FWOOOM!!
The massive stream of wax erupted like a white tsunami, flowing with liquid metal viscosity as it targeted Vivi with surgical precision.
'Shit!'
My mind processed the tactical situation in the split second before impact: scattered formation, momentum lost, everyone recovering from dodging Miss Goldenweek's paint attacks, no time to regroup properly.
'This is what happens when you face coordinated Devil Fruit users with unknown abilities. One mistake, one moment of lost momentum, and suddenly you're playing defense instead of executing retreat.'
"Quack!" Karoo's quack came from above as the ghost duck was trying to intercept.
BRAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The duck deployed its ridiculous machine guns, laying down suppressing fire toward Mr. 3's position—
FLICK!
Miss Goldenweek's brush moved with casual precision, throwing another rolled paper that unfolded mid-air to reveal a blue pattern.
The moment Karoo's consciousness registered the symbol—
WHOOSH!
—The machine gun fire redirected itself. Not physically. Not through any visible force.
The duck's intent changed, the ghost duck's targeting priorities shifting to aim at the blue paper instead of the wax-user.
BRAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! TEAR!
The bullets shredded the drawing, but Mr. 3's wax attack was still coming, still targeting Vivi with that inevitable momentum.
"GOMU GOMU NO—"
STRETCH!
Luffy launched himself between Vivi and the incoming wax, his rubber body expanding to create a living shield.
"—BALLOON!"
SPLASH! HARDEN!
The wax hit our captain's inflated form and immediately began solidifying, the white substance wrapping around his torso like fast-setting concrete.
"Luffy-san!" Vivi's voice cracked with genuine concern.
"Shishishi!" Our captain's laugh was strained but present. "It's okay! I can—"
CRACK! SOLIDIFY!
The wax finished hardening with that distinctive sound Mr. 3's constructions made when reaching their iron-like final state.
"I-I-I can't move!"
Luffy was trapped, his rubber body encased in a white shell that covered his deflated form like full-body cuffs.
And there's our mobile offense neutralized. One Devil Fruit user down, tactical flexibility reduced by approximately forty percent, and we're still surrounded by agents who are getting bolder by the second.
'Damn!'
SHIMMER! WHOOOSH!
I aimed the Hamon Ether circle at Mr. 3, Mr. 5, and Miss Valentine before Miss Goldenweek could throw another paper.
'Hamon—Fire Cannon!'
KABOOM!!
KABOOM!!!
KABOOM!!!!
The shots pushed them away and gained us a few seconds.
"EVERYONE!" I shouted, already moving toward Luffy's position while taking out another bottle of Ether. "Regroup on the captain!!"
WHOOSH! SLASH!
Zoro was already moving, his swords cutting through approaching wax constructions of Mr. 3 that had softened with my Fire Cannon shots.
The swordsman's movements were precise, efficient, treating the softened wax like it was just another obstacle to be removed.
"Tsk," Zoro's frustration was audible. "This wax keeps returning faster than I can cut it!"
'Looks like Mr. 3 can produce the substance continuously as long as he's conscious and has energy. We're not fighting a finite resource—we're fighting a production line.'
I raised both the Barbossa sword and my Ether-recharged flintlock, channeling Hamon through my body as I deployed defensive measures.
CRACKLE! SHIMMER!
Two Hamon Ether circles materialized, positioning themselves to cover our flanks as I split my attention between controlling them and maintaining awareness of Miss Goldenweek's position.
'Can't let her throw another paint attack. One more symbol land and we lose another crew member.'
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
The Ether circle roared in rapid succession. Fire Cannons thundered toward the lower-ranked agents who were trying to close the distance.
KABOOM-KABOOM-KABOOM-KABOOM!
"WAAAAHHHH!!!!"
"Get Awaaaay!!!"
"Don't Get Close!!!!"
"Shoot from a distance!!!"
The detonations forced them back, created temporary breathing room, but not enough.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The lower-ranked Baroque Works agents were closing in now, emboldened by Miss Goldenweek's systematic dismantling of our defensive capabilities.
I could sense their positions through Mantra—twenty-five conscious presences forming a tightening noose around our group, weapons ready, confidence building with each passing second.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Above us, Mr. 5 had positioned himself for aerial bombardment, his explosive attacks creating a constant rain of detonations that forced everyone to stay mobile.
WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!
Miss Valentine's parasol spun as she circled like a vulture, her wind slashes cutting through the jungle canopy with that devastating precision we'd seen before.
'Coordinated assault. Ground forces creating pressure, aerial units maintaining suppression fire, Miss Goldenweek systematically neutralizing our defensive options. This is professional military tactics translated into pirate combat.'
And then I sensed it through my Mantra—
/Mass Hexing Attack/
'What—'
RUSTLE! FWIP!
Miss Goldenweek reached behind her back and pulled out something large, unrolling it with both hands as the sabertoothed tiger beneath her came to a complete stop.
A canvas. Massive. Easily two meters across.
And painted across its surface was a mandala—intricate, multi-colored, hypnotic in its geometric complexity. Swirling patterns of red, blue, yellow, green, and colors I didn't have names for, all arranged in concentric circles that seemed to pulse with malevolent intent.
'No. No no no. That's not a targeted attack. That's area-of-effect. Everyone who is in the range—'
My instinct screamed warnings a split second early.
Too late.
Vivi's eyes registered the mandala first. Her pupils dilated, her body went slack, and she simply... sat down. Right there in the middle of the battlefield, as if someone had invited her to a tea party.
"Karoo..." Her voice was dreamy, distant. "Put me down. I'd like to rest now."
'Peaceful submission. The pattern overrode her survival instinct completely, replaced fight-or-flight with docile compliance.'
THUD!
Luffy, still trapped in his wax prison, stared at the mandala with those wide eyes that usually held excitement or determination.
Now they held... nothing.
Just empty, peaceful acceptance.
"Shishishi..." His laugh was soft, content, completely wrong. "That's a pretty picture. I think I'll just... stay here for a bit."
'The captain. She got the captain. Turned our unstoppable offensive force into a sitting duck through pure psychological manipulation.'
And Zoro—
"I-I Ca-Can still have one more cup, you…you bastard…!"
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The swordsman's footsteps were heavy, mechanical, as he turned to face the mandala fully.
But his reaction was different.
His eyes didn't go empty. They went red—literally, a crimson overlay appearing across his vision like someone had replaced his irises with rubies.
SHING! SHING! SHING!
His three swords came up in attack position, and when he moved—
'Aggressive. She gave him the opposite effect. Not peace. Not docility. Pure, uncontrolled violence.'
—he charged at the nearest target.
Which happened to be me.
'Oh, that's just perfect. Now I'm fighting a fake drunken, mind-controlled ally with the combat skills of a professional swordsman while I'm trying to defend my allies and being surrounded by enemieeee…...'
I felt the mental intrusion the moment my peripheral vision caught the mandala's edge—foreign intent trying to seep into my consciousness like oil spreading across water.
'I want to take a nap…'
Not physical paralysis this time. Something deeper.
'Shit!'
Cognitive manipulation. Direct targeting of decision-making processes, the fundamental mental architecture that determined what I wanted to do and why.
'This is like Vivi's sedatives, but targeting consciousness directly. No physical vector. No substance to purge with Hamon. Just pure psychological warfare delivered through visual patterns.'
My analytical mind recognized it immediately—the attack was working on the same principles as hypnosis, but weaponized through Devil Fruit powers or some equally impossible mechanism.
'If I have no ability to stop it externally, then the only defense is internal. Pure mental resistance through overwhelming logical processing.'
I threw every ounce of mental focus into conscious resistance.
Philosophical arguments. Social behavior analyses. Mathematical sequences. Historical timelines. Every scrap of information I'd accumulated over eighteen years of life, deployed as a mental fortress against the intrusion.
'The square root of 144 is 12(Don't judge me, I am not good at math). The most difficult thing to know in life is to know yourself. The Meiji Restoration occurred in 1868. Human social dynamics are governed by reciprocity expectations and status hierarchies.'
The thoughts came faster, more frantic, an intellectual avalanche designed to overwhelm the foreign intent trying to rewrite my decision-making.
It was like solving equations while being waterboarded.
Every mental resource I had, dedicated to the single purpose of maintaining conscious control.
CRACK!
Something broke in my mind—not me, but the pattern's hold.
I gasped, my body suddenly responding to commands again as the paralysis from the yellow symbol shattered under the sheer force of mental overload.
'Partial success. Broke free. But...'
The mental fatigue hit me like a physical wave—exhaustion so profound I could feel my thoughts slowing, my tactical analysis becoming sluggish and imprecise.
'...it wasn't enough. I can feel my mind slipping back. The pattern is still active, still exerting pressure. I bought myself seconds, not minutes…'
My hand moved almost on instinct, my custom flintlock coming up to aim at the large mandala canvas—
BANG!
FLICK!
Miss Goldenweek's response was instantaneous, another redirecting symbol flying from her back even as my bullet left the barrel.
WHOOSH! TEAR!
The shot veered mid-flight, targeting the red paper instead of the actual mandala, destroying the decoy while the real threat remained perfectly intact.
'Shit. SHIT. She predicted the counter. Positioned herself to intercept any attack on her mass-control symbol.'
This isn't just tactical competence—this is someone who's used this exact strategy before and refined it through multiple engagements.
The situation was worse than I'd thought. Much worse.
Zoro was closing the distance, his swords raised, his eyes showing that aggressive red overlay that meant the pattern had turned him into a weapon aimed at his own crew.
Vivi sat peacefully in the middle of a battlefield, humming softly to herself like this was a pleasant afternoon in a park.
Luffy remained trapped in wax, his usual determination replaced by that wrong, empty contentment.
And I could feel my own mental resistance beginning to crack under the sustained pressure of the mandala's influence.
'We need to escape. Right now. This isn't a fight we can win.'
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
The Baroque Works agents were firing again, emboldened by our rapidly deteriorating situation.
BOOM! CRASH!
Mr. 5's explosive attacks were getting more accurate, his targeting improving as our defensive coordination broke down.
WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!
Miss Valentine's wind slashes cut through the canopy, forcing constant evasive maneuvers that none of us were in a position to execute anymore.
'Twenty-five ground forces. Four officer agents with Devil Fruit powers. Three crew members were incapacitated through cognitive manipulation. One crew member is about to attack his own allies. And me, struggling to maintain conscious thought while injured and mentally exhausted.'
My eyes found Karoo through the chaos.
The duck was affected too—I could see the mandala influence in the way the duck's movements had become erratic. But it was different. Less complete.
'Ghost-type abilities. Intangibility. The duck exists partially outside normal physical reality when the intangibly is active. Maybe that interferes with the pattern's effectiveness?'
It was a gamble based on incomplete information and desperate hope.
'The only way forward is to test it.'
"Karoo!" I shouted, my voice hoarse from the mental strain. "The carpet! Pass it to Vivi!"
I made the escape gesture with my hand—spreading my fingers then clutching them, the signal for "get the hell out of here."
The duck's response was immediate.
SHIMMER! PHASE!
Karoo materialized from its ghost form, its ghostly body becoming solid for just a moment before flowing into the rolled carpet on its back.
WHOOSH! GLOW!
The carpet moved toward Vivi with that characteristic blue glow, and I watched with grim satisfaction as the duck's possession stabilized—the mandala influence apparently insufficient to completely override the ghost-type Devil Fruit power.
'It worked. Small mercies. At least we have one functional escape vector.'
But as I was busy, Miss Goldenweek made her move.
Flick!
She moved he brush, sending a blob at the unguarded Zoro, which materialized as a symbol on his chest.
"Stop them."
Miss Goldenweek's monotone voice cut through the battlefield like a scalpel—calm, precise, carrying absolute authority despite its lack of emotional inflection.
"Roronoa Zoro. Attack the sorcerer. Prevent their escape."
WHOOSH!
Zoro moved with that same deadly efficiency I'd seen him use against actual enemies.
No wasted motion. No hesitation. Pure combat instinct translated into aggressive action.
His three swords came at me from multiple angles simultaneously—the kind of coordinated assault that would overwhelm most opponents through sheer technical superiority.
'GOD DAMN IT!!!'
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
I blocked desperately with my sword, the Barbossa meeting Zoro's assault with impacts that sent shockwaves up my arm.
'Can't seriously injure him. Can't disable him without causing permanent damage. Can't afford to be pinned down here while the Baroque Works agents regroup. This is a tactical nightmare wrapped in moral complexity and tied with a bow of impossible circumstances.'
Zoro pressed his advantage, his attacks coming faster now, each strike testing my defense from a different vector.
But something was off.
His usual tactical thinking—the way he'd analyze opponents, adjust strategies mid-combat, coordinate with the crew—all of it was absent.
This was pure aggression without strategy. Raw combat skill stripped of the intelligence that made him truly dangerous.
'So he is not exactly conscious…Maybe I can use that…'
SLASH!
I tried to create an opening, channeling Hamon through the Barbossa blade to disrupt whatever mechanism the pattern used to maintain control.
CRACKLE! FLASH!
The golden energy raced along the steel, and I aimed for the symbol visible on Zoro's chest—
CLANG!
The swordsman blocked instinctively, his body positioning itself to protect the pattern without conscious thought.
'His natural defense mechanism kicked in. Tsk!'
The mandala's pressure on my mind intensified, like someone had turned up the volume on a frequency I could barely perceive.
My thoughts were slowing again, my resistance crumbling under the sustained cognitive assault.
'Need to disrupt the pattern. Need to remove the symbol from Zoro's chest. Water technique. Hamon-charged water to physically wipe away the paint without requiring direct sword contact.'
I called up the moisture in the humid jungle air, channeling my Ripple energy through the Barbossa sword to compress and control it—
WHOOSH! GATHER!
The water began forming, droplets coalescing into a pressurized mass—
SLIP!
My focus shattered mid-execution.
The mandala's influence spiked at exactly the wrong moment, my mental resistance failing for just a split second, and that was enough.
SPLASH!
The water technique collapsed, the carefully controlled moisture falling away as formless rain.
'No. NO. I was so close—'
WHOOSH!
Zoro's sword came around in a devastating horizontal slash, and I was off-balance from the failed technique, my defensive positioning completely compromised—
SLASH!
Pain exploded across my left side as the blade caught me, not deep enough to be immediately fatal but deep enough that blood started flowing with alarming speed.
"GAAAAAHHHH!"
I stumbled backward, my free hand pressing against the wound instinctively, the Barbossa sword wavering as I struggled to maintain both my defensive posture and conscious control of my bleeding.
'Injured. The situation just went from "very bad" to "potentially lethal." Can't maintain this defensive fight while bleeding, mentally exhausted, and protecting Vivi and Luffy if I'm pinned down by a controlled ally. Not to mention—'
My Mantra tracked enemy positions through the pain and mental fog:
Twenty-five ground forces tighten their perimeter, weapons raised, emboldened by seeing me take a hit.
Miss Goldenweek is preparing more paint attacks, her brush moving to the palette with that mechanical precision.
Mr. 3 creates wax constructions to seal remaining escape routes, the white substance flowing across the jungle floor like intelligent quicksand.
Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine repositioned for a coordinated assault from above, their aerial advantage becoming more pronounced as our defensive coordination failed.
And at the center of it all—
Luffy and Vivi, still sitting peacefully while chaos erupted around them, their minds completely hijacked by the mandala's influence.
Karoo was hovering near Vivi now, the possessed carpet positioning itself to grab the princess, but the duck's movements were hesitant—clearly torn between following my earlier instruction and not wanting to leave without explicit permission.
'Tactical reassessment.
Current situation: surrounded by 20+ enemies plus four officer agents.
Luffy is trapped and mentally compromised. Vivi is mentally compromised.
Zoro is mind-controlled and actively hostile.
Me injured and fighting mental intrusion.
Probability of successful extraction of all crew members:
Functionally zero.
Probability of everyone dying if we stay:
Approaching certainty.'
The cold calculation settled over me like ice water, washing away the desperate hope that we could somehow fight our way out of this intact.
'We're going to lose someone if we stay. Multiple someones. The only question is whether I make the pragmatic choice now or wait until that choice is made for me through casualties.'
It was then that I heard it—barely audible over the sounds of combat and pursuit, strained through obvious effort, a single word forced past whatever control Miss Goldenweek's pattern had established:
"ggggrrrGO!!!"
Zoro's voice was heavy, grinding, like he was speaking through broken glass and concrete simultaneously.
His body was still attacking, still moving to pin me down, but his eyes—
Behind the aggressive red overlay, I could see him struggling. Fighting the control with pure willpower, trying to stop himself even as his combat instincts continued their assault.
"GO!" The word came again, more desperate this time, accompanied by visible effort as Zoro fought to override the pattern's commands.
"Get, Them, Out!"
The mental conflict I'd been wrestling with—growing attachment to the crew versus pragmatic survival instinct—crystallized in that moment into a single, unavoidable conclusion.
'He's giving us permission to abandon him. More than that—he's asking us to. Because he knows the probability as well as I do. Staying means everyone dies. Leaving means some of us survive.'
The decision should have been harder.
Years of social isolation, carefully constructed emotional defenses, the cynical worldview that had protected me through eighteen years of disappointments and betrayals—all of it should have made this choice easier.
But watching Zoro struggle against mind control, hearing the desperation in that single word, feeling the weight of choosing which crew member to abandon—
'This is going to haunt me. But not as much as watching everyone die because I was too attached to make the pragmatic call.'
"Sorry about this," I said quietly, channeling every ounce of Hamon I had left into a single, powerful technique.
CRACKLE! WHOOSH!
The Ripple energy exploded from my sword, creating a massive wave of golden force that slammed into Zoro like a physical wall.
WHAM! BOOM!
The controlled swordsman was launched backward, his body tumbling through the air before crashing into a tree with enough force to crater the bark.
He'd be fine. Probably. Zoro could take hits that would kill normal people and walk them off with nothing but complaints about interrupting his training.
But it bought us seconds.
'Seconds we're going to use to commit to the retreat I should have called five minutes ago.'
I turned and ran toward where Luffy sat in his wax prison, my hand already reaching into my dimensional bag as I moved.
"Karoo!" I shouted, my voice carrying authority despite the pain and exhaustion. "Grab Vivi! Get her on the carpet now!"
The duck didn't hesitate—whatever hesitation it had felt evaporated at the direct command.
WHOOSH! SHIMMER!
The carpet wrapped around Vivi's passive form, lifting the princess despite her docile protests.
"But I was resting..." Her voice was dreamy, distant. "Such a nice spot for tea..."
'The mandala's still affecting her. She won't resist the extraction, but she won't help either. Dead weight that Karoo has to carry while we run.'
My hand found what I'd been searching for in the Dimensional Bag—smoke bombs, three of them.
I pulled the pins with my teeth—
POP! POP! POP!
—and threw them in a wide arc around our position.
HISSSSSS! WHOOOOSH!
Thick gray smoke erupted immediately, spreading faster than natural fog, creating a choking cloud that reduced visibility to less than a meter in all directions.
"THEY'RE ESCAPING!" Mr. 3's shout cut through the smoke. "DON'T LET THEM—"
FWOOOM! CRASH!
His wax attacks tried to create barriers, but in the smoke, his targeting was compromised. The white construction materialized in the wrong positions, blocking his own agents as much as blocking us.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
Mr. 5's explosive bombardment became random, dangerous to his own side, without a clear line of sight.
WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!
Miss Valentine's wind slashes cut through the smoke cloud, but they were shooting blind now, her aerial advantage meaningless when she couldn't see targets.
I grabbed Luffy's wax-encased torso with both arms—the material was hard as iron, but light enough that I could lift it with Hamon-enhanced strength—and jumped.
WHOOSH!
Karoo's carpet was already moving, the possessed fabric rising above the smoke cloud even as I landed on its edge with our incapacitated captain.
"Go!" I shouted, and the duck needed no further encouragement.
FWOOSH!
The carpet accelerated with surprising speed, carrying three people's weight—Vivi's passive form, Luffy's wax-imprisoned body, and me, desperately holding onto both while trying not to bleed out from the wound in my side.
Through the thinning smoke, I caught one final glimpse—
Zoro, struggling to his feet, the pattern still taking over his vision as he prepared to pursue.
Miss Goldenweek was watching our retreat with that same bored expression, her brush already moving to create another paint attack.
The Baroque Works agents reorganizing, weapons raising, preparing to give chase.
And in my mind, a single thought repeated like a mantra:
'We'll come back for you. I promise. We'll figure out how to break that control, how to mount a rescue, how to—'
"DON'T LET THEM ESCAPE!" Mr. 3's voice carried absolute command. "THE SWORDSMAN IS OUR HOSTAGE NOW!"
The word 'hostage' hit harder than any physical blow.
'Hostage. They understand the leverage they have. They'll keep Zoro alive specifically because he's more valuable as a bargaining chip than as a corpse.'
FWOOOM! CRASH!
Mr. 3's wax attacks launched toward our fleeing position, the white substance trying to create barriers in our path.
I channeled Hamon into my pistol, using both hands despite the pain from my wound, preparing defensive techniques even as I struggled to maintain my grip on Luffy and not fall off the carpet—
CRACKLE! WHOOSH!
'HAMON—WATER BARRAGE!'
The moisture in the humid air responded immediately to my call, compressing into pressurized projectiles that streaked toward the approaching Mr. 5'.
SPLASH! BOOM! SPLASH! BOOM!
The Hamon-charged water bullets intercepted several of his explosive attacks mid-air, the Ripple energy disrupting the detonations before they could reach effective range.
WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!
Miss Valentine's wind slashes cut through the jungle canopy above us, the compressed air blades getting closer with each attack as she adjusted for our speed and trajectory.
'HAMON—FIRE CANNON!'
CRACKLE! GATHER! SHINE!
Golden energy concentrated in front of me, building heat and pressure—
KABOOOOOMM!! BLAAAASTT!!!
The attack erupted like a dragon's breath, golden flames mixed with Ripple energy creating a projectile that melted through incoming wax constructions and forced Miss Valentine to abort her dive.
FWOOOOOSH! ROOOOOAR! HISSSSSS!
The technique set more of the jungle ablaze—I was creating a forest fire behind us as we fled, which would slow pursuit but also announce our position with massive smoke pillars.
'Acceptable trade-off. Need distance more than stealth right now. Every second of delay I can create increases our survival probability.'
Karoo was struggling now—I could feel the carpet's movements becoming less controlled, the duck's exhaustion evident in the way we wobbled through the air.
'Three people. One is injured and bleeding. One unconscious in a wax prison. One is mentally compromised. All of us are relying on a duck's Devil Fruit power to maintain altitude while being chased by armed agents and aerial attackers.'
The gap between hunter and prey was widening, but slowly. Too slowly.
Each technique I deployed brought us meters. The Baroque Works agents were persistent, their coordination recovering as they adapted to our retreat tactics.
But we were pulling ahead. Incrementally. Desperately. The kind of narrow escape that would haunt my nightmares for years.
Behind us, I could hear Mr. 3 organizing pursuit teams, his voice carrying commands that suggested military training or at least extensive combat coordination experience.
Behind us, I'd left Zoro.
'First crew member I'm abandoning. Probably not the last, if this is how Grand Line adventures typically go. But definitely the one that's going to teach me exactly what kind of person survival-focused pragmatism turns you into.'
The guilt was there—immediate, visceral, impossible to ignore despite my attempts at cold calculation.
But beneath the guilt was something worse: the knowledge that I'd make the same choice again.
Because the alternative was everyone dying, and that wasn't pragmatism—that was just stupidity with emotional justification.
It was then that I felt it—Luffy stirring in my arms.
The wax prison hadn't changed, but inside it, our captain's consciousness was returning. The mandala's effect wears off naturally as the distance increases from the source.
"Mmm..." Luffy's voice was groggy, confused. "Where... where are we?"
I glanced down at him, watching as his eyes fluttered open—the empty, peaceful expression replaced by his usual intensity.
"Flying," I replied, keeping my voice level despite the pain from my wound. "On Karoo's carpet. Away from approximately twenty-plus people who want us dead or captured."
Luffy blinked, processing this information with that particular confusion he got when waking up mid-crisis.
His eyes scanned the jungle below us, the smoke trails from my Fire Cannon technique, the distant sounds of pursuit.
Then his gaze found my face, and something shifted in his expression.
Not the grin. Not the casual confidence.
Something sharper. More focused.
"Hachiman," his voice was quieter now, serious in a way that Luffy rarely achieved. "You're hurt. There's blood."
I glanced down at where my hand pressed against the wound in my side, the crimson staining my cloak and fingers.
"Superficial," I lied, though we both knew it wasn't. "I'll survive. We need to—"
"Who did this?" Luffy interrupted, his eyes meeting mine with that intensity that reminded me why this rubber-brained idiot had three crew members willing to follow him into impossible situations.
The question hung in the air.
I could lie. Could blame Miss Goldenweek's paint attacks or Mr. 5's explosions or any of the dozen other threats we'd faced in the last ten minutes.
But Luffy would know. Our captain was idiotic about most things, but he had an almost supernatural ability to detect lies when it came to his crew.
"Zoro," I said simply, watching Luffy's face for the reaction.
"He was captured and controlled by the enemy. Mind control through painted symbols. They turned him into a weapon aimed at his own crew."
I paused, letting that sink in.
"We were surrounded. Outnumbered by a factor of five to one. You and Vivi were incapacitated by the same mind control technique. Fighting would have gotten everyone killed."
Another pause.
"So I made a tactical decision. We retreat now, regroup with the others, and plan a rescue operation with better intelligence and full crew coordination."
The words sounded hollow even to me—cold, pragmatic justification for abandoning a crew member to enemy capture.
Luffy's expression didn't change immediately.
He just stared at me, his eyes holding that weight I'd seen when he'd declared he'd become Pirate King—absolute conviction mixed with something darker, something that understood the reality of their situation even if he didn't have words for it.
Then, slowly, his expression shifted.
No more grin. No more casual confidence. No more of the lighthearted enthusiasm that usually defined him.
Just cold, focused determination.
"Zoro..." Luffy's voice was quiet, but it carried across the carpet like thunder. "They have Zoro."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, spoken with the kind of certainty that meant decisions were already being made, plans already forming in that rubber-brained skull.
Vivi stirred beside us, her consciousness returning as well. Her eyes opened slowly, confusion giving way to awareness as she registered our situation.
"What... what happened?" Her voice was weak, disoriented. "I remember... colors. Patterns. Then..."
"Mind control," I explained shortly. "Miss Goldenweek's ability. She incapacitated you and Luffy with painted symbols. We barely escaped."
Vivi's eyes widened as the implications hit her.
"…Mr. Bushido... where is—"
"Captured," I said before she could complete the question. "Used as a hostage by Baroque Works. We left him behind to prevent total annihilation."
The guilt in those words was impossible to hide, but I forced myself to maintain eye contact, to not look away from the judgment I probably deserved.
Vivi's face cycled through emotions—shock, horror, guilt, determination.
"This is my fault," she whispered. "If I hadn't... if I'd been stronger, or faster, or—"
"It's nobody's fault except Miss Goldenweek's and the forty-five agents who attacked us," I interrupted, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice.
"Save the self-recrimination for after we've mounted a successful rescue. Right now, we need to focus on a safe place to retreat."
Luffy hadn't spoken again. He just sat there in his wax prison, his expression locked in that serious mode that meant he was thinking about something too hard for words.
The sounds of pursuit were fading behind us—either we'd gained enough distance or the Baroque Works agents had stopped chasing, confident that their hostage gave them leverage.
Karoo's flight was steadier now, the duck apparently recovering some stamina as the immediate danger decreased.
But the silence on the carpet was profound, heavy with unspoken implications.
'This just became exponentially more complicated. We're not just escaping anymore. We're planning a rescue mission against an entrenched enemy force, with incomplete intelligence, while at least one crew member is mind-controlled and being used as a hostage.'
'The smart play would be to cut our losses. Report back to the infiltration team, complete that mission, get off this island, and accept that Zoro is a casualty of engaging with Baroque Works.'
'But looking at Luffy's face—the way his jaw is set, the way his eyes haven't blinked in the last thirty seconds—I know that's not going to happen.'
'Because we're not smart. We're the Straw Hat Pirates. And apparently, leaving crew members behind isn't in our operational doctrine, no matter how tactically sound it might be.'
The unspoken agreement hung between us like a physical weight:
This had just become exponentially more complicated.
And somehow, I knew it was only going to get worse from here.
…
A/N: I don't remember how many times I rewrote this chapter.
Every time I did, I felt like something was off, and I rewrote it again, but still not satisfied.
Nevertheless, I had to update, so this is it.
And one of my accounts, the Scribblehub account to be precise, is down. And all the chapters on it from the two stories were purged for no reason.
I tried to contact anyone from the site, but no one was answering, they didn't even give me an alert or anything. So I can only make a new account and upload everything, around 1600 Chapters, again...
Anyway, I am finally free, you should be seeing me more often now, and I want to thank everyone who still supported this unreliable me until now. And hope everyone enjoyed this chapter!
Have a good day people!
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