With the Marines watching every ship that left Kyuka Island—and every ship that came in—we decided it wasn't the moment to move.
For now, we'd stay put, watch the situation, and head out to sea once their vigilance loosened, even a little.
Until then, we kept our outings to a bare minimum and lived carefully, so we wouldn't draw the townspeople's attention.
Luckily—or maybe just conveniently—the place I'd rented wasn't really a "room" so much as a rooftop penthouse. It was spacious enough that staying inside didn't feel suffocating.
At the moment, the Marines were hunting Mr. 3 and Mr. 2. The three people in my room weren't on that list, but that didn't mean there was zero risk our faces had been circulated somewhere.
We'd all belonged to the underworld long before any of this. And really, I'll say it again: not getting spotted was the best outcome.
So the plan was simple. Meals and anything else we needed would be handled through room service, and we'd wait for time to do its job.
…Or so I thought.
"Long time no see, Venerdi Toto Sue… or should I call you the 'Pirate Literary Master' now?"
"Whichever you prefer, Hina-san. Yes… it really has been a long time. Though—did you actually remember me?"
"How could I forget? You helped me… in more ways than one."
Sitting across from me was a woman with pink hair, a black suit, and a cigarette at the corner of her mouth—an unmistakable beauty, known to the world as "Black Cage," Marine Captain Hina.
No, seriously—this was absurdly nostalgic. I hadn't seen her since the Fireworks incident. That was… what, almost twenty years ago?
We'd only met once. Both of us had changed at least a little since then. And yet she'd still remembered me.
I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to be happy about that, or alarmed.
Actually—happy wasn't even an option.
She was a Marine. I was… a pirate now, apparently. Not that I'd ever declared myself one, but the world had stamped the label on me anyway, and the bounty on my head made the rest academic.
But more than anything—
Why was she here?
I'd been surprised enough when I heard the officer hunting remnants on Kyuka Island was her. But why had she shown up right in front of me, of all people?
For context: we were in the hotel lobby.
I'd come down to speak with the front desk about my stay, and she'd appeared like she'd been waiting—maybe she truly had. Before I could even process it, she'd pinned me with a polite smile and a calm, "May I have a moment?" and steered me into a lounge area.
"Honestly," she said, "I can only call it disappointing. Even if you were a bounty hunter, I thought you were someone who might be able to coexist with us Marines. Hina is disappointed."
"I appreciate you saying that. And I wish I could've stayed that kind of person… but it is what it is. I'm not going to make excuses or offer explanations."
Which was true.
If the Government hadn't dumped a load of fabricated accusations on my head back then, I probably would've kept living as a freelance bounty hunter who happened to write on the side.
Still… life being what it was, becoming wanted had opened doors too. The friends I'd made, the kinds of books I could publish in the outlaw market—there were things I could only do because the world had shoved me into this role.
So no, it wasn't all regret.
"I can imagine," Hina said, "that you didn't choose that position willingly. But once things reach this point, we're enemies. That's not something I can change. Not while I'm a Marine."
"So you're here to arrest me?"
I didn't bother pretending composure. "I'd really prefer you didn't."
"If you were willing to be taken quietly, that could have been an option," she said.
Then she exhaled smoke—and, astonishingly, continued.
"But not today. If you keep your head down and don't cause trouble on this island… I'll leave it at that. I'll return without doing anything."
…Huh?
That had been half desperation on my part, half sarcasm. I'd expected a flat refusal at best.
"Before you misunderstand," she added immediately, voice turning colder, "this isn't sympathy. And it isn't personal sentiment. I'm here to capture targets I believe are hiding on this island. I'm laying the net. Anything that disrupts that plan is something I should avoid. That's all."
The long way around, but easy enough to translate:
Her mission here was Baroque Works. Specifically, Mr. 2 and Mr. 3.
If a fight broke out—if the island turned noisy—security lines could crack. And in the gap, the real targets might slip away.
A fight with me counted as "noise."
Not to flatter myself, but… yeah. I was strong.
Hancock. Tesoro. Rayleigh. Shakky. "Papa," and my three daughters.
I'd trained with help from people who didn't do "half measures." I'd built my body, my technique, my ability, and my Haki, all the way up. The Marines might not have much data because I avoided fighting them when I could, but Hina clearly understood one thing:
Even if she could arrest me, it wouldn't be quick.
And "not quick" meant "risky," because her true prey could get away.
There was also the larger pressure. This entire incident had been caused by Crocodile—one of the Shichibukai the World Government itself had empowered. Even if the Government had covered up the truth and slapped the credit onto the Marines, a mess was still a mess.
They'd be pushing the Marines hard to tie it up. Hunt down every remaining thread. Make it look clean.
So even if a pirate was sitting right in front of her, Hina wouldn't move on me.
Not right now.
Not when her priority was elsewhere.
"Personally," she said, eyes narrowing, "I'd love to lock you up with my own hands. But I'm restraining myself. Be grateful. Hina is showing restraint."
"Right. Thank you… very much," I said.
Then, because my mouth had always been quicker than my survival instincts, I added, "You really don't like me, do you?"
Of course she didn't. Marine versus pirate.
Still… that glare had weight to it, like there was something else underneath.
I'd assumed it was resentment—meeting me once, thinking I was tolerable, then seeing me branded a pirate later.
But apparently, I'd guessed wrong.
"…Have you forgotten what you did to me?" she asked. "Or… did you never even notice?"
"Me?" I blinked. "Did I… do something?"
We'd met once. We'd talked for seconds. What could I possibly—
Her cigarette tilted as she spoke, and the words hit with the force of a cannonball.
"…You used me as the model for a character in your novel. Without permission."
"…Ah."
Right.
That.
I had.
"Pirate Slayer." One of my early works.
The protagonist—an awkward, taciturn, blunt bounty hunter—was modeled after Smoker. And his childhood friend—a female Marine who shoots up the ranks on the elite track—was… also in there.
A sharp-tongued girl who always snapped at him for refusing to enlist. A girl who argued with him, clashed with him, pushed him—
But who also treasured him, appreciated what he did for their home, understood him enough that every time she told him "Become a Marine," it hurt her too.
A heroine.
And yes, I'd written the romance subtext in big, glowing letters.
Now that I thought about it, I'd even named her "Rina," and given her pink hair.
Her weapon in the story was a bow, not anything she actually used, but… details. The moment people made the connection, they'd never let it go.
Worse, the protagonist was "not-Smoker" in name only. White hair. Smoking habit. Body type. The whole thing screamed "model."
So, unsurprisingly—
"Because of that," Hina hissed, trembling, "people started saying Smoker and I were the models for your characters—and because of the way those two were written, do you have any idea how much teasing, how much speculation, how many misunderstandings I endured?! How much work I had to do putting out fires and denying nonsense?!"
…Okay. That was fair.
Very fair.
"And then the rumor spread," she went on, voice tight, "and I'd meet superiors or colleagues for the first time and they already knew me. And every time, they asked about Smoker too, like we were a package deal! And Smoker—Smoker never explains anything, never denies anything, so the rumor walked on its own legs and got even worse—"
She was shaking now, genuine fury slipping through the cracks of her usual cool.
And honestly… I deserved it.
"Rina" was one of the main heroines. She showed up in every volume. I'd given her scenes, highlights, emotional beats—jealousy, pride, tenderness, those little glances that meant everything.
If your coworkers could point at the pages and say, "This is you," then… yeah.
I was sorry. I truly was.
But now I had two more problems sitting in my lap.
One: I was hiding Marianne and the others.
Two: there was something else—something that would absolutely ignite her all over again.
I was still debating whether I should say it at all when—
"Anyway," Hina said, drawing herself back into control, "I'm tolerating you here, so don't you dare—"
She stopped.
Her gaze lifted past my shoulder, a flicker of surprise breaking through.
I followed it.
"Oh. Sue. Found you."
My soul left my body.
"Marianne?!"
Why was she here?!
She was supposed to be upstairs. In the room. Where I'd very explicitly told her to stay.
We were avoiding the lobby. Avoiding people. Avoiding eyes—
"I told you not to come down here!" I hissed, half panic, half outrage. "We have room service for a reason!"
Marianne, of course, looked unfazed in the way only Marianne could.
I tried to cling to one fragile hope:
Hina was hunting Mr. 2 and Mr. 3. Not Marianne. Maybe she didn't—
Hina reached into her jacket and pulled out several sheets.
Wanted sketches.
Not photographs—drawings so good they might as well have been.
Gem. Mikita.
And Marianne.
Right. Baroque Works had that sea otter who was terrifyingly good at caricatures.
Hina compared the sketch to Marianne's face, let out a slow breath, and rubbed her temple.
Then, with the weary resignation of someone whose day had just been rewritten by fate—
"…Hina, back to work."
"Marianne, run," I snapped, grabbing her wrist for half a second before shoving her backward. "She's a Marine!"
And just like that, the quiet exit I'd almost negotiated evaporated.
---
"I can't believe you," Hina spat. "Even you were connected to Baroque Works. Hina is disappointed!"
"I wasn't connected!" I shouted back. "I knew her personally—that's all! I was just sheltering her for a bit!"
"If you knowingly helped Baroque Works, it's the same thing!"
"You're absolutely right!"
We couldn't fight inside the hotel lobby without turning the whole island into a beacon, so we burst outside.
Marianne reacted instantly—she launched a paper bird with her Origami and fled, fast.
I pulled out my familiar umbrella—my usual one, stored as paper—and met Hina head-on.
Her kick came in sideways. I blocked with the umbrella's ribs.
But it was a feint.
She stepped in and whipped a lariat across my guard. It hit my arm and body—
And the impact was strangely light.
Because the "hit" wasn't the point.
My arm warped, transformed, and with a metallic clank became an iron lock that slid through my own body and snapped shut, restraining me along with it.
"Oh," I breathed, half impressed despite myself. "So this is the famous—"
"I'm an Ori-Ori Fruit user," Hina said. "Anything that passes through my body gets locked."
"I know. And it's not going to work on me."
I scattered into paper and slipped free as easily as shedding a coat.
Physical restraints didn't mean anything to my Pasa-Pasa Fruit. And Hina didn't seem to be using Haki, either.
On paper—no pun intended—I had the advantage.
But Hina wasn't stupid. She had to know that.
Which meant she was fighting anyway because she couldn't let me walk… and because she believed she had a path to victory.
Maybe not through her own hands.
Maybe through reinforcements.
Prison Bullets, or whatever other anti-ability measures she'd brought to deal with Mr. 2 and Mr. 3.
If that was true, dragging this out was dangerous.
But leaving immediately was also bad—for me.
Because I wasn't just fighting for myself.
I needed time.
I checked the flow of things with Observation Haki.
Marianne and the others had only just fled from the room. They'd hesitated—maybe gathering belongings, maybe panicking.
They needed more seconds. More space.
Even if reinforcements arrived, I could handle it. So I stayed. I stalled.
And while I was at it…
I decided I might as well shake Hina's composure.
Also, in a very small and probably ill-advised way…
I wanted to confess.
"By the way, Hina-san," I said, weaving back as she advanced. "There's something I couldn't say earlier."
"Oh?" she said, eyes sharp. "And what is it?"
"About the model in my novel. I'm genuinely sorry."
"…That's irrelevant now," Hina said coolly. "You've given me a perfect excuse to arrest you properly. You can reflect in prison."
Her tone stayed level.
But a vein was pulsing at her temple.
…Okay. She was still mad.
This next part might kill me.
"I'm terribly sorry," I said, forcing the words out anyway, "but I have some unfortunate news."
Her stare sharpened.
"…What?"
I inhaled.
"And now… a special announcement. To commemorate the twentieth anniversary of publication, Pirate Slayer: New Edition has been approved!"
"…Huh?"
Her face said, very clearly: What is this woman talking about?
I seized the opening like a thief in the night.
"Same story as the original release, but with fanservice extras—setting materials, author commentary, supplementary notes, concept art from the illustrator—plus an all-new original short story. Scheduled for early next month!"
"Wait—seriously?"
"Seriously!"
Her composure cracked.
It wasn't subtle.
I could practically hear the internal screaming.
And because I apparently hated peace—
"And there's more," I went on brightly. "A picture-story manga adaptation is also in development with professional writers! All those scenes you could only imagine in text—now you'll see them drawn. Every expression, every moment—faithfully recreated."
"Wait, what?!"
"And depending on sales," I continued, riding her horror like a wave, "there are discussions about stage adaptations, magazine features touring locations connected to the story, all sorts of—"
"No way. That's a lie." Her voice rose. "Tell me that's a lie!"
"If only," I said cheerfully. "And—breaking news—an original sequel has been greenlit. Set one year after the ending. Everyone's grown, everyone's changed, and—oh! It looks like the protagonist and Rina might have—"
"Clasping Cage!"
Hina's iron locks shot out like snapping jaws from both sides, packed with real killing intent.
I slipped between them, paper fluttering at my edges.
And I kept talking.
"You think you can shake me with a mental attack?" Hina shouted, furious. "Don't lie! Don't mock me!"
"You're shaking," I pointed out, far too casually.
Behind her, several Marines had arrived—and they were frozen in place, staring, as if they couldn't decide whether their captain was having a breakdown or I was.
Some of them were even holding shikishi boards.
…Autographs?
Really?
That was adorable.
"Just to confirm," Hina said, glaring hard enough to burn, "is all of that true?"
"All of it! The sequel is already being written!"
"Stop it!" she snapped, voice cracking. "If you do this again—my life, my relationships—my peace—give me back my peace!"
She was losing it.
Genuinely losing it.
Captain Hina, famously composed, inches from breaking character entirely.
"If you feel even a little guilty," she hissed, "stop publication immediately!"
"I refuse!"
"…You refused?!"
I did feel guilty.
I truly did.
But I couldn't do that.
I wrote what I wanted to write. Once I decided, I didn't bend. I didn't lie to myself about it.
For someone like me—someone who'd chosen to live for her passions, someone who'd become the "Pirate Literary Master"—that was one of the few iron rules I refused to betray.
So yes.
I would write it.
And if anyone tried to stop me—Marines, Government, laws, whatever—they'd learn exactly how hard I could push back.
"Then I'll capture you right here and stop you!" Hina shouted. "If you're writing, I'll make you drop the manuscript—if you can't finish it, it can't be published!"
"Try it," I snapped back. "Don't think you can silence my pen, you Government dog!"
"'Pirate Literary Master'!"
A few minutes later, once my Observation Haki confirmed Marianne and the others had gotten away cleanly, I disengaged and vanished—leaving Hina with nothing but smoke and fury.
Exhausting… but, honestly, a little funny.
And as I disappeared, I slashed past the Marines holding shikishi boards long enough to scribble quick signatures onto them.
I hope they were happy.
To be continued...