The history of pirates in this world parallels that of Earth—roughly the late 18th century.
The Age of Exploration, the rise of piracy, even Wano's isolationist policy—all had prototypes.
The Flower Kingdom was no exception.
It was famed for mountains and rivers, its beauty unmatched. Jin wandered its lands for two months, tasting delicacies, testing masters, and fighting a dozen battles.
When he left, his ship brimmed with silks, porcelain, and teas. Forget the Grand Line—sold even to the West Blue coast, such luxuries would fetch astronomical prices. The profit margin was staggering.
Yet the Flower Kingdom was closed. Others could only dream of its treasures.
That was why outfits like the Kraken Tongue risked their lives to plunder its goods.
Jin, instead, forged a pact with the Eight Treasures Navy—government-sanctioned "pirates" who served as the kingdom's hand.
"Kar98K rifle?" Jin laid the weapon before Chinjao.
Bang—bang—bang! Compared to flintlocks, it was superior in every way: power, accuracy, range. The Navy's snipers fell in love at a glance.
"With a flintlock, a master might hit at a kilometer. But with this? Even a common soldier can. And with Haki—five thousand, ten thousand meters isn't impossible!"
Chinjao, though, wasn't so easily swayed. "How many of these guns do you have? Surely they're hand-made."
Jin raised a finger.
"Only one?" Chinjao guessed.
Jin shook his head.
"Ten?"
Another shake.
"…a hundred?"
Jin's smile widened. "One thousand. Every month."
The jaws of Chinjao, Sai, and Boo dropped. A thousand rifles, enough to rearm the Eight Treasures Navy entire. Their firepower would skyrocket, enough to tip wars.
"How much per gun?" Chinjao pressed.
"Three hundred thousand Berries each. A thousand per bullet. Buy one, get five free."
Costly compared to flintlocks—but a bargain for what it offered. Chinjao was bold; with his vault restored, he didn't haggle.
"One thousand rifles. Three hundred thousand rounds. If they perform, I'll buy more."
Hand to hand, money for goods.
Six hundred million Berries in a single exchange—soon to become six billion in profit through resales.
Jin mused, Arms really are money incarnate. No wonder Kaido, Big Mom, and the Emperors all trafficked in them. His costs, less than one percent of the price, came from clever Devil Fruit use—an endless, automated factory.
He could make more than a thousand rifles a month. But a wise arms dealer never flooded the market.
Instead, he chose his buyers carefully.
"Going forward, how should we trade?" Jin asked.
Chinjao explained the geography, the barriers of the Red Line, the Grand Line, and the cost of tolls. "If only Reverse Mountain connected all four seas."
Jin only smiled. It already did.
Could people still reap hundredfold profits from trade? Only if the seas stayed divided.
Those who had the power to connect them—wouldn't.
Those who lacked it—couldn't.
At least, not yet.
Jin had no intention of "uniting the seas" for the common good. Timing was wrong. Anyone who tried would be striking at the world's richest power structures—the World Government, the Four Emperors, and countless others.
For now, he needed capital. "Need something shipped? Contact me. I'll handle it," he told Chinjao.
As the Demon Carrier sailed, Jin considered the future. When the Bounty Hunter Guild is established, we'll build storage hubs across the seas. From points to networks, from sea to sky, even orbit.
Land, sea, air, and space: four-dimensional logistics.
Lunair Port was the trial run.
"Extra! Extra! West Blue Bounty Hunter Guild officially established! A new era begins!"
The news spread fast. The Guild promised salaries for bounty hunters, steady jobs, commissions from governments and companies, insurance for risk. Pirates cursed Marines' corruption; hunters flocked to Lunair in droves.
Vice Admiral Enru, the naval governor, watched from his office. Twenty years ago, Lunair was chaos. Under him, it thrived—even allowing pirates to dock, so long as they behaved. Headquarters hawks like Akainu called him corrupt, but tax revenues spoke louder.
"General, Vice Admiral Gion will arrive soon," his aide reported.
Enru, near seventy but still proud, nodded. "She's here to discuss succession. I've recommended you."
The aide's face lit—then stiffened. "I understand… Father."
"On duty, it's 'General.'"
Azure skies, calm seas. The Demon Carrier cruised toward Lunair. Jin lounged with a newspaper, Reiju at his side. Crocodile had proven capable, setting the Guild's foundation. Now it was time to see the results.
The port loomed—white sands, palms, a lighthouse guiding the way. Merchant ships, pirate ships, and Marines alike filled its docks.
"This is a naval port. Pirates too?" Jin asked.
"Of course," his aide replied. "Vice Admiral Enru allows it. No pirate dares cause trouble here."
Unlike Smoker's Loguetown, strict but resented, Lunair thrived under Enru's pragmatism. A poor admiral, perhaps, but a capable governor.
Then—cannon salutes, drums, trumpets.
A Navy squad disembarked first, rifles at the ready.
A tall woman followed, her gaze sweeping the port. Her brow knit at the pirate ships, but she said nothing. Headquarters itself had allowed this tolerance.
Vice Admiral Gion closed one eye, then let it slide shut. She would overlook it.
The hawks at Headquarters, Akainu foremost among them, had called him corrupt, in bed with nobles. But with Lunair's tax revenues soaring to the top among all branches, his post was secure.
"General, word from the inspection corps—Vice Admiral Gion will arrive soon."
He turned. Near seventy, but still tall, proud.
"She's here to discuss succession. Our generation is old."
"General, Lunair can't lose you!" his aide cried.
"I never said I was leaving. But my term is nearly over. This port is my life's work. I won't let Headquarters wreck it." He fixed the younger man with a stare. "I recommended you as my successor. Gion is here to test you. Be ready."
The colonel's face lit, then steadied. "I understand… Father."
"On duty, it's 'General,'" the old man corrected sharply.
"Yes, General!"
Azure skies, calm seas.
The Demon Carrier cruised at thirty knots, white spray like snow billowing from its bow.
On deck, Jin lounged in a chair, newspaper in hand, Reiju kneading his shoulders.
Crocodile had proven competent; in no time, he'd set the guild up and cut deals across the West Blue. A trial run—if it succeeded, expansion would follow. With the seas in chaos and people desperate for work, bounty hunters would flock in droves.
"Master, Lunair Port ahead," Ai reported. The carrier slowed to eight knots—a crawl for it, though still swift to passing ships.
Jin rose, gazing out. A green smudge on blue waters grew larger. An island. White sands, palms, a curving bay cradling a bustling port.
This was the West Blue's last stop before the Grand Line.
Navy ships patrolled, guarding merchantmen and travelers. A lighthouse stood on its reef, its beacon guiding ships along buoys marking safe passage.
Sails dropped, speed fell. Along the buoys, the carrier glided through an S-bend and into its berth under the dockworkers' direction.
Jin paid the docking fee, then glanced aside. Pirate ships, flying their flags openly, were docked in neat rows—under watch.
"This is a naval port. Pirates too?" he asked.
"Of course. Lunair is tolerant. Every ship gets a berth. But the port has divisions—pirate sector, merchant sector, Navy sector. With Vice Admiral Enru here, no pirate dares cause trouble."
Jin's interest piqued. Unlike Smoker's Loguetown, which groaned under strict justice, Lunair thrived under Enru's pragmatis.
Smoker upheld justice, but the town cursed him.
Enru let pirates dock, and the port prospered.
A poor admiral, perhaps, but a capable governor.
Suddenly—steam whistles, cannon salutes, drums, trumpets.
"That's…" Jin began.
"I heard a Vice Admiral from Headquarters is here to inspect. Enru's receiving her."
On the pier, Enru and his officers stood waiting. A cordon of Marines held the crowd back. A squad disembarked first, rifles at the ready, forming a line.
Then—
A tall woman stepped onto the gangway. Her gaze swept the port. At the pirate ships, her brows knit briefly. But she already knew Lunair's nature. Headquarters itself had allowed it. Why waste breath?
Vice Admiral Gion closed one eye, let the other slide shut. She would overlook it.
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