The mountain slope had become a gallery of shattered stone and splintered trees. Dust hung in the air like a curtain between life and death. Marines huddled behind boulders, their white coats stained with dirt and sweat, their hands trembling around rifle stocks. They had been fighting for hours. The Red Hair flag still climbed toward the summit. And somewhere above the tree line, two snipers had found each other.
Zento Radias stood with his back against a granite outcropping, his pearl-white rifle Mayla pressed against his shoulder. His shaved head gleamed with sweat. His elaborate gold earrings fractured reflected sunlight. The sky-blue silk lining of his "Justice" coat billowed behind him like a theatrical cape.
He was smiling.
"Mayla, darling," he whispered to the rifle, "I do believe we have company."
Across the clearing, Amaru Valentine lounged against a fallen pine, his long Snakeneck draped lazily over a branch. His floral Hawaiian shirt—a garish pattern of pink flamingos and yellow orchids—flapped open in the mountain breeze. He chewed on a piece of sugarcane, his dark eyes half-closed, his pistols still holstered at his hips.
"Company?" Amaru's low, honeyed voice carried across the dust. "Sweetheart, I'm not company. I'm the entertainment."
Zento's vibrant green eyes sparkled. "Entertainment? Oh, darling, you wound me. I am the headliner."
He fired.
The bullet left Mayla's barrel with a crack that echoed off the rocks. A Sure Thing—guided by Kenbunshoku Haki and blessed by the Fortune-Fortune Fruit's probability manipulation. It curved around a boulder, ducked under a branch, and aimed straight for Amaru's chest.
Amaru didn't move.
His Observation Haki had read the bullet's path three seconds ago. He tilted his head—that long, serpentine neck swaying like a cobra considering a strike—and the bullet passed through the space where his collar had been.
"Nice shot," Amaru said, spitting out a piece of sugarcane. "But you telegraph. Left shoulder twitch before every trigger pull. I saw it on the second exchange."
Zento raised an eyebrow. "You've been counting exchanges?"
"I've been counting everything." Amaru drew Left Kiss and Right Kiss in a fluid motion, both pistols spinning around his fingers. "Your heart rate. Your breathing. The way you adjust your feather boa when you're nervous."
Zento's hand went to his rainbow-colored feather boa—orange and yellow today—and he caught himself.
"Oh, you are good." His smile widened. "Mayla, darling, I think we've found a worthy opponent."
He fired again.
This time, the bullet spiraled—a Rainbow Ricochet, its trajectory as unpredictable as a drunk butterfly. It struck a boulder, ricocheted to a tree, bounced to a rock, and came at Amaru from below.
Amaru's eyes closed.
His Observation Haki traced the bullet's path through the chaos of ricochets. He dropped into a backflip, his long neck coiling, and the bullet passed under his chin.
"That's two," Amaru said, landing in a crouch. "Your turn."
He fired.
Left Kiss spat a Haki-coated round. Right Kiss followed a heartbeat later. The bullets spiraled around each other—Cobra's Gambit—crossing and uncrossing like a double helix.
Zento did not dodge.
He closed his eyes and smiled.
"Fortune and Focus," he whispered.
The first bullet struck a loose rock, deflected into the second bullet, and both ricocheted into a tree trunk. The tree collapsed, blocking the path of a third bullet that Zento hadn't even seen coming.
Amaru's eyes widened. "Lucky."
Zento opened his eyes. "Luck is just skill I haven't explained yet, darling."
---
Behind them, a squad of Marines huddled behind a boulder.
Their captain—a young woman with a bandaged arm—peered over the rock and watched the duel. Her hands shook. Her breathing came in ragged gasps. Around her, her soldiers slumped against the stone, their faces pale, their eyes hollow.
"We're going to die here," one of them whispered.
The captain said nothing. She had been thinking the same thing.
Zento felt it before he saw it.
The despair. The exhaustion. The creeping certainty that the battle was lost. His Kenbunshoku Haki, attuned to emotions as much as intent, picked up the wave of hopelessness washing over the Marines behind him.
He lowered Mayla.
"Hold that thought, handsome," he called to Amaru. "I have an audience to attend to."
He turned his back on the sniper.
Amaru blinked. "Uh... are you serious?"
Zento ignored him. He walked toward the boulder where the Marines cowered, his heels clicking on the stone, his coat trailing behind him. He raised his arms wide, as if embracing the entire mountain.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and otherwise distinguished warriors," he announced, his theatrical voice carrying across the battlefield, "I sense a distinct lack of joy in this sector."
The Marines stared at him.
Zento closed his eyes. He inhaled. And then he glowed.
Rainbow light radiated from his body—waves of shimmering gold, magenta, and deep teal. Illusory flowers bloomed in the air around him. Butterflies made of pure positivity drifted toward the soldiers. Small rainbows arced between his outstretched fingers.
"Absolute Positivity," he declared.
The wave washed over the Marines.
The captain's hands stopped shaking. Her breathing steadied. The hollow look in her eyes filled with something warm. Around her, her soldiers straightened their backs, lifted their chins, and remembered why they had enlisted in the first place.
"We can do this," one of them said.
"Damn right we can," another agreed.
Zento turned back to Amaru, still smiling.
"Sorry about that. Where were we?"
Amaru stared at him, his sugarcane forgotten in his hand.
"You... you just... you healed their morale." He shook his head. "With rainbows."
"With hope, darling. There's a difference."
Amaru laughed—a low, warm chuckle that came from somewhere genuine.
"You know what? I like you." He holstered his pistols and raised his rifle, The Serpent's Fang, its stock carved like a coiled snake. "Let's finish this properly. One shot. Winner takes the flag."
Zento raised Mayla. "One shot. Loser buys the first round."
"Deal."
They aimed.
The world narrowed to two gun barrels, two pairs of eyes, two hearts beating in rhythm with the mountain wind.
Zento's Fortune and Focus gathered luck like a storm gathering clouds. He saw the path—the perfect path—the bullet that would curve around Amaru's guard and strike his shoulder, non-lethal but decisive.
Amaru's Observation Haki traced Zento's intent. He saw the shot before it was fired. He knew where it would go.
He smiled.
"Big Blind," he whispered.
He fired first.
The bullet screamed toward Zento's chest—but it was a feint. The real attack came from the ricochet off a boulder behind Zento, the bullet curving back toward his spine.
Zento's luck screamed at him to move.
He dropped.
Both bullets passed over him—one from the front, one from behind—and struck the boulder where the Marines had been hiding.
The rock exploded.
When the dust cleared, Zento lay on his back, Mayla still in his hands, his feather boa tangled around his neck. Amaru stood over him, The Serpent's Fang still smoking.
"One shot," Amaru said, grinning. "You missed."
"You cheated," Zento replied, grinning back. "That was two shots."
"I'm a gambler, darling. We don't play by the rules."
They stared at each other.
Then they both started laughing.
"Rematch," Zento said, climbing to his feet.
And somewhere above, the Red Hair flag climbed higher toward the summit.
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