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Chapter 73, Chapter 74, Chapter 75, Chapter 76, Chapter 77, Chapter 78, Chapter 79, Chapter 80, and Chapter 81 are already available for Patrons.
The clinic room was a cramped little box of misery tucked away in Water 7's labyrinthine lower district, where the canals gurgled just outside like a restless beast. Dawn crept through a rain-streaked window, smearing pale gold across the peeling walls and casting long, jagged shadows from the clutter of medical junk—rusted IV stands, a wobbly table stacked with gauze, and a couple of ancient machines that wheezed and beeped like they were on their last legs. The air hung heavy with antiseptic, sharp enough to sting the nose, but it couldn't quite mask the damp rot seeping in from the storm-battered city. Tension coiled tight around the room's occupants, thicker than the humidity rolling off the rising Aqua Laguna tides.
Chopper hunched over Usopp's battered form on the narrow cot, his small hooves trembling as he fussed with a roll of bandages that seemed determined to unravel faster than he could wrap them. Usopp looked like he'd been dragged through a war zone and left to bake in the sun—his chest was a patchwork of scorched skin and electrical burns, the dark fabric of his shredded outfit clinging to him like a second, ruined hide. His right hand, swathed in splints and gauze, was a mangled mess where three fingers had been blasted off and hastily sewn back on by some miracle of medical desperation.
The little doctor's pink hat sat askew, one ear flopping as he muttered under his breath, "Stay with me, Usopp. Come on, you idiot, don't you dare—" His voice cracked, and he swiped at his eyes with a sleeve, smearing tears into the fur. Guilt gnawed at him like a rat on a rope—he'd been too weak to stop the duel, too slow to patch this up faster. Every shallow rise of Usopp's chest felt like a personal accusation.
By the window, Sanji leaned against the sill, a cigarette dangling from his lips, its ember glowing like a tiny defiant sun against the gray dawn. His black suit was a disaster—sand crusted the cuffs, and the jacket hung open, revealing a shirt wrinkled beyond salvation. Smoke curled upward, spiraling into the faint light, and his visible eye tracked the room with a restless edge. Nojiko stood a few feet away, her lavender hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, a chipped glass of water trembling in her hands. She dipped her fingers into it, her water-manipulation powers rippling the surface as she purified it for Chopper's next round of wound-cleaning. Her tank top clung to her, the tattoo on her arm—a mirror of Nami's—standing out starkly against her tanned skin. They were keeping watch, a silent pact to guard their broken sniper.
"He pushed him too far, idiot," Sanji finally growled, flicking ash out the cracked window. His voice was low, rough with exhaustion and something sharper—regret, maybe. "Luffy didn't want this. You saw his face after that damn 'Storm Crown' hit. He looked like he'd gutted himself."
Nojiko's eyes flashed, her grip tightening on the glass until it creaked. "Merry's gone either way—why'd he make it about him?" she snapped, water sloshing over the rim and splattering the floor. "We all loved that ship, Sanji. Usopp didn't have to turn it into some martyr's stand. He knew what he was doing, throwing Mock Town in Luffy's face like that."
Sanji took a long drag, exhaling a plume that fogged the glass. "Yeah, he knew. Doesn't mean he deserved to get blasted into next week. Kid's got guts—I'll give him that. Just not a lick of sense to go with 'em."
"Guts don't fix broken bones," Nojiko shot back, but her voice softened, eyes drifting to Usopp's still form. "Or broken trust."
Before Sanji could reply, the door creaked open, and a nurse slipped in—blonde, bespectacled, her uniform so crisp it looked like it'd been ironed mid-storm. She was too polished for this dump of a clinic, her heels clicking on the warped floorboards with a precision that didn't fit the chaos. "How's he holding up, Doctor?"
Chopper didn't look up, too buried in his work—dabbing at a burn with a soaked cloth, his hooves shaking. "Stable... barely," he mumbled. "Pulse is weak, but he's fighting. I just—I need to keep the swelling down, or those fingers won't—" He choked on the rest, swallowing hard.
The nurse tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips as she stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. "Such dedication. You must be quite the crew to care this much." Her tone was honeyed, but her eyes darted—cataloging the burns, the splints, the way Chopper's focus left him blind to her probing.
Sanji's gaze slid to her, his cigarette pausing mid-drag. Something about her set his teeth on edge—the pristine look, the too-calm demeanor in a room reeking of despair. He straightened slightly, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. "You're new around here, huh, sweetheart? Don't remember seeing you when we dragged him in last night."
The nurse's smile didn't waver. "I work the early shift. You were... preoccupied, I imagine." She nodded toward Usopp, her glasses catching the dim light. "Quite a fighter, your friend. What happened to him?"
"Rough night," Sanji said curtly, blowing smoke in her direction—not enough to be rude, just enough to test her. She didn't flinch, but her fingers twitched, and he filed that away. "He'll pull through. Always does."
Nojiko shot Sanji a look—shut up, curly-brow—and stepped between the nurse and the cot, water swirling in the glass like a tiny storm. "We've got it handled. Thanks for checking in."
"Of course," the nurse replied, stepping back with a nod. "I'll let you tend to him. Call if you need anything." She slipped out, her heels clicking a little too loudly, leaving a faint scent of lavender that didn't match the clinic's grim bouquet.
"She's off," Sanji muttered once the door clicked shut, flicking his cigarette butt out the window. "Too clean for this hole. You see how she was eyeballing him?"
Nojiko frowned, setting the purified water by Chopper. "You're paranoid. She's just a nurse."
"Yeah, and I'm just a cook," he snorted, crossing his arms. "Keep an eye out, water-girl. Something's not right."
Chopper didn't hear them, too lost in his work—until Usopp stirred. The sniper's eyes fluttered open, cracked lips parting as he rasped, "Did I... prove it?" His voice was a ghost, barely there, but it hit Chopper like a cannonball.
The little doctor's tears spilled over, dripping onto the bandages as he grabbed Usopp's good hand. "You're alive, that's what matters! Don't talk, just rest, please—"
"Not to him," Usopp croaked, his gaze unfocused, drifting somewhere past the ceiling. His chest heaved, a wet cough rattling through him, and then he mumbled, "She spoke to me... Merry... said we're not done..." His head lolled, eyes slipping shut as he faded back into unconsciousness.
Chopper froze, hooves hovering over Usopp's chest. "W-What? Merry?" He blinked rapidly, glancing at the others. "Did you hear that? He said—"
"He's out of it, Chopper. Pain's messing with his head."
Sanji lit another cigarette, the match flaring briefly in the dimness. "Maybe. Or maybe that damn ship's haunting him. Wouldn't put it past her—she's been creaking like a ghost since we docked." He exhaled, smoke curling toward the window. "Either way, he's not proving anything to anyone like this."
Chopper sniffled, adjusting Usopp's pillow with a shaky hoof. "He doesn't have to prove anything. He's our nakama... isn't he?" His big eyes darted between them, pleading for an answer they couldn't give.
Nojiko knelt beside him, resting a hand on his hat. "He's still breathing, fuzzball. That's enough for now." But her gaze lingered on Usopp, on the faint twitch of his burned lips, and a shiver ran through her—Merry's voice, real or not, felt too close in this suffocating room.
Sanji tapped his foot, staring out at the dawn as it bled red across the canals. "Luffy's gonna hate this," he muttered, almost to himself. "But we've got bigger problems than a busted sniper and a chatty ship. Something's brewing out there—I can feel it."
Luffy
The highest spire of Water 7 jabbed at the sky like a fractured rib, a rickety tower of salt-bleached planks and corroded nails trembling in the dawn's fitful gusts. From its splintered crest, the city unfurled below—canals catching the sunrise in molten gold, their edges glinting like molten glass. But the horizon brooded, storm clouds swelling dark and heavy. The air bit with sea salt and rust, the tower's frame groaning as Luffy perched on its lip, legs swinging over a plunge that'd make a lesser man blanch.
His crimson vest snapped in a breeze he couldn't rein in, the fabric tugging against his shoulders like a trapped bird. The straw hat sat in his lap, and his fingers grazed its edge, restless. Scars glowed in the faint light—three burned slashes clawing his right arm from Mock Town, a frostbitten smear on his left shoulder from Aokiji's touch. His storm-gray eyes fixed on nothing, the wind coiling around him.
A memory struck—North Blue, a jagged cliff against a slate-dark sea, Shanks looming with red hair lashing in the wind. "A captain's strength isn't just power—it's bearing the pain of your choices," he'd said, voice rough as the surf. Luffy had been all elbows and teeth back then, learning Haki through bruises and blood, Shanks pushing him until his legs shook. It was supposed to make him ready. But this—Usopp's body skidding through sand, "Storm Crown" turning the beach to glass, that faint "He won..."—this was a weight no training could lift. Luffy's grip dented the hat. "What would you do, Shanks?" he muttered, the words lost to the wind.
The tower creaked—a new weight on its bones. Robin emerged from the hatch, her purple dress sodden from the climb. Extra hands sprouted from the beams, steadying her ascent, then dissolving as she stepped onto the platform. Her dark hair stuck to her neck, boots leaving wet smears on the wood, but her eyes cut through the haze. She didn't ease into it, crossing her arms a foot from him. "You're not allowed to sulk while we're falling apart."
Luffy stayed silent, eyes on the canals, hat still in his hands. Robin sat beside him—close, her sleeve grazing his vest. "I've heard things," she said, lowering her tone. "Whispers in the shipyards—government agents in Water 7. Talk of targeting pirates, flushing out 'threats.' It's not just noise."
He tilted his head, catching her sidelong. "You think they're after us?" His voice was low.
"I think we're not ghosts anymore," she said, fingers tapping her knee in a slow, deliberate beat. "Mock Town painted a target on you. Aokiji, Akainu—they don't let go. And this place..." She glanced at the streets below, where dockworkers' shouts tangled with crane clanks. "It's holding its breath. Someone's watching."
Luffy's jaw clenched, the hat creaking in his fists. The wind spiked, dust swirling in tight loops, a faint crackle sparking off his knuckles. "I don't know if I can keep you all safe in the New World," he said, the confession spilling out.
Robin leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locking with his. "Then we get stronger together," she said, firm, no cushion in it. "You've hauled us this far, Luffy. We're not crumbling because you're chewing on doubts. But doubts won't outrun this." She straightened, brushing wet strands from her face. "We need a ship—something that won't snap. And we need it before they come out for us."
"A ship," he echoed, rolling the idea around. "You're right. Merry's done—I can't patch that up. But I can get us outta here."
She nodded, a smile on her face. Then her hand reached out, resting on his scarred arm. The burns were rough under her fingers, and he flinched—just a twitch—but didn't pull away. "You're not alone in this," she said, quieter, her voice dipping into something unguarded. "Usopp's choice doesn't rewrite what you've built. We're still here." Her thumb brushed the scars, a small, steady pressure, and the wind around them softened, almost still.
Luffy looked at her. His chest tightened, not with storm but something else, and he set the hat down beside him. "You're tougher than you let on," he said, a half-grin tugging at his mouth.
"Someone has to keep you from sinking us," she countered, her hand lingering a beat longer before sliding away. She leaned in, closing the gap. Her lips pressed to his. She pulled back, eyes steady. "I remember the captain that fought against Akainu and Aokiji. I know this is difficult, but I still believe in you, Luffy," she said.
Luffy blinked, lips parting, then smirked. "Not a chance." He yanked the hat back on, tugging it low, shadow slicing across his face. "We're leaving Water 7—soon as we've got a ship. No more waiting."
Robin stepped to the hatch, extra hands guiding her down. "Then move fast. The sunrise won't shield us long." She vanished below, leaving Luffy staring at the horizon—gold bleeding into gray, clouds flexing like a fist.
Iceberg
The Galley-La headquarters loomed over Water 7's docks like a weathered titan, its upper floors battered by the evening's onslaught. Rain lashed the windows in relentless sheets, driven by Aqua Laguna's howling winds, while the waves below roared up the city's tiers, slamming against the foundation with a fury that rattled the walls. Inside Iceberg's office, a single oil lamp flickered on the wall, casting jagged shadows over shelves stuffed with nautical charts and half-finished prototypes—miniature masts and hulls that trembled faintly with each gust.
Iceberg hunched over the desk, his silver hair glinting under the lamp's glow, a pencil stub gripped in his calloused hand as he scratched notes onto a sprawling design. His coat hung loose, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a wrench rested within reach—less a tool now, more a reflex from years on the docks. The lines on his face deepened as he muttered, "Not enough time..." His voice was gravelly, worn thin by sleepless nights, but his eyes burned with focus. Outside, a windowpane rattled loose, rain spitting through the gap, but he didn't flinch—too lost in his work, too stubborn to notice the shadows lengthening behind him.
The attack came like a thunderclap. A blur of spotted fur and gleaming claws—a figure exploded through the doorway, his snarl splitting the air. Iceberg spun, wrench in hand, just as those claws raked across his shoulder, shredding fabric and flesh. Blood sprayed, spattering a ship model as he staggered back, crashing into the desk. "You'll never get Pluton!" he roared, swinging the wrench with a wild arc that caught Lucci's flank—a glancing blow, but enough to draw a hiss. Lucci's eyes gleamed yellow in the dimness. "Too late," he growled, his voice a guttural purr, tail lashing as he coiled for another strike.
Kaku darted in next, bouncing off the air to snatch a rolled blueprint from the desk's edge. "Got it," he called, voice clipped, tucking it into his coat. Kalifa followed, her heels clicking despite the chaos. She adjusted her glasses with a flick of her wrist, smirking. "Subtle enough," she murmured, brushing her blonde hair back.
Iceberg lunged, wrench swinging again, but Lucci caught it in mid-air, claws crushing the metal with a sickening crunch. "Pathetic," Lucci sneered, slamming Iceberg back into the desk. Papers flew, a model ship toppling to the floor with a splintered crack. Blood pooled under Iceberg's arm, soaking his sleeve, but he bared his teeth, defiance blazing. "You're nothing but dogs on a leash—"
A slurred shout cut through the mayhem. "Lucci, you bastard!" Paulie stumbled through the doorway, reeking of cheap rum, his work shirt half-untucked and ropes coiled sloppily at his hip. His blond hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat and rain, and his eyes—blurry from a night of gambling—widened as he took in the scene. He'd overheard CP9's chamber talk days ago, snooping on his coworkers' late-night whispers, suspicions gnawing at him ever since. Now, it clicked. "I knew it—traitors!" He yanked a rope free, snapping it like a whip toward Lucci, but Kaku was faster—Geppo carried him high, and a spinning kick cracked Paulie's ribs, sending him sprawling into a shelf. Charts rained down as he hit the floor, groaning, blood trickling from his lip.
Lucci prowled forward, claws dripping red, pinning Iceberg with a paw as he glared at Paulie. "You're late to the party, rope-boy," he snarled, tail flicking. "Should've stuck to your dice."
"Two witnesses now. Messy, but manageable." She pulled a dagger from her coat, twirling it lazily, while Blueno's door pulsed wider, shadows spilling from it.
Iceberg coughed, blood flecking his lips, and grabbed a fallen model—a sleek galleon—to hurl at Lucci's face. It shattered against the leopard's snout, earning a growl. "Keep barking," Iceberg rasped. "You're still not getting—" Lucci's claws slashed again, silencing him mid-sentence, and he crumpled, barely breathing, a smear of red across the desk.
Paulie struggled to his knees, ropes trembling in his hands. "You're dead, Lucci—I'll string you up myself!" He lashed out, the rope snapping toward Kaku, but the agent dodged with a casual hop, smirking. "You're drunker than usual," Kaku quipped, landing lightly. "Makes this almost too easy." He aimed another kick, but before it connected, the wall exploded inward.
Plaster and wood sprayed like shrapnel as a figure burst through—a towering woman, her white hair streaked with red spilling past a pair of curved, black horns jutting from her head. Her orange tunic was torn at the edges, soaked from the storm, and her arms hefted a massive, studded club that gleamed wetly in the lamplight. "Back off!" she roared, voice booming over the rain, swinging the club in a wide arc that forced Lucci to leap back, claws skidding on the floor.
The room froze. Lucci's fur bristled, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he sized her up. "Who the hell are you?" he spat, tail lashing. Kaku landed beside him, stance tense, while Kalifa's dagger paused mid-twirl, her smirk gone. Blueno's door flickered, his deep voice cutting in: "She's not on the list."
The woman planted her club with a thud that cracked the floorboards, her horns casting jagged shadows. "Doesn't matter who I am," she snapped, baring her teeth—sharp, almost canine. "I was running away from debt collector when I sensed your Haki." She stepped forward, rain dripping from her hair, pooling at her boots.
Lucci's claws flexed, ready to lunge, but a booming voice erupted from a Den Den Mushi hidden inside Luci's coat.
"Leave her be. Withdraw."
It wasn't a request; it carried weight that made even Lucci's ears twitch. He snarled, hesitating, yellow eyes flicking between the woman and his prey. Kalifa's brow furrowed, but she sheathed her dagger. "Orders?" she muttered, glancing at Lucci.
"Now."
The voice barked, and Blueno's door flared wide. Lucci growled, but stepped back, his leopard form rippling as he shifted human—dark suit pristine despite the blood. "This isn't over," he hissed, eyes boring into the woman. Kaku tucked the blueprint tighter, nodding to Kalifa, and they filed toward the door. Blueno went last, his bulk vanishing into the shimmering void, leaving the room eerily still.
The woman stood over Iceberg and Paulie, club resting on her shoulder, chest heaving. Iceberg's breath rattled, shallow but alive, blood seeping into the floor. Paulie clutched his ribs, staring up at her, his rum-fogged brain scrambling. "Who... what are you?" he croaked, ropes limp in his hands.
"I am Yamato, " she said, not sure what to do now; she didn't know how to heal anyone as she looked down at Iceberg.
"Yamato? Why did you save me?" Iceberg asked as he tried to stand up, but the pain made him stand down.
"I...I was running from Debt Collectors, and I felt Haki spike here, so I decided to check it out, I saw you were struggling, and from what I understand you are Iceberg right?"
"...Yeah," Iceberg said slowly, a little surprised that this woman just decided to save him without knowing exactly who he was.
Yamato turned a little flushed, which seemed a little out of place. "I was hoping you could give me some money, it turns out you need money to eat in a restaurant." Yamato said looking embarrassed.
Iceberg would have laughed if he wasn't wounded. "I can give you that and more, but first. I need you to contact my brother."
Robin
The alley snaked alongside one of Water 7's lesser canals, a narrow slit of darkness carved between crumbling brick walls and the lapping black water.
Robin stood near the wall, her purple dress blending into the gloom, the damp fabric clinging to her legs. She'd slipped away from the inn after the news of Iceberg's attack broke, drawn by a gut pull she couldn't ignore.
A taller shadow loomed at the alley's end. Aokiji stepped into the light, his long coat glinting with flecks of ice that clung to the fabric. His height dwarfed the space, shoulders slouched in that lazy way of his, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Frost traced the edges of his boots, leaving faint white prints that melted into the wet stone as he stopped a few paces from her. His dark glasses hid his eyes, but his mouth was a thin, hard line. "CP9's got plans," he said, voice low and flat, cutting through the quiet like a blade. "You alive, Monkey D. Luffy dead. They're not wasting time."
Robin's head tilted, her gaze steady, but her fingers tightened against her arms. "Surprised you care," she said, her tone dry, edged with a bite. "Days ago, you were ready to freeze me solid and call it justice." Her words hung there, sharp but not loud, testing him.
Aokiji exhaled, a puff of cold vapor curling from his lips, and shifted his weight. "Don't fool yourself," he said, voice dropping colder. "This isn't for you, or him. It's for someone else." He pulled a hand from his pocket, scratching at his jaw, frost flaking off his fingers. "I'm not your guardian, Nico Robin. Never was."
She studied him, searching for the crack in his words, but his face gave nothing—ice behind those glasses. "Then why bother?" she pressed, stepping closer. "You don't strike me as the type to play messenger boy for free."
He shrugged, a slow roll of his shoulders. "Call it a loose end. Doesn't matter." He turned his head slightly, glancing at the canal where the water reflected the flickering flame. "Point is, they're closing in. Run, or fight. Your choice." His voice stayed even, almost bored, before walking away.
Robin stood there, alone again, and she let out a slow breath. Her mind was already turning—Aokiji's cryptic nudge, CP9's noose tightening. She knew this day would come, and her first instinct was to flee, but she remembered Luffy's promise.
'You will never have to run away again.'
Across the city, in a hidden room beneath a derelict warehouse, the air was different. No windows, just a single bulb dangling from a frayed cord. Lucci sat at a steel table, Hattori perched on his shoulder. Kaku leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his long nose casting a knife-edge shadow. Kalifa sat primly while Blueno stood silent.
The door creaked, and they tensed—Lucci's hand curling slightly, claws itching beneath human skin. A figure stepped in, tall and lean, red hair spilling over their shoulders like spilled wine, catching the bulb's glow in a fiery sheen. Their face stayed shadowed, features blurred, but their presence pressed down on the room—quiet, commanding.
"Leave Monkey D. Luffy to me."
From the voice, this one was clearly a male.
Hattori cooed nervously, head bobbing, feathers ruffling. "Coo~ And the rest?" the pigeon chirped, breaking the silence.
"Stick to your orders."
The bulb buzzed as he vanished, shadows swallowing their silhouette. Kaku shifted, glancing at Lucci. "Who was that?" he muttered, brow creasing. Lucci didn't reply, just stared at the empty doorway, fingers drumming once on the table.
Finally, he said. "Someone powerful."
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