The golden sun baked the alabaster streets of Alubarna, the capital city of Alabasta, where sweat clung to every merchant and the breeze carried the scent of spice, sand, and tension.
As the guards roamed nervously and whispers of Baroque Works spread like wildfire, a man in an orange hat, dotted with smiling and frowning blue beads, strolled casually down the main boulevard—oblivious to the war brewing around him.
Portgas D. Ace had arrived.
"Man, Alabasta's hotter than I thought," he muttered, lifting his hat and wiping his brow.
Then he sniffed the air.
"Mmm… curry. Real good curry."
He wandered into a small, worn-out restaurant tucked between two tall sandstone buildings. The wooden signboard above it read:"Desert Bowl – Home of Alabasta's Spiciest Rice."
Inside, only a few locals sat, eyeing the newcomer in orange as he plopped onto the stool, hat tipping back as he ordered:
"Three bowls of the spiciest thing you got. And then three more."
The old lady at the counter raised an eyebrow. "You sure, traveler? Might burn a hole in ya."
Ace flashed his usual lazy smile.
"I'm Fire Fist Ace. I already burn from the inside."
Ten minutes later, six steaming bowls of curry were placed before him.
Ace devoured them like a starving lion. Rice flew. Steam hissed. Spice filled the air. Sweat poured down his face, but his grin only widened.
"SOOO GOOOOOD!" he shouted between mouthfuls, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.
Five minutes after finishing the last grain of rice, Ace leaned back, patted his stomach… and fell asleep.
Right there.
Sitting upright.
Mouth open.
Snoring.
A small puff of smoke escaped his nose with every breath.
The entire restaurant froze, watching as the infamous Fire Fist fell asleep in their diner like a lazy cat, still reeking of curry.
"Well, I'll be…" the old lady muttered. "That boy just burned through our food stock and then passed out."
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
By the thirty-minute mark, the entire diner had descended into chaos.
The waitress, barely older than Vivi, stood frozen, staring at the slouched figure of Portgas D. Ace, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes closed, a thin trail of drool inching dangerously close to the edge of the stool.
"He's… he's not breathing," one cook whispered in panic.
"You idiot, yes he is—look! Steam's still coming out of his nose!"
"Did we poison him by accident!?"
The owner of the restaurant, a wrinkled woman with a spatula holstered like a sword, leaned in close. She squinted at Ace, poked his forehead once, then again.
Nothing.
He didn't even flinch.
"...We killed a customer!""And not just any customer—HE SAID HE WAS FIRE FIST ACE!!"
The youngest waiter screamed. "A pirate?! We killed a pirate! The Marines will come! No, worse, the other pirates will come!"
The waitress, still trembling, grabbed a cup of water and shakily poured it on Ace's head.
Nothing.
She leaned forward to check if he was breathing—and just as she did…
THWAP!
In one smooth motion, Ace stirred, stretched his arms, and let out a deep yawn, the kind of yawn that could split a mountain in half with laziness.
But he didn't sit up.
Instead, he blindly reached out, grabbed the hem of something soft and frilly nearby—the waitress' long skirt—and used it to wipe his mouth.
The entire room froze.
Eyes wide.
Jaws dropped.
Time stopped.
"D-DID HE JUST—?""MY SKIRT!?" the waitress squeaked, blushing in horror.
Then, like absolutely nothing happened, Ace wiped his nose, let go of the skirt, gave a contented sigh—
—and went right back to sleep, slouched again, now using a sack of curry powder as a pillow.
Steam slowly curled from the corner of his mouth as he snored, his hat sliding back into place perfectly like a well-rehearsed play.
The restaurant staff stood in stunned silence.
Finally, the old lady sighed.
"Leave 'im. If that boy was poisoned, the poison probably burned first."
The waitress twitched.
"Y-You're not going to do anything!?"
"Yeah. I'm gonna get more curry ready," she said with a small grin. "Something tells me he'll wake up hungry again."
The scorching sun of Alabasta beat down mercilessly on the cobbled streets of Alubarna, the capital city simmering with unrest, tension, and an invisible storm that loomed closer every hour.
Amidst the dusty roads and sandstone buildings, a white plume of smoke drifted through the air, twirling and weaving with purpose.
Captain Smoker of the Marines, cigar clenched between his teeth, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, strode calmly through the city. Each step he took released a puff of steam from his coat, warning the citizens not to get too close.
He had been tracking one name.
Straw Hat Luffy.
But instead of finding the chaotic rubber boy, he paused outside a local curry shop.
Smoke curled from his arm as he reached for the door.
And then… he saw him.
Through the glass window—
Fire Fist Ace, slumped across a wooden bench inside, fast asleep, one leg hanging off, a curry bun still clenched in his hand, and faint snores rhythmically fogging up the window.
No way... Smoker's eye twitched.That's Portgas D. Ace. In the middle of Alubarna. Napping in a food shop like a lazy stray dog...
A small girl inside the shop had placed a tiny pillow under Ace's head, as if he were some wild beast best kept calm. A shopkeeper was holding a fan above him and whispering, "Don't move. If he wakes up wrong, the roof might go flying."
Smoker clenched his fist.
So the brother's here too, huh…Of all the rotten luck.
He turned away from the door, exhaling heavily as his cigar glowed. He couldn't cause a ruckus now, not with the civil war looming and his main target—Straw Hat—still on the run.
But as he disappeared into a nearby alleyway, he muttered under his breath:
"You better not stir trouble, Ace…"
The smoke trailed off with the wind, while Ace snored peacefully inside—dreaming of curry and falling tangerines.
The bright streets of Alubarna bustled with energy. Street vendors were hawking roasted meats, sugary dates, chilled cactus juice, and sizzling skewers under embroidered tents. The tension of war hadn't yet reached this part of town—or at least, it hadn't dimmed their appetite.
Luffy, now freshly dropped off by Pell, grinned like a kid in a candy shop.
"FOOOOD!!" he screamed, his stomach growling like a dying Sea King.
He roamed through the stalls, drooling at every turn. "Meat! Curry! Meat with curry!" His eyes lit up like stars when he noticed a quaint little curry restaurant tucked away under a shady awning, the smell so rich it made his nose curl from joy.
But just as he was about to barge in, he caught a glimpse through the open door.
Inside, lying lazily across a bench with curry in one hand and drool hanging off the corner of his lip, was—
"ACE!!!"
And that was it. No more thought. No more logic.
Luffy stepped back, planted his feet, and Gum-Gum Bazooka'd the restaurant door, grabbing both sides like handles and launched himself inside like a human missile.
"GUM-GUM ROCKETTTTTTT!"
CRASH!!
He slammed right into Ace, sending his older brother flying out the back wall, through a kitchen, into the next building, and out through two more, plastering him into a giant clay storage container with a deafening THUD.
The crowd stared in disbelief. Cooks screamed. Pots flew.
The dust settled slowly, revealing Ace's twitching body half-buried in rubble, curry still clinging to his cheek.
Inside the curry house, Luffy casually brushed off some debris, grinning wide. "Oi, Ace! Long time no see!"
Meanwhile, Ace groaned from the pile of rubble. "What the hell just hit me…?"
He opened his eyes.
Then he realized something worse.
He hadn't landed just anywhere.
His head was buried against the chest of a very angry man made of smoke.
"Portgas D. Ace," came a cold, growling voice.
Smoker.
His sunglasses glinted dangerously as smoke curled out of his sleeves.
Ace blinked. "Oh. You."
Smoker clenched his fist, clearly not happy about being turned into a mattress.
Ace sighed and wiped the remaining curry off his cheek with Smoker's coat.
"I was sleeping, you know."
Smoke erupted.