As the dust finally settled over the ravaged square of Whiskey Peak, silence replaced the once-rowdy festivities.
The shattered remains of the welcoming feast lay scattered across the cobblestone—splintered tables, overturned wine barrels, broken lanterns, and fallen bodies, both townsfolk and agents alike. The only sounds were the soft groans of the unconscious and the crackling of wind-blown flames from overturned torches.
Zino stood there, observing—his senses wide open, sharpened by his newly awakened Haki. His crew was nearby, catching their breath, their weapons still drawn, but eyes drifting to their captain.
Zino's eyes narrowed when he looked on four individuals that stood out among all the sprawled and unconscious agents.
"Separate those four," he said, voice calm but leaving no room for argument.
Zoro, Sanji, Gin and Alvida moved wordlessly, hauling the unconscious figures to the wide stone steps in front of the central church-like building. One by one, they laid them out for inspection, like captured enemy officers on a battlefield.
The first was *Mr. 9*, his steel bats still clutched loosely in his bruised hands, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He had been the most eager to prove himself during the battle, but it ended quickly and decisively after he met Zino.
Beside him, *Miss Wednesday*—known to very few by her true identity, Princess Vivi of Alabasta—lay unconscious, her elegant blue and white outfit torn in several places. Her peacock slashers, ornate and deadly, dangled from limp wrists. Her face was smudged with dirt, but the defiance in her features remained.
*Mr. 8*, better known as *Igaram*, stirred slightly, groaning. His luxurious curls were in disarray, one half of his coat hanging by a torn seam. Gin had handled him during the skirmish, but Zino had noticed the man's movements—controlled, tactical, not the erratic style of a typical Baroque agent.
Lastly, *Miss Monday*—a towering, muscular woman—lay sprawled near the steps, one eye swollen shut from a powerful strike by Alvida. Her breathing was slow but steady, and her arms flexed even in unconsciousness, as if she were dreaming of a rematch.
The rest of the crew gathered behind Zino, watching with interest as he stood before the four.
"Why these four?" Gin finally asked. "The others are just as dangerous."
Zino didn't look back. "These aren't just agents," he said. "They're core members. Key players in whatever this place was hiding."
"How do you know that?" Ussop asked, frowning. "They look the same to me."
Zino's expression didn't change. "Call it instinct."
Miria raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She could tell Zino wasn't just guessing. His Haki was evolving—he was beginning to *feel* intent, to sense lies, to understand people before they even spoke.
Zino glanced over at the battered figures. "Wake them up."
Without hesitation, Hibari stepped forward and splashed cold water from his canteen onto Mr. 9's face. The man jolted awake with a sputter, coughing and blinking under the torchlight. Binko crouched next to Miss Wednesday, tapping her shoulder until she stirred with a groan, eyes slowly opening to take in her surroundings.
Mr. 8 was already attempting to sit up, wincing as he clutched his ribs. Miss Monday let out a low grunt, rotating her shoulder, clearly still feeling the impact of Alvida's earlier strike.
Within moments, all four were conscious—wary and tense, surrounded by Zino's crew, their weapons still at the ready. The moonlight and broken lanterns cast dancing shadows over the ruins, making the square feel colder than before.
Zino stood calm, his expression unreadable. "Let's make this simple," he said. "Talk."
Miss Wednesday's eyes flicked around the square, her mind clearly racing. Her face remained calm, but there was hesitation behind her gaze.
Mr. 9 narrowed his eyes, forcing a scowl. "You're wasting your breath. We're not saying anything."
Zino gave him a long look, then casually cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed just enough to make Mr. 9 shift slightly. "We'll see."
Miria stepped forward without a word, her presence cold and firm. Even without saying anything, she exuded pressure—experience, power, and the promise of pain if needed. Miss Monday instinctively flinched, eyes dropping for just a second.
Mr. 8 looked between them all, visibly calculating the odds. His usual boisterous flair was absent, replaced by a forced calm. "Perhaps… we can come to an arrangement," he said cautiously.
"An arrangement?" Zino repeated, voice flat. His gaze sharpened, cutting through their defenses more effectively than any blade. "Fine. Let's hear it."
The tension among the four agents visibly eased, if only slightly. There was a flicker of hope—maybe they could get out of this without spilling everything.
"In case any of you are thinking of playing word games," Zino said, his voice cold and sharp, "I'll warn you now—don't."
He scanned the four kneeling agents, his gaze piercing. "I know who you really are."
The words struck like a hammer.
Mr. 9 stiffened, the bruises on his face paling.
Miss Monday's expression tightened, her brow creasing into a deep scowl.
Mr. 8's flamboyant hair twitched slightly, betraying his tension.
Miss Wednesday's eyes widened just a fraction—barely noticeable, but enough.
None of them spoke.
Zino stepped forward, his presence heavy. "No aliases. No fake hospitality. You're not just welcoming committee. You're the core members of Baroque Works operating here."
Still, silence hung between them.
"Stubborn, huh?" Zino muttered. "Fine. Then answer this, why did you guys attack my crew?"
There was a brief pause. Then, Miss Wednesday stirred. Her lips parted slightly. There was something in her eyes—hesitation, maybe guilt, or maybe a split-second decision. She looked like she was about to speak.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the stillness, shaking the ground. Dust and smoke erupted from the direction of the town's front gate. Cries of alarm echoed in the distance.
Everyone turned, eyes locked on the plume of rising debris.
Through the haze, two figures emerged.
They walked slowly, casually, like the chaos behind them was nothing more than background noise. One was a lanky man with wild, spiked hair and a slouched posture, his hand casually picking at his nose as if bored with everything around him.
The other was a blonde woman with a parasol, gently descending from a floating hop. Her expression was cheerful—too cheerful—and carried an air of smug confidence.
The two newcomers are Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine. They were clearly high-ranking agents within the Baroque Works organization.
The moment they appeared, Zino's crew reacted without hesitation.
Zoro's sharp gaze locked onto them, one hand drifting toward his swords, ready to draw in a flash. Gin silently tightened his grip on his tonfas, his stance lowering. Sanji shifted his boots across the stone floor, posture coiling like a spring. Alvida rested her massive mace on her shoulder, her expression unreadable but watchful.
In an instant, the air grew heavy with tension.
They didn't know exactly who these two were, but their presence reeked of danger. And the crew's instincts, didn't wait for introductions. They were already braced for a fight.
The four captured agents remained seated but visibly shaken.
"Mr. 5?" Mr. 9 murmured, disbelief etched into his bruised features. "Miss Valentine? What the hell are they doing here…?"
Mr. 5 barely spared them a glance. He stood amid the flickering lantern light and surveyed the battlefield littered with unconscious agents—his supposed comrades. His face twisted in disdain.
"Tch… Pathetic," he muttered. "Every last one of them."
Miss Valentine floated down lightly beside him, her parasol spinning lazily in her fingers. Her bright smile didn't reach her cold eyes.
"My, my… looks like the party started without us." She twirled once, playfully, then stopped as her gaze settled on the four agents at the center of the squares.
She tilted her head. "Oh? You look surprised. You weren't expecting us?"
Mr. 8, Igaram, narrowed his eyes. "This mission wasn't supposed to involve upper-tier agents."
Mr. 5 cracked his neck with a slow, deliberate motion. "That's because the real mission wasn't meant for your ears."
Miss Valentine's cheerful expression sharpened into something razor-edged. "We're under direct orders from Mr. 0. We're here for one reason—eliminate a spy."
The word *spy* landed like a stone in the center of the group.
Miss Wednesday—Vivi—stiffened. Her wide eyes showed a flash of something Zino hadn't seen in her before: fear.
Igaram's fists clenched tightly at his sides. He didn't speak—but the look he shot Vivi told the story clearly enough.
Zino picked up on the shift immediately. He raised an eyebrow. "Spy, huh?"
On the other hand, Miss Monday, loyal but not the brightest in the group, hadn't fully grasped the depth of the situation. Her brows furrowed as she watched the exchange, struggling to understand who exactly the "spy" was among them. But one thing was clear, Mr. 5 and Miss Valentine hadn't come as friends.
She was a musclehead, yes—but even she knew how the Baroque Works hierarchy operated. Higher-numbered agents rarely cared who got in their way. Collateral damage, especially from failures—wasn't just expected. It was *standard protocol*. That meant anyone who couldn't complete their mission was expendable.
And considering their team had failed to apprehend Zino's group… that made her, Mr. 9, Mr. 8, and Miss Wednesday likely targets.
Miss Monday glanced toward Vivi—still in her "Miss Wednesday" persona. Her eyes weren't just wide from fear. They held guilt, maybe even shame. That was all the confirmation Miss Monday needed.
She clenched her fists and stood up slowly, placing herself between her three companions and the two approaching assassins.
"Miss Wednesday," she said quietly, but firmly, "you need to run. I'll hold them back."
Vivi's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Miss Monday—"
But the towering woman didn't flinch. Her posture said it all—this wasn't a suggestion. It was a decision. Her eyes never left the two intruders.
But Mr. 5 didn't give her the chance.
"Escape?" he scoffed, voice dry and laced with contempt. "That's not something *you* get to decide."
He squinted behind his dark sunglasses. With a single motion, he brought his finger to his nose and withdrew it, holding it up with a small, glistening booger stuck to the tip.
Then, with an annoyed flick of his wrist—
"Hana Kyūsō Hana!" (*Nose Fancy Cannon!*)
The tiny projectile launched like a bullet, propelled by explosive power.
It hurtled toward Miss Monday with terrifying speed, until a sudden burst of smoke swept in from the side. The smoke twisted through the air, redirecting the shot just slightly, enough to send it off-course.
The glowing booger arced toward a barrel off to the side and—
*BOOM!*
The explosion shattered the barrel into wooden shrapnel, sending splinters flying through the air. Debris rained down in the square. A few stunned agents nearby rolled aside, coughing in the smoke.
Mr. 5 blinked, surprised. "What the hell…? That missed?" He frowned, muttering to himself. "That's a first."
As he paused, puzzled by the deviation of his shot, Miss Valentine had already risen high above the battlefield, her parasol keeping her aloft in a graceful spin. She hovered like a dancer, silhouetted against the moon.
Her voice was chipper, but laced with menace. "Spy! Don't you dare run~!"
And with a flick of her umbrella, she began to *increase her weight*—her cheerful face turning sharp with focus.
"_10x… 100x… 10,000 kilograms…_"
Miss Valentine came crashing down like a falling meteor, heading straight for the four agents. The sheer force of her descent cracked the air around her.
Sanji's instincts kicked in. "Not good!" he growled, dashing forward. He grabbed Vivi and Miss Monday by the waist and leapt back in one smooth motion.
Gin mirrored him, dragging Mr. 9 and Mr. 8 out of the way just in time.
BOOM!!
Miss Valentine hit the ground like a boulder. The stone tiles of the square caved in, forming a small crater under her feet. Dust and chunks of rock exploded outward.
The ground shook from the impact.
As the smoke cleared, her umbrella clicked shut.
She smiled. "Oops. Missed."
But from the look in her eyes, it was clear. Next time, she wouldn't.