Buggy stretched his shoulders, surprised to feel them move without tearing any stitches.
The pain was still there, faint and throbbing like a dull drumbeat under his skin, but it was bearable now. His body healed fast, freakishly fast.
He rolled his arm again and winced at the tug of muscle underneath the bandages. In his old world, a wound like that would've meant weeks of fever and infection, maybe even death.
Here, though, the world seemed built for survival. For people like him, it was ideal. It wasn't like he planned to stay away from danger in the future.
The worst part, as always, was the cleaning.
Medicinal alcohol stung like hell, thankfully they still had a half-bottle of it left, since some of his stupider men had ended up drinking the rest, confusing it for vodka or something.
Still, he couldn't complain. He was alive, and the sea stretched ahead of them like a new stage, waiting for his next act.
They were one day away from Loguetown now, the last port before the Grand Line.
A place where legends were born and executed in equal measure.
And waiting for him there would be a man he'd rather not meet.
"Smoker…" Buggy muttered under his breath, pacing the small cabin.
He didn't doubt for a second that the Marine captain would come for him. It wasn't paranoia, just pattern recognition.
The man had a reputation for chasing pirates down like bloodhounds chased scent. And Buggy's name had been all over the recent East Blue papers.
Even now, he could almost hear the whispers his name with fear. 'Bloody Jester Buggy'... He was still not used to it fully.
It was a catchy title, though he still wasn't sure if it made him sound terrifying or like a horror show for children.
He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"How the hell do I fight Smoker…?"
In the past, he'd found ways to get around stronger opponents, using tricks, misdirection, and a good sense of showmanship. Arlong had been strong, sure, but arrogant. That fish-faced bastard hadn't taken Buggy seriously until his jaw was lying in the sand.
But Smoker was different.
Smoker was careful. He planned things out. He didn't underestimate his opponents.
And worst of all… he couldn't be cut, burned, or shot.
Buggy's lips twisted.
"Great. A damn Logia without a clear counter… At least I'll get some experience fighting one."
The ship rocked gently beneath his feet as the crew bustled above deck. Laughter, chatter, and the sound of hammering echoed faintly through the boards.
They were fixing what they could, patching holes, mending sails, scrubbing away what was left of Orange Town's chaos. The air smelled like salt, oil, and faintly of fried fish.
Buggy exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair.
They had enough resources to reach the Grand Line, food, barrels of water, and enough coin to last them a few weeks if they were careful.
But there was one glaring problem.
No navigator. No Log Pose.
And even Buggy, in all his reckless brilliance, wasn't suicidal enough to sail into the Grand Line blind.
Mohji had some sense of direction, and Cabaji could read a map, but neither of them could navigate the Grand Line. Without a Log Pose, they'd be adrift, relying on luck and the whims of the weather.
Buggy drummed his fingers against the table.
"We'll stop in Loguetown. Get a Log Pose, supplies… maybe a new ship."
The Big Top, the Buggy Pirate's Ship, had seen better days. The hull was cracked, and the sails were a patchwork of stitched cloth and pirate pride.
She was holding together, barely.
"Maybe we'll buy a fishing boat," he muttered. "Paint a smile on it. Call it the Little Top."
He grinned at his own joke, but the humor didn't quite stick.
Loguetown wasn't like the other towns they'd hit. It wasn't some sleepy harbor with merchants and fishers. It was a Marine stronghold, the kind of place where pirates vanished and stories ended.
"I get the feeling the audience in Loguetown's gonna be harder to entertain…"
-
-
-
By morning, the town's massive lighthouse came into view.
The mist hung thick over the docks, parting only as the Big Top crept closer under a false flag, no Jolly Roger, no sign of the Bloody Jester's colors.
Buggy stood at the bow, cloak drawn over his usual coat, hair tied back beneath a plain black bandana. A merchant's disguise, simple, tidy, and completely unlike him.
"Alright, boys," he said quietly, scanning the port through narrowed eyes. "Remember: we're traders from Shells Town. No nonsense, no noise, no stabbing anyone in the street."
A chorus of "Aye, Captain!" rang out, none of them sounding even remotely trustworthy.
Cabaji adjusted his vest, looking every bit the shady businessman. "I've handled these kinds of ports before,the commanding officer here is said to be strict, but there are always others... The Marines like their bellies full and their hands greased."
Buggy smirked. "Then grease away."
As they approached the checkpoint, two Marine officers stepped forward, rifles slung over their shoulders.
"State your business," one demanded, peering over the railing.
Cabaji bowed politely. "Just merchants, sir. Shells Town exports, silk, spices, and fine spirits. Paperwork's all in order."
He handed over a neatly folded document, fake, of course, and a small pouch that clinked softly.
The Marine opened it, blinked, then cleared his throat. "Ahem… right. Welcome to Loguetown. You'll find the market two streets inland. Don't cause trouble."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Cabaji said smoothly.
As they walked away, Buggy muttered, "Twice the punishment if we do, right?"
Cabaji smirked. "That's what they always say, scares off newbies, I guess..."
"Yeah," Buggy replied. "Only small-timers get in this easy usually. Real pirates enter through… other doors, if I remember right."
The crew snickered behind him, though the laughter died down as they crossed into the heart of the city.
Loguetown was alive.
The smell of sea salt mixed with bread and smoke. Streets crowded with sailors, merchants, and Marines on patrol. Stalls sold fish, weapons, and fruit imported from the far corners of the East Blue.
It was louder than Orange Town, busier than Shells Town, a place caught between the world of pirates and the order of the Marines.
"Alright, listen up!" Buggy said, snapping his fingers. "Cabaji, Mohji, you take the loot and find a buyer. The rest of you, stock up on food, medicine, rum, and whatever you can carry without looking suspicious. Remember the plan!"
He paused.
"And nobody. Nobody mentions the words 'pirate,' 'jester,' or 'blood.' Got it?"
They saluted with varying levels of enthusiasm before scattering into the crowd.
Though Cabaji and Mohji did mutter something about his 'plan' being pure madness, but Buggy let it slide, since they were not entierly wrong either.
Buggy adjusted his cloak and turned toward the main square. "I'll get the Log Pose. Shouldn't be too hard to find a navigation shop."
He said it like he believed it.
Loguetown's market stretched for blocks, a maze of wooden stalls, fabric banners, and vendors shouting over one another. The cobblestones were slick from the morning mist, and the air buzzed with noise.
Buggy walked among them, posture relaxed, eyes sharp. He caught snippets of conversation as he passed, whispers about a pirate called Bloody Jester Buggy whose bounty had tripled overnight.
"Fifty million berries," one merchant whispered to another. "They say he leveled half of Orange Town."
Buggy smirked to himself, lowering his hat brim. 'Leveled?' he thought. 'The marines really have a way of reporting the news, huh?'
Still, he moved carefully. Fame was a double-edged sword, useful for fear, deadly for disguise.
He stopped at a stall piled high with compasses and charts. Behind it stood a thin old man with glasses and a beard that looked like it hadn't been washed since the last age of sail.
"Looking for something specific?" the man croaked.
"A general Log Pose," Buggy said. "One bound for the Grand Line."
The man's eyes narrowed. "You planning to die early, merchant?"
Buggy grinned, showing just a hint of teeth. "Anything for a profit..."
The old man shrugged and ducked beneath the counter, emerging with a small glass sphere encased in brass. The needle inside wobbled, then settled, pointing somewhere far beyond the sea's horizon.
"Not cheap," he said. "200,000 Berries. You may look at it, but if you break it, you buy two."
Buggy just grabbed it without responding, then dropped a stack of bills on the counter without blinking. "Keep the change."
The man blinked, surprised, but took the pouch quickly enough. "You're either brave or stupid," he muttered.
Buggy chuckled. "Why not both?"
-
-
-
From a rooftop across the square, a plume of smoke curled into the air, white and steady.
Captain Smoker leaned against a chimney, arms crossed, twin cigars burning in his mouth. His long white coat fluttered behind him, the words MARINE emblazoned across the back like a promise.
He exhaled slowly, watching the crowd below through narrowed eyes.
The man in the black cloak stood out immediately.
A red nose like that was quite difficult to disguise, even under a bandana.
Smoker took another drag. "Bloody Jester Buggy…"
He'd read the reports, the escape from Orange Town, the destruction, the bounty increase.
A clown with a Devil Fruit that let him survive dismemberment, and fight with his scattered limbs like puppets on invisible strings. Arrogant, unpredictable, and annoyingly hard to kill.
Exactly the kind of pirate Smoker hated most.
"Figures he'd crawl here before the Grand Line," he muttered.
Tashigi stepped up beside him, adjusting her glasses. "You're sure it's him, sir?"
Smoker's eyes didn't leave the street. "I don't forget faces. Especially ones that... unique."
Below, Buggy was already turning away from the stall, Log Pose tucked safely in his coat pocket.
He didn't run, didn't hurry, just moved through the crowd like a man who owned the place.
Smoker's lips curled around his cigars.
"Enjoy your shopping, clown," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that swallowed the horizon. "Let's see how funny you are when I catch you."
The smoke drifted down through the streets, curling through the alleys like a warning.
And somewhere in the crowd, Buggy paused, feeling a chill crawl up his spine.
For just a heartbeat, his grin faltered beneath the bandana.
Then he straightened, tipping his hat and whispering under his breath, "Showtime."