Today, the port of Frania Island lay deserted. Even the ships once moored at the docks had been evacuated, and the townspeople had been driven out to safety the day before.
The reason was simple: yesterday morning, a CP Agency surveillance vessel had spotted Douglas Bullet nearing the island.
To prevent needless casualties, Spandine arranged evacuation ships to carry away anyone willing to leave.
Beneath the empty harbor waters, a rush of bubbles suddenly rose to the surface. Moments later, a sleek, high-tech submarine broke through from below.
This was Douglas Bullet's vessel, a special submarine formed through his ability.
The hatch opened, and a towering figure stepped out.
Clad in black military attire, his frame was broad and powerful, his face stern and unyielding. At first glance, he didn't look like a vicious pirate at all, but more like a hardened soldier.
This man was Douglas Bullet.
He swept his gaze over the empty harbor without the slightest hint of surprise, as though he had expected this kind of reception.
Striding into the port, he tore a notice from the bulletin board. On it was a photo of Ortoren, draped in his Justice Cloak, smiling radiantly. Beneath the photo were bold words: "I'm waiting for you on Sunshine Beach."
"Benn Ortoren..." Bullet muttered, anger flashing in his eyes.
In truth, his purpose here had been to find Whitebeard. He hadn't intended to cause trouble on this island. But the sight of Ortoren's smug, smiling face set his blood boiling.
Was this really the man who had defeated Roger in the South Blue, taking advantage of his weakness?
Bullet clenched his fist, crushing the notice into a ball before tossing it aside.
Though he had left Roger's crew, he still deeply respected the man. Both Roger's immense strength and his indomitable charisma had earned Bullet's admiration.
He was also one of the few who knew Roger was terminally ill, his days numbered.
Unable to accept that truth, he had chosen to leave Roger's ship back then.
To him, Ortoren was nothing but a vulture who struck when the prey was weakest. He was certain that Ortoren had only defeated and captured Roger because of the illness that kept him from fighting at full strength.
And now this bastard dared to taunt him?
Bullet decided then and there—he would kill Ortoren.
As for Whitebeard, he could wait until after Benn Ortoren was dead.
...
Sunshine Beach, not far from the harbor, was one of Frania Island's most famous attractions. Normally it bustled with tourists enjoying sunbathing and swimming, but now it was deserted, the entire stretch visible at a glance.
From a distance, Bullet spotted a lone figure lying on a sun lounger, a newspaper draped across his face. One arm hung loosely over the chair, fingers brushing the fine sand below. Even before drawing close, Bullet could hear the steady rhythm of snores.
Beside the lounger sat a barbecue grill. A few fish, left untended, had charred into black husks, clearly inedible.
Bullet's eyes darkened as he took in the scene. He knew without a doubt the man beneath the newspaper was Ortoren. Step by step, he advanced toward him.
Even as his heavy footsteps crunched across the sand, Ortoren showed no sign of waking, his snores carrying on undisturbed.
Bullet's cheek twitched in irritation, but he refrained from striking while his enemy slept. Instead, he reached out and flicked the newspaper off Ortoren's face.
Without the newspaper shielding him, the harsh sunlight fell directly across Ortoren's face, making him frown instinctively. He spoke in clear irritation.
"Waking someone up like that is rather rude... Bullet."
"Hmph..." Bullet snorted coldly. "And calling someone out here just to find you napping—is that supposed to be polite, Marine?"
Yawning, Ortoren sat up from the sun lounger and stretched lazily. "The sun's perfect today. Stopping to enjoy its warmth after so long is quite a pleasant thing, don't you think?"
Bullet clearly had no patience for such small talk. His expression hardened as he asked sternly, "Roger... was he really captured by you?"
Ortoren glanced at the charred fish on the grill with a note of regret. "Not exactly. Strictly speaking, he turned himself in. We merely found him in the South Blue..."
"I knew it." Bullet's expression eased slightly, though his gaze carried a complicated weight. "If that man didn't want to lose, no one could ever defeat him."
"Worshiping someone blindly isn't healthy," Ortoren said as he scooped up a handful of sand and smothered the fire in the grill. "Just because you couldn't do it doesn't mean others couldn't..."
"You're saying that even if he hadn't surrendered, you would've been confident of defeating him?" Bullet demanded, his eyes sharp.
Ortoren stroked his chin, then shook his head. "Hard to say. But I'm fairly sure I can handle you."
Bullet laughed outright at that. "The only man who could defeat me was Roger. Now that he's dead, there isn't a soul on these seas who can beat me!!!"
Before Ortoren could answer, Bullet clenched his fist tightly, his voice fierce. "But I'll still surpass him! Only by surpassing him can I prove my strength! Every strong man on this sea, I'll crush one by one! I will be the strongest in the world!!!"
As his words fell, Bullet cast Ortoren a dismissive look. "You, despite your reputation, aren't even one of my targets. Beg for mercy now, and maybe I'll spare you—just like I spared Wolf..."
Ortoren rose slowly from the lounger, stepping forward until he stood face-to-face with Bullet. In both height and build, his presence was every bit as imposing. Two titans squared off, the air between them thick with pressure.
"From the Navy's surveillance footage, what I saw was Vice Admiral Wolf fighting bravely to the end. He crossed blades with you boldly and never once begged for his life. As a Marine, your slander offends me deeply. So I hope you're as tough as you look." Ortoren paused, the corner of his mouth curling into a defiant grin. "Because even if you beg, I won't stop. Not for you, Bullet."
At those words, a murderous gleam flickered in Bullet's eyes, but he gave no reply.
The two stood locked in silence, their standoff pressing down on the entire beach. Even the sea breeze seemed to falter, leaving the shore deathly still.
That silence didn't last. As a wave crashed onto the sand with a spray of water, Bullet's eyes narrowed and his aura erupted violently. He hurled a fist straight at Ortoren's head.
Ortoren didn't dodge. The blow landed with a heavy crack, his head snapping slightly to the side as the force whipped his brown hair loose in the wind.
Slowly, Ortoren raised his hand and caught Bullet's wrist, pressing back against the fist that still pressed to his cheek.
Then he wiped at the blood on his lip, glanced at the red stain on his fingertip, and sneered. "That's all the strength you've got? And you call yourself the strongest in the world?"
Bullet's eyes widened in shock as Ortoren kept hold of his wrist and drew back his other hand, his fingers curling into a slow, deliberate fist.
"You're nothing but a frog in a well. Now feel the weight of a real punch."
With those words, Ortoren's fist shot forward. The air cracked with a violent boom as the strike tore through it, even at such close range.
His blow smashed into Bullet's chest, sinking into the solid muscle. Ripples spread outward across his torso like waves breaking on water.
The raw force detonated a moment later, forcing Bullet's massive frame to bend under the impact. His grim expression twisted into one of pain.
Ortoren didn't cling to him. He released Bullet's wrist, and at once a surge of violent energy exploded from Bullet's back, tearing a gaping hole through his black uniform. His body lifted off the sand, hurled backward by the blast.
But after only a dozen meters, Bullet's feet slammed into the ground, kicking up clouds of dust and gravel as he skidded to a stop.
He rubbed at his bruised, darkening chest, where a fist-shaped mark was clearly imprinted.
Then he lifted his gaze back to Ortoren, a savage grin spreading across his lips. "I take back what I said. You're worth hunting after all... Benn Ortoren! Let's fight to the death! One of us dies here!!!"
In that instant, madness burned in Bullet's eyes—a madness Ortoren knew all too well. It was the same look he wore himself whenever he lost control.
From that gaze alone, Ortoren understood Bullet's state of mind.
Not victory through battle, but survival only in battle.
Either triumph, or self-destruction.
This was the chaos, the madness, that defined him.
"Heh..." A strange smirk tugged at Ortoren's lips. Lately, he had been restless. If his timing was right, the full moon was drawing near.