Alabasta.
Rain Dinners, the headquarters of the Baroque Works criminal empire.
In the dimly lit opulent room, the air was thick with the haze of expensive cigar smoke.
Silence reigned, a heavy, expectant quiet broken only by the rhythmic tapping of rain against the reinforced windows.
Tap, tap, tap—
The sound of white boots echoed down the marble hallway.
A tall, slender figure stepped into the room, her long black hair swaying slightly under the dim yellow light.
"Miss All Sunday."
A low, raspy voice spoke, carrying an undeniable pressure that seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
The speaker was a man with a stern, cruel expression, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth.
He slowly turned in his massive swivel chair, his sharp gaze cutting like a shard of glass as he stared at the newcomer.
He was Sir Crocodile, a Logia-type Sand-Sand Fruit user and one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
He wore an elegant black overcoat, his left hand replaced by a massive golden hook that gleamed coldly.
A long, ugly scar ran across his face, making him appear even more menacing.
He lifted his hand, took a deep drag from his cigar, and slowly exhaled a cloud of white smoke.
He narrowed his eyes, fixing a sharp gaze on the woman before him.
She was Nico Robin, the woman branded the "Devil Child" by the World Government.
She wore a white fur coat over a purple miniskirt, a matching white cowboy hat perched on her jet-black hair.
Her profound, intelligent eyes gave her an air of cold beauty and hidden danger.
Crocodile knew this woman was not loyal to him.
She was a cornered animal, taking refuge under the powerful wing of a Warlord.
Even so, her value was immense.
She was the only person in the world capable of deciphering the Poneglyphs—the final key to the ultimate power he so desperately sought: the Ancient Weapon, Pluton.
"Speak," Crocodile waved his hand dismissively. "What do you want?"
"Mr. 0," Nico Robin's voice was as smooth and steady as still water, a composed smile on her face.
She gently placed a telegram on his desk.
"The Marines have contacted us through the World Government."
"Oh?"
"In the coming days, a Marine Headquarters Captain will be arriving in Alabasta for an 'inspection tour'," she explained, her tone laced with an elusive hint.
"The World Government hopes we can extend our... hospitality."
A cold, humorless smirk tugged at Crocodile's lips.
"A Headquarters Captain?" he snorted, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Hospitality? The World Government really thinks they can order me around, treating the Warlords like their dogs?"
"Mr. 0, this Captain's identity is… somewhat special."
"Special?" A glint of frost flashed in Crocodile's eyes.
"He is the new adjutant of Marine Admiral Kizaru—a recently promoted Captain named Mike."
"Kizaru's adjutant?" Crocodile's smirk faded slightly, his brow furrowing.
He took the neatly compiled profile from Robin.
"Captain Mike... formerly of East Blue's Branch 186, notorious for his 'slacker' attitude, dubbed the 'Shame of the East Blue Marines'... For some unknown reason, he was transferred to HQ and became Kizaru's adjutant."
"Unknown reason?" Crocodile puffed on his cigar, the cold smirk returning.
"Of course. His slacker style probably suits Kizaru's taste. But Kizaru is a genuine monster. What does this... trash from the weakest sea have to offer?"
He extended his golden hook and lightly pinched the telegram, instantly reducing it to fine sand that drifted through his fingers.
"Mr. 0, then your orders are...?" Robin asked quietly.
"Hmph." Crocodile's eyes flickered. He stood and walked to the window, gazing down at his casino city.
"A worthless slacker Captain from the East Blue expects me to entertain him?" His voice was a low growl.
"I am one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, not some no-name small fry." He snorted, his gaze turning sharp and vicious.
"Notify all agents of Baroque Works," he commanded.
"When the Marines land in Alabasta, have this Captain Mike come see me in person."
....
While one Warlord was plotting in the desert, a certain Marine Captain was busy annoying a different kind of hothead in Loguetown.
"Vroom—!"
The roar of an amphibious motorcycle engine erupted outside the Marine branch.
Mike hopped off the bike with casual ease.
"Nice ride, Smokey!" he whistled, patting the bike's front.
"Hmph, it cost me months of my salary!" Smoker lifted his chin, a flicker of pride in his tone.
"This is my baby!" He shot Mike a glare, intending to stay stern, but ultimately just sighed.
"Honestly, getting so worked up over you is a waste of my time. It's not because I can't beat you, and it's not because of this box of Admiral-grade cigars you gave me. It's because I, Smoker, am a magnanimous man!"
"Oh?" Mike raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye.
"Is that so?" He glanced at Smoker's self-righteous expression before casually remarking.
"By the way... seems Straw Hat Luffy escaped successfully from you."
"..."
Smoker's smile froze instantly, his lips twitching as a vein pulsed on his forehead.
To have a rookie pirate crews cause chaos right under his nose and then swagger off to freedom!
It was infuriating.
"They've probably entered the Grand Line by now," Mike added, his tone as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather.
"Are you going to chase them?"
The carefully constructed dam of Smoker's "magnanimity" finally broke.
The memory of Luffy grinning, the chaos at the docks, the humiliation of Dragon's intervention—it all came rushing back.
"CHASE!!!" he roared, his voice echoing across the base as he leaped back onto his Billower Bike and tore off toward the docks, leaving a plume of white smoke and righteous fury in his wake.
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