each bullet with an almost casual precision.
"Impressive swordsmanship," a calm voice drifted from above. It was Mihar, his tone purely analytical. Seeing his initial assault had failed, he fell silent, undoubtedly already repositioning for another shot.
Skull, who had turned at the sound of the voice, gasped. "Boss Ace, Boss Jerry! That's her! She's 'Nailhand'!"
"She doesn't look like a carpenter," Jerry mused, his mind processing the new threat.
"No!" Skull explained, his voice hushed with a mix of fear and awe. "They call her that because her sword style is so precise and relentless, they say she can pierce an enemy full of holes as if she were hammering nails into a board!"
"Well, that's… vivid," Jerry muttered.
Ace took a slow step forward, a relaxed, almost lazy smile playing on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So, the boss of this little party finally shows herself."
The woman's sharp gaze locked onto him. "You must be 'Fire Fist' Ace," she said, her voice steady and unwavering. "I am Marine Lieutenant Isuka."
She drew her sword fully, its polished steel gleaming coldly in the dimming light. She leveled the point directly at Ace's heart.
"In the name of the World Government, I am placing you under arrest. Surrender now!"
Ace's smile widened into a crooked, challenging grin. "Isuka, huh? Are you really so sure that sword of yours can even touch me?"
As he spoke, the air around him began to shimmer and distort with heat. Small embers danced along his shoulders, and his entire body seemed to flicker, on the verge of dissolving into pure flame. It was the signature defense of a Logia user, a power that made him intangible to most physical attacks.
"Oh, I am," Isuka replied, her eyes narrowing on the nascent flames. "I've dealt with fire before."
And before the words had fully left her lips, she moved.
Pushing off the deck with explosive speed, she closed the distance in an instant. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. She lunged forward, her body low and her sword held high, bringing it down in a vicious, glistening arc aimed directly at Ace. Her blade sliced through the air with a chilling whistle, a crescent of cold steel against a backdrop of rising fire.