The horizon burned with the faint orange glow of dawn, revealing an island reduced to ruin. Craters gouged the earth, splintered wooden houses lay scattered like broken toys, and smoke spiraled lazily from what remained of the dock. Trees were toppled, and even the shore seemed jagged, as if the island itself had bled.
Cutting through the morning mist came the unmistakable shape of the Buggy Pirates' ship: The Big Top Terror. Torn red-and-white striped sails flapped violently, the infamous blood-red clown face leering from the mainmast, eyes seeming to glow with anticipation. Cannons lined the deck like jagged teeth, and lanterns swung from skeletal rigging, casting dancing shadows.
"Land ho! The island is in sight!" a pirate shouted.
Buggy's laugh answered, low at first, rolling into that familiar chaotic cackle.
"Bahahahaha! This is going to be a show worth remembering!"
Cabaji emerged, holding the rope that bound Ace. Ace blinked at the devastation below. "Wow… someone really didn't like mornings," he muttered, grin flickering despite the destruction.
They disembarked, stepping carefully over wreckage. The wind carried the smell of smoke and salt; broken timbers scraped underfoot. Cranes and docks had been torn apart. Ace's eyes scanned for opportunities even as his pulse thrummed with anticipation.
Finally, they reached the only standing structure: a massive red-and-white circus tent. Its fabric flapped violently, towers of poles rising like skeletal fingers. Around the tent, civilians stood arranged like marionettes, clapping mechanically at Buggy's command. Their fear was palpable.
Ace's eye twinkled as he watched the key dangle by Buggy's waist while he strode into the clearing theatrically.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and unfortunate souls!" His voice boomed, forcing civilians to their knees. "Today, a very… special performance awaits. And for our star…" He gestured at Ace. "We shall extract a little secret. And oh… what fun that will be!"
Ace's grin didn't falter. Mohji's gun pressed into his chest, but Ace's eyes twinkled with reckless mischief. Well, I do love an audience.
Buggy's gaze flickered—a ghost of recognition passing briefly. Then, chaos erupted.
"Captain! Pirates incoming!"
Gunfire shattered the tense calm. Pirates stormed in, shouting, brandishing swords and pistols. Civilians screamed, diving for cover. The wind shifted violently, and Buggy felt it slice past him.
"Kuro." Buggy's voice cut cold as steel.
A figure appeared at the tent entrance, calm, calculating. "I am here to collect my debt," Kuro said.
The two captains clashed—steel against steel, limbs lashing unpredictably. Sparks flew where blades met. Dust, splintered wood, and the screams of civilians filled the air.
Ace used the distraction to snatch the keys from Buggy's belt. With a swift motion, he disappeared into the smoke, heading for the Black Cat Pirates' anchored ship.
Smoke billowed thick through the circus tent, curling around toppled stands and overturned benches as civilians sprinted for the exits. Gunshots cracked like fireworks; blades clashed; pirates screamed. The world became a disorienting haze of sound and flashing steel.
Ace ducked under a stray bullet, wincing as it tore a line across his shoulder.
"Oi—watch the merchandise, will ya?" he muttered, weaving through fleeing civilians.
He clutched the stolen keys against his ribs, his hands still bound but loosening. The ground shook as Buggy's upper torso flew overhead—literally—swinging a cutlass at Kuro while his legs chased after him from behind.
"Come back here, you slippery bastard!" one of Buggy's legs shouted in Buggy's own voice.
Ace blinked.
"…This is the weirdest hangover I've ever had."
He pushed through the tent flap—
—and froze.
Buggy Pirates and Black Cat Pirates were slaughtering each other across the ruins of the island courtyard. Smoke rose in dark plumes. Bodies dropped. Gunfire echoed. The ground was cracked, craters still steaming from earlier cannon blasts.
"HEY! That's the brat Buggy wants! Grab him!"
Two Buggy pirates spotted him—both wielding mismatched weapons clearly stolen from whoever they last killed. One had a broken trident. The other held a cutlass with a chipped tip.
The first pirate lunged. Ace pivoted on his heel, swinging his still-bound wrists upward and catching the man under the chin with the knotted rope. The pirate's teeth clacked shut as he toppled backwards.
The second swung wildly.
Ace stepped aside with lazy swagger—head tilting, movement loose and fluid—letting the blade whistle inches past his cheek.
"You swing like a sleep-deprived toddler, mate."
He kicked the man in the shin so hard his leg buckled, then spun behind him and shoved him face-first into a broken wagon wheel.
Another pirate approached—this one a Black Cat, his stance sharper, blade steadier.
He slashed at Ace's rope-bound hands.
Ace jerked them back. "Whoa! Careful, love. You almost gave me a manicure."
The pirate lunged.
Ace sidestepped, grabbed the falling pirate from earlier by the collar, and used him as a shield—just in time for the Black Cat blade to sink into his own ally's backside.
"AHHHH—WHY ME?!"
"Sorry!" Ace grimaced. "Occupational hazard."
The Black Cat roared and swung again; Ace ducked, rolled under a smoking beam, and sprinted toward the docks.
Just before reaching the shoreline, a huge shadow dropped in front of him.
A hulking Black Cat pirate—bigger than Mohji, muscles bulging under a torn striped coat, claws welded onto iron gauntlets.
"You're not getting through here," he growled. "Kuro wants all trespassers dead."
The brute charged.
Ace didn't have a sword. No pistol. No weapons except—
Ace grabbed a piece of debris—a broken tent pole—and twirled it like a staff.
"Let's dance."
The brute swung a claw. Ace vaulted over it, pole braced, landing clean behind him. He jabbed the pole across the back of the brute's knees. The giant staggered, roaring.
Ace flashed a grin.
"That's it, big guy. All part of the choreography."
The brute tackled. Ace dodged, ducked, used the pole to vault onto his shoulders like a gymnast, then flipped off—bringing the pole down on the brute's skull with a loud TONK.
The giant wobbled… wobbled… and crashed face-first into the dirt, sending dust exploding upward.
Ace planted the pole triumphantly.
"And scene."
When Ace reached the docks, a group of Black Cat pirates were already guarding the ship Kuro had arrived in. They set up crates as barricades, firing wildly into the battlefield.
One spotted him.
"Oi! That's the guy Kuro warned us about!"
"Buggy's little prisoner? Shoot him!"
Ace dove behind a tipped fishing boat as bullets peppered the wood.
He peeked out.
"Fellas! Fellas! I don't even know you! Let's not make this personal!"
The bullets kept flying.
Ace groaned. "Right. Personal it is then."
He sprinted toward the barricades, zigzagging with a swaggering, drunken sway that made bullets miss by inches. To the pirates, it looked insane—unpredictable, chaotic.
To Ace, it was just Tuesday.
He grabbed a fallen musket, fired blindly to force them to duck, then slid across the wet planks, kicking one pirate off the dock completely.
Another rushed him with a knife. Ace flipped backward off a crate, grabbed a rope, swung around, and kicked the man square in the face.
As the last guard raised his pistol—
Ace tossed a splintered plank like a throwing knife.
It smacked the pirate in the forehead.
"Ghk—!"
He dropped with a thud.
Ace smoothed his hair back. He turned around to see the chaos before looking at the ship not too far away. He smirked, "I guess I'd best be going."
Smoke rolled across the docks. Distant explosions rattled the air. Buggy's unhinged laughter echoed faintly.
Ace sprinted up the gangplank of Kuro's ship, breathing hard but grinning wider than ever.
"Alright, sweetheart," he muttered to the ship, "let's see if you're faster than your owner."
He cut his ropes with a discarded dagger, cracked his knuckles, and grabbed the wheel.
As the ship pulled away, wind filling its sails, Ace leaned back and let out a breathless laugh.
"Now that's what I call a getaway."
The chaos of the island shrank into nothing—a smear of firelight and distant screaming swallowed by the darkening horizon. The stolen ship cut through the waves with a steady rhythm, the sails snapping sharp and clean in the wind.
Ace leaned against the wheel, breathing hard, adrenaline still running a marathon in his veins. The salt air burned his lungs, but it was the good kind of burn—the "I'm not dead yet" kind.
He let out a shaky, triumphant laugh. "Hah… and Buggy said I'd be the one screaming."
Just as he was about to relax, he heard it.
Clink…
A metallic rattle. Soft. Uneasy.
Definitely not the ship.
Ace froze mid-step, muscles coiled. He wasn't alone.
He moved quietly, sliding down the steps into the below-deck darkness, sword angled low but ready. The wooden planks creaked under his boots; the shadows curled thick around him. Every few seconds—
Clink… clink…
He followed the sound past stacked cargo, broken crates, and spilled sacks of grain. A lantern swung overhead, creaking, its dim flame stuttering as the ship rocked.
That's when he saw it.
A small iron cell bolted to the far wall.
Rusty bars. Heavy chains.
And a man sitting inside, wrists bound, ankles shackled, head drooping forward.
At first, Ace thought the guy had fallen asleep—until he shifted, lifting his head just enough for the light to catch.
And Ace blinked.
"...Well that's a hairstyle," he whispered.
The stranger looked up sharply, eyes dark and intelligent despite the exhaustion. His hair—no other word—spiked upward like a pineapple. Bruised cheeks. Split lip. Shoulders tense with the instinct of someone who'd been beaten into expecting the worst.
He stared at Ace with rigid suspicion.
Ace lowered his sword slightly, a grin sliding onto his face—something between friendly and trouble-making.
"Evenin'," Ace said softly. "Didn't mean to interrupt your… iron vacation."
The stranger didn't smile.
"Who are you?" His voice was hoarse, roughened from disuse.
Ace sheathed the sword in one smooth motion. "Someone who just stole this ship and—lucky for you—hasn't thrown anyone overboard today."
A beat of silence. The chained man's eyes narrowed even more.
Ace crouched in front of the bars, expression softening just enough to show he wasn't a threat.
"Well, pineapple-head," he said, tapping one of the bars lightly, "looks like we're roommates."