The Calm Belt was quiet, exactly the way it should've been.
No wind, no waves, no gulls. Just the creak of timbers and the occasional thunk of a sailor collapsing from exhaustion.
"Row, you miserable maggots! Row like your lives depend on it- because they do!"
Buggy's voice rang across the deck, echoing over the still sea. His hat sat slightly askew, his cape fluttering despite the complete absence of wind, because he was manually waving it himself for dramatic effect.
Mohji slumped over the rail, sweat dripping down his face. "Captain… we've been at this for days. I can't feel my arms!"
"You don't need to feel your arms, Mohji! You just need to keep moving them!" Buggy barked, gesturing toward the massive oars the men were manhandling. "This ship's a Marine battleship, not a pleasure cruiser! You think these things steer themselves?!"
It wasn't like Buggy himself was idle; no, he was in charge of both rowing with his arms and steering the ship with his detached feet.
Cabaji flipped down from the rigging, landing neatly beside him. "Captain, at this rate, we'll reach the Grand Line when we're sixty…"
Buggy glared. "Then row faster, dipshit!"
The rest of the crew groaned as one.
And so began the worst workout of their lives.
The days blurred together -endless rowing, endless shouting, and the occasional ghost story told by half-asleep deckhands.
The Calm Belt's surface shimmered like glass, perfectly still, the only ripples made by their own desperate efforts.
And yet, despite all that, there was progress. Slow, sure, and steady.
Each day, the crew got better. They learned which ropes actually did something, how to adjust sails even with no wind, and how not to fall overboard when Buggy "motivated" them at gunpoint.
Cabaji's movements had become sharper and cleaner. His grip was better; his acrobatics themselves seemed to improve his growth in strength.
Mohji had bulked up, arms thick from endless rowing and a protein-rich diet, and even Richie the lion looked more muscular somehow.
Buggy noticed. He'd never say it out loud (he had an image to maintain), but he was pleased.
His crew wasn't just a band of circus rejects anymore. They were shaping up to be a proper crew.
-
-
-
By the second week, the horizon finally changed.
"Captain! Land ahead!" a lookout yelled, squinting into the distance.
Buggy leapt onto the rail, spyglass in hand. "Land? In the middle of the Calm Belt?"
Sure enough, there it was, a hazy silhouette breaking the endless blue: cliffs of pale stone, lush greenery, and the faint outline of towers reaching into the clouds.
An island.
Mohji's eyes widened. "That… that shouldn't be possible, right? There's no charted island here!"
And yet, their Log Pose was pointing to it all the same.
Cabaji tilted his head. "Which means it's either cursed… or a possible secret Marine base?"
Buggy grinned. "Both sound like fun to me. Hah! Even the needle's curious!"
It took half a day of careful maneuvering, but eventually, the ship's anchor splashed into the shallows.
The island loomed before them, beautiful but silent.
As the crew disembarked, they found the beaches oddly pristine, with no sign of footprints or wildlife. The deeper they ventured, the stranger it got.
Buildings of marble lay scattered among the trees, old temples half-buried by vines, their walls covered in faded murals.
"Captain…" Mohji whispered, brushing moss off a carving. "These people have… wings?"
Buggy paused. His eyes followed the etchings—men and women with small white wings sprouting from their backs, ascending into the clouds above. They looked as if they were praying to the sky.
His grin faltered. "Wait a second…"
Cabaji turned a broken statue upright. Its back was carved with feathers. Then he froze. "Captain… look at this."
They followed his gaze to the base of the statue, dozens of skeletons, still adorned with jewelry and shattered armor, half-sunken into the earth.
The laughter and chatter died out. Only silence.
And the faint whistle of wind that wasn't really there.
Buggy's voice came out quieter than usual. "This architecture… these markings…"
He took a few steps back, staring at the colossal, ruined temple rising at the island's center.
Its spires curved like wings ready to take flight, and atop it was a symbol that looked familiar, yet not at the same time. He had seen similar scenes, from behind a screen.
"...This is a Sky Island," he muttered, disbelief painting his tone. "Or at least its inhabitants were from the Sky Islands..."
The words sent a shiver down the crew's spines.
Mohji blinked. "Captain, don't joke around now... We all know Sky Islands are just children's tales..."
"No, they're definitely real. Roger's been on one or two in the past," Buggy said flatly, his grin returning, though it was strained this time.
That was enough to make everyone realize Buggy wasn't joking.
Sky Islands had never been well-known to the wider public. Most people considered them a fool's dream.
But Buggy's tone held none of its usual jesting flair as he spoke about it. That alone poured a bucket of cold water over everyone's heads.
"As to why a Sky Island's entire civilization would be found down in these seas... beats me. But I'm not passing up the chance to explore it!"
He marched toward the temple, cape billowing behind him, pretending not to notice the way his crew hesitated before following.
The deeper they went, the more eerie it became.
Skeletons of long-forgotten people, golden masks fused with skulls, and murals showing the heavens cracking open.
Richie let out a low growl, his fur standing on end. But that didn't stop Buggy from yelling at his men to take anything that looked golden with them.
Many felt fear as they stole from the dead, but Buggy just laughed.
"Relax!" he said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's just ancient history. There's no ghosts-"
The ground shook.
A faint tremor, subtle at first, like a distant rumble of thunder.
Then it came again.
Rumble.
The trees trembled. Pebbles rolled across the marble steps.
Cabaji's eyes darted toward the coast. "Captain… the ship-!"
Buggy turned, sprinting back through the forest, the rest of his men close behind.
When they broke through the tree line, the sight before them made every jaw drop.
Their Marine battleship, the massive vessel they'd parked near the shore, was drifting away.
Not from current. There was no current.
The sea itself seemed to be… shifting.
The island rose. Just slightly, but enough for everyone to feel their stomachs lurch.
Buggy's pupils shrank. "Wait, wait, wait…"
The water rippled outward as the coastline groaned, massive cracks splitting the sand.
And then, from the depths below, a sound, low and deep, like the bellow of something alive.
Buggy's jaw fell open. "This island… it's-"
The sea erupted in foam as a titanic shadow moved beneath them.
"-moving?!"
The crew screamed. Richie roared. The entire shore quaked.
"Relax, he says… ancient history, he says…" one deckhand whimpered.
Buggy's hat blew off as he stared at the trembling horizon, a manic grin spreading across his face.
"…Heh. Of course it is."
And with that, the ground rumbled again, louder and longer, as the impossible island shifted under their feet once more.