Somewhere deep in the New World, on a nameless tropical island that smelled of rum, gunpowder, and fresh blood, the Red Hair Pirates' temporary camp was quiet except for one sound: the unmistakable groan of a man who'd tried to out-drink the entire ocean the night before.
Shanks rolled over in his hammock—red hair a tangled mess, one arm dangling off the side like dead weight—and immediately regretted every decision that led to that last barrel of grog.
"Ugh… someone kill me…"
Lucky Roux burst through the tent flap, one massive hand clutching a slab of half-eaten roasted boar dripping with fat, the other waving a rolled-up newspaper like a battle flag.
"Boss! Boss! You gotta see this!"
Shanks cracked one eye open—bloodshot, miserable.
"Roux… if that's another poster for Uta's concert, I swear I'll—"
Roux shoved the paper under Shanks' nose, meat grease smearing the edges.
"Not that, look!"
Shanks squinted at the front page—then sat bolt upright so fast the hammock flipped him onto the dirt.
WANTED
MONKEY D. LUFFY
Dead or Alive
500,000,000 Berries
The picture showed a familiar straw hat, wide grin, scar under the left eye—looking exactly like the scrawny kid who'd once idolized him on that tiny East Blue dock.
Shanks stared. Blinked. Stared again.
"…Luffy?"
Roux tore off another bite of boar, talking with his mouth full.
"Five hundred million! Before he even entered the Grand Line! That's insane! But get this—the article says almost nothing. No big feats listed. No crew details. No incidents. Just 'emerging threat from East Blue' and 'extreme danger.' Like the World Government's trying to bury something."
Shanks slowly sat up in the dirt—hangover forgotten—eyes narrowing as he scanned the rest of the paper.
No mention of dead Celestial Dragons. No massacre reports. No Buster Calls. Nothing about Lush Farm Island. The bounty was sky-high, but the details were scrubbed clean.
He exhaled through his nose—half laugh, half disbelief.
"That little shit… what the hell did you do, Luffy?"
Roux swallowed, wiping grease on his coat.
"Five hundred mil rookie bounty with no record? That's not normal, boss. Even for us back in the day, we had to sink a few Marine fleets first."
Shanks folded the paper—carefully—then stood, stretching his one arm overhead.
"Kid's got my hat… and now he's got half the world looking for him. And he's still smiling in that picture."
He looked out toward the sea—where the Grand Line waited, vast and merciless.
"Roux… tell Benn we're changing course. I wanna know what my old apprentice has been up to."
Roux grinned—boar leg still in hand.
"Gonna go pick him up?"
Shanks chuckled—low, fond, dangerous.
"No. Not yet. But if the world's hunting him… I wanna see how long he lasts before he needs an old man's help."
He slung his cloak over his shoulder—red hair catching the sun.
"Besides… 500 million? Kid's growing up fast."
The Red Hair Pirates camp stirred—orders passed, sails raised.
Somewhere ahead—on a red ship with a drumstick figurehead—a boy with a straw hat was laughing into the wind.
---
The Going Meat barreled toward Reverse Mountain like a drunk red cannonball fired at a waterfall god. The currents around the base were already insane—black water churning, waves slamming the hull like giant hands trying to flip the ship over. The deck pitched wildly; crates slid, barrels rolled, ropes snapped taut.
Usopp clung to the mast—face white, nose stretched to cartoonish length from sheer terror—screaming in a high-pitched wail.
"WE'RE GONNA DIE! THE SEA'S GONNA EAT US! MY BEAUTIFUL NOSE—MY ASS—EVERYTHING—!"
Banchina—still in her oversized t-shirt—had latched onto Nami like a terrified koala, arms and legs wrapped around her waist, face buried in Nami's chest.
"S-Sis! It's gonna crash! We're dead! Dead dead dead!"
Nami—hair whipping, log pose spinning uselessly—yelled over the roar.
"ZORO! STEER US STRAIGHT! ONE WRONG TURN AND WE'RE PASTE ON THE CLIFF!"
Zoro—hands white-knuckled on the wheel—growled through gritted teeth.
"I'm trying! This thing's fighting me like a pissed-off Sea King!"
The ship lurched left—then right—then spun in a nauseating circle as the currents yanked it toward the mountain wall. Rocks loomed—jagged teeth ready to rip the hull open.
Luffy—perched on the figurehead—laughed into the wind.
"Shishishi! This is fun! Faster! Faster!"
Nojiko—tied to the galley rail—yelled back.
"FUN?! WE'RE ABOUT TO BECOME RED PASTE!"
Tashigi—in the prison hold—bounced against the bars with every pitch, muffled screams lost in the chaos.
Luffy screamed "Activate Autopilot".
The wheel locked—blue glow pulsing around the helm. The ship straightened—suddenly, unnaturally—pointing straight at the reverse waterfall.
Nami's eyes widened.
"Autopilot?! Now?!"
The ship surged—rockets humming—then hit the base of the waterfall.
The current caught them like a fist.
The Going Meat accelerated—rocketing upward—climbing the impossible reverse slope at breakneck speed. Sails tore free—ripping off masts in shreds—canvas whipping away like white flags of surrender. The hull groaned; wood cracked; everyone screamed as G-forces pinned them to the deck.
Usopp wailed—nose wrapping around his own face.
"MY LIFE FLASHES BEFORE MY EYES! IT'S ALL BAD!"
Banchina clung tighter to Nami—screaming into her chest.
"WE'RE GONNA FALL OFF THE WORLD—!"
Nami screamed back—voice cracking.
"SHUT UP AND HOLD—!"
The ship reached the peak—a brief, surreal moment of weightlessness—sky above, sea below, mountain walls blurring past.
Everyone took one collective breath.
Then gravity remembered.
The Going Meat tipped—nose down—and plummeted.
The descent was apocalyptic—speed doubling, tripling—wind howling like demons. The deck tilted nearly vertical; crew slid toward the bow, clinging to rails, ropes, each other. Nami's nails dug into wood—screaming. Usopp's legs kicked air—screaming louder. Banchina's t-shirt flapped up—flashing everything—screaming highest.
A massive rock—more like a small mountain—loomed at the base of the waterfall, dead center in their path.
Crash imminent.
Usopp shrieked—voice breaking.
"WE'RE DEAD! DEAD DEAD DEAD—!"
Nami wailed.
"Luffy—DO SOMETHING—!"
Luffy—still on the figurehead—laughed into the wind.
"CANNONS! FIRE!"
He pointed—twenty-five barrels swiveled—locked on the rock.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM—!
A dozen cannonballs screamed out—raining down like black hail.
They struck the "rock"—and it moved.
The surface rippled—scales glinted—eyes opened—massive, ancient, furious.
Laboon.
The whale roared—mouth opening wide—body thrashing as cannonballs bounced off its thick hide like pebbles.
The Going Meat shot past—missing the whale's jaws by meters—rocketing into the calm sea beyond Reverse Mountain.
Everyone collapsed—panting, soaked, alive.
Luffy hung from the figurehead—laughing hysterically.
"Shishishi! Big whale! It's alive! And mad!"
Zoro—still gripping the wheel—growled.
"Stupid fish… almost killed us."
Nami—curled on the deck—whimpered.
"I hate this ocean…"
Usopp—fell on his injured ass—sobbed.
"My life… my ass… everything…"
Banchina—t-shirt soaked, clinging to Nami—whispered.
"We… we made it…"
Nojiko—hair plastered—laughed weakly.
"Yeah… but now there's a pissed-off whale behind us."
Laboon's roar echoed—distant, furious.
The Grand Line stretched ahead—vast, blue, merciless.
And the Going Meat—battered, crew half-dead, but grinning—sailed straight into it.
Continued...
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