"Kid, you've got guts…
Killing my men right in front of me."
The pirate captain known as Scarblade looked down at Foxxy. His name was no exaggeration—across his face ran a massive jagged scar like a crawling centipede.
Somehow his eye had survived the injury, but the disfigurement gave him a savage, terrifying appearance. His jaw was broad, covered with a thick beard, and everything about him radiated danger.
In this world, if you didn't have scars, you weren't even qualified to call yourself a pirate.
Scars were honor.
Scars were identity.
Scars were the price of survival.
"Boy," Scarblade said, crouching down and gripping Foxxy's hair, "join my crew. Do that, and I'll spare your life."
Without waiting for permission, he yanked the long wooden splinter from Foxxy's left eye.
Foxxy's scream tore through the air.
Blood burst from the ruined socket. The eyeball had already been crushed beyond repair. His vision went black on the left side, pain flooding his body like molten iron. Tears and blood streamed down his face as he trembled uncontrollably.
He couldn't see.
He couldn't even open his eye anymore.
It hurt so much he could barely breathe.
Then—
"You monsters! Go to hell!"
Abis lunged from the side, clutching the kitchen knife she had dropped earlier. With a desperate sob, she swung it at Scarblade's neck.
Scarblade released Foxxy instantly and caught her wrist mid-air.
He didn't hesitate.
His cleaver flashed—
Blood arced through the air.
"Abi…s…"
Foxxy, half-blind, forced open his right eye just enough to see her gasp, blood bubbling from her lips. She turned her head toward him one last time. With trembling lips, she whispered:
"You must live… no matter what."
Her arms went limp.
Her head bowed to her chest.
Scarblade flung her aside like worthless trash.
For her, death was mercy.
Scarblade wiped the blood from his blade and looked at Foxxy again.
"Now then, boy. Have you made your choice?"
His tone was flat, indifferent—like stepping on an ant.
Before Foxxy could even breathe—
BOOM—!
BOOM—BOOM—!!
Explosions erupted from the coastline.
Gunfire. Screams. Chaos.
A group of terrified pirates came sprinting into the village.
"Captain! It's the Marines! Loads of our guys are dead!"
"Who's in charge?" Scarblade asked, though his voice remained calm.
"It—It's Vice Admiral Tsuru… from Marine Headquarters!"
Scarblade stiffened.
Terror washed across his rough face.
"That woman… she's a nightmare! She's captured more pirates than we can count. Captain, we have to run! We won't survive if she catches us!"
Upon hearing the name Tsuru, the remaining pirates panicked instantly.
Scarblade snarled, "Grab the kid. We're leaving!"
Foxxy stared numbly.
This man—who had crushed him with a single strike—was now panicking like a rat seeing a cat.
Ridiculous.
Pitiful.
Infuriating.
One pirate protested, "Captain, he's dead weight! We'll never escape dragging him along!"
"Then kill him," Scarblade spat. "We don't have time."
"Yes, sir."
The pirate aimed his pistol at Foxxy and fired.
The bullet streaked toward him—
—but a pink Slow-Slow ring blossomed unexpectedly, slowing the bullet to a crawl.
Foxxy rolled weakly to the side, and the moment time resumed, the bullet bit into the dirt beside his face.
Helplessly, he watched Scarblade and the others vanish between the burning buildings.
He could do nothing.
He was too weak.
He turned his head toward Abis's body.
His one remaining eye burned, tears mixing with blood.
If he had been strong…
Could he have saved her?
Saved Kot?
Saved her son?
Saved the village?
Would he still have his eye?
For forty-eight days, he had lived among these villagers. They fed him, sheltered him, and treated him like a child of their home. Without them, he wouldn't have survived a week.
Even animals felt gratitude.
How much more should humans?
He clenched his teeth as pain tore through him.
His left eye was gone.
His chest was crushed.
His breathing was ragged.
He knew he was dying.
Gunshots and explosions thundered outside.
The screams dwindled.
Moments later, everything fell silent.
Footsteps approached.
"Over here! There's someone alive—he needs a stretcher!"
A Marine in basic uniform spotted Foxxy slumped against a wall. His eyes widened at Foxxy's mangled eye and collapsed chest.
"Damn pirates… even a child wasn't spared," the Marine cursed.
"T… thank… you…" Foxxy coughed, blood bubbling at his lips.
For the first time since arriving in this world, the sight of Marines felt comforting.
He had wanted to join them just to survive.
Now, that desire…
had changed.
"Don't talk," the Marine said gently. "You'll be alright. We'll treat your wounds."
They lifted him onto a stretcher.
As they carried him through the ruined village, Foxxy saw everything—
Anster is lying across his fence, back torn open to the bone, guts visible.
The old grandmother, chest pierced, eyes bulging, collapsed by her doorway.
Women lying half-naked, their bodies violated before death.
Children and elders alike were slaughtered without mercy.
Everywhere he looked—
blood.
death.
horror.
And he no longer felt sick.
The rage drowned everything else.
The peaceful village that had welcomed him…
destroyed.
Why?
They stole nothing worth stealing.
They lived simply, honestly, harming no one.
What sin had they committed?
What crime justified this?
This world…
This world was hideous.
This was what pirates truly were—
worse than beasts, devoid of humanity.
The anime had never shown this.
From Luffy's perspective, the story was bright, adventurous, full of dreams and bonds.
Dark scenes were glossed over.
Reality was not.
The madness and cruelty here were far beyond fiction.
The world wasn't wrong—
people were.
Human nature was.
Foxxy's eyelids grew heavy.
Blood loss drained his strength.
Just before consciousness slipped away, he thought he saw—
a beautiful, mature woman with silver hair approaching.
Then everything went dark.