The rhythmic creak of the Going Merry and the scent of tangerines faded into the background as Mario's mind plunged into a cold, analytical trance. He was no longer just meditating; he was war-gaming, dissecting the narrative patterns he had once consumed as entertainment and now recognized as potentially fatal flaws.
A startling, almost embarrassing realization dawned on him. The Straw Hats are almost always reactive, never proactive. They were like a pinball, bouncing from one chaotic event to the next. The pattern was frustratingly consistent: arrive at a new island, get sidetracked by the local color, stumble into the main conflict by accident, realize the true scope of the danger far too late, and then engage in a desperate, last-minute scramble that often left them battered and bleeding.
Alabasta was the perfect example. Their journey was a scenic tour of futility. They went to Yuba, a ghost town, chasing a lead that was already cold. They went to Rainbase, walking directly into Crocodile's trap, which accomplished little beyond getting them captured and nearly executed. Only then did they finally learn the full plan and race to Alubarna for the final confrontation. They had wasted precious days.
But the most glaring, heartbreaking example was Impel Down. Luffy's desperate charge into the world's most secure prison was the epitome of this reactive, emotionally-driven chaos. He plunged into hell, endured unimaginable pain and trauma, sacrificed years of his life, and for what? He was still too late. He arrived on the battlefield at Marineford only to watch his brother die in front of him. The entire nightmarish ordeal, while a testament to his love, was ultimately a catastrophic failure born from a lack of information and a better, faster plan.
And I fell for the same trap, Mario thought with a wince of self-recrimination. On Drum Island, in his panic for Nami, his hero complex had taken over. The solution had been so simple, so obvious in hindsight: use the cable line. And run UP! A quick, direct ascent. Instead, he had chosen the most difficult, time-consuming, and personally damaging path possible, nearly getting himself killed and almost costing them their future doctor in the process.
His thoughts then turned to the looming shadow of Water 7 and Enies Lobby. The entire tragic misunderstanding with Robin—her silent sacrifice, the crew's confusion and despair—it was all born from a lack of communication and the crew being several steps behind the true enemy. They were constantly playing catch-up in a game where the penalties were severed bonds and broken hearts.
Sitting there in the dark, Mario's resolve hardened into something sharper and more strategic. He could not allow this pattern to continue. His foreknowledge was not just a tool for personal power; it was the ultimate strategic asset. He had to become the crew's strategist, the one who could see the board three moves ahead.
No more wandering aimlessly. No more walking into obvious traps. No more being late.
For Alabasta, they wouldn't follow Crocodile's script. They would write their own. And for the greater tragedies yet to come, he would ensure they were not just participants in a story, but the authors of a better ending. Ace would not die. Robin would not have to walk alone into the darkness. They would not be reactive. They would be ready.
***
The first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and gold, finding Mario still seated among the tangerine trees, his body stiff but his mind clearer than it had ever been. The night's meditation had been a brutal but necessary session of self-critique and strategic planning. He rose, stretching the kinks from his muscles, and joined the others in the galley for a light breakfast. True to form, Luffy was already there, shoveling food into his mouth with a vigor that defied the early hour; some forces of nature, it seemed, were immutable.
As the meal settled, Vivi's expression grew solemn. She unrolled a map of her homeland on the table, its edges worn from use.
"So, this is how it stands," she began, her voice a mixture of determination and deep-seated worry. She detailed the enemy: Crocodile, the respected hero of Alabasta, and his shadow empire, Baroque Works. She explained how it was a criminal organization masquerading as a noble enterprise, luring skilled bounty hunters and idealists with the promise of something she did not know.
Mario listened intently, his breakfast forgotten. As Vivi listed the key agents—Mr. 1, Mr. 2 Bon Clay, the Unluckies—he mentally cross-referenced each name with his own knowledge. A part of him had wondered, with a knot of anxiety in his stomach, if his presence had already caused a butterfly effect, altering the composition or plans of their enemy.
But as Vivi spoke, his worry slowly dissipated, replaced by a grim sense of confirmation.
It was all the same.
Vivi's voice painted a picture of a conspiracy and a tyrant's ambition, but Mario's mind held the full, unvarnished truth.
He knew what she did not: that Crocodile's desire for a "utopia" was a thin veil for a far more ancient and devastating greed. The warlord sought the legendary Ancient Weapon, Pluton. His entire "Operation Utopia" was an elaborate, cruel stage play designed to tear a nation apart—fomenting a civil war with manufactured drought and distrust, all while his archaeologist, Nico Robin, quietly deciphered the Poneglyph that held the weapon's location.
As the crew absorbed Vivi's words, Mario was deep in his own strategic calculations. He had seen his crew's growth firsthand. Luffy and Sanji had dismantled Wapol and his forces with negligible injury. They were stronger, sharper than they had been at this point in the original timeline. They could handle themselves in a fight.
But the problem with Alabasta was never just about winning the final battle. It was about the devastating cost of the journey there. The key events unfolded with a frustrating, tragic inefficiency: the futile detour to the dried-out Yuba, the pointless capture in Rainbase that only served to reveal a plan they could have uncovered sooner, the desperate, last-second race to Alubarna where they were, yet again, almost too late. And woven through it all were the smaller, personal tragedies—the kidnapping of King Cobra, Pell's near-fatal wounding, the manipulated shooting of Koza by Mr. 2's deception. The capital would become a charnel house.
A radical plan began to crystallize in Mario's mind. This is not a manga. People will die. Real people, with families and dreams, will bleed out on the sand because we were late.
Perhaps the most effective path wasn't to try and steer the unstoppable force that was Monkey D. Luffy onto a more logical route. Perhaps it was to use the crew's predictable, chaotic momentum as a diversion. While Luffy and the others barreled down the fated path, drawing Crocodile's gaze and the focus of Baroque Works' elite, he could operate in the shadows. He could be the variable Crocodile never accounted for.
He could secure King Cobra before he was ever taken. He could intercept Mr. 2 before he could fire that fateful shot and plunge the rebel army into a frenzy. He could be the unseen shield, mitigating the bloodshed and saving the lives that the original story had so carelessly spent. Let the Straw Hats be the brilliant, blinding flash of lightning. He would be the quiet thunder that rolled in behind it, stabilizing the ground they left shaken. The goal was no longer just to win. It was to win with a soul left to save.
The logistics of his plan were a tangled web.
Alabasta was vast, and the crisis points were scattered. He couldn't be in Yuba, Rainbase, and Alubarna simultaneously. The kingdom was a powder keg, and a single spark—a manipulated assassination, a kidnapped king—would detonate it. He was confident the Straw Hats would fight their way to the capital, but after that, it was an open game of chaos and bloodshed. He was mentally stitching together a fragile, desperate plan when a soft voice cut through his concentration.
"What are you thinking so hard about?"
Mario started, his head snapping up to find Nami just inches from his face, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Oh, nothing…" he said, his voice a little too high, his mind scrambling to re-engage with the present.
"I called your name three times. That's not 'nothing'," she countered, her eyes narrowing playfully.
"Well? The plan Vivi laid out. It's not bad, but there are a lot of variables to consider." Mario said
"Oh, do tell," Nami pressed, leaning in even closer, her presence both a distraction and a comfort.
Mario fought down a powerful urge to close the minuscule distance and kiss her.
"Well. We'll see how it unfolds, but maybe we should have a contingency plan for when something goes wrong," he said, his voice strained as he also fought the instinct to reach for her hand.
Nami was just looking at him, a strange, soft expression on her face.
"What?" Mario asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing," she said, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "It's just so strange to have someone on this ship who actually thinks before he acts."
"SMOKE!" Usopp's panicked shout echoed from the deck.
Nami glanced out the porthole, her navigator's instincts immediately assessing the situation.
"Don't worry, it's just steam," she called going outside. "It's a hot spot in the ocean; there's an underwater volcano nearby." She gave him one last, lingering look before heading out to reassure the others.
Mario smiled, but his mind, now jarred from its deep planning, was snagging on a new detail. Steam… A hot spot…
"Wait a minute…" he murmured, the pieces clicking into place with dreadful clarity.
"WE CAUGHT AN OKAMAAAA!!!!"
"Bon Clay…" he facepalmed himself.