Gojo reached the Sabaody Archipelago, and even from a distance, it looked incredibly lively. The scenery stretched out before him in layers of color and motion. Wanting a clearer view, Gojo removed his blindfold and took it all in—the bubbles drifting lazily into the air, catching the light as they rose.
It was a beautiful sight. Calm. Almost dreamlike.
Gojo thought,
Peaceful… if you ignore the noise.
The constant chatter, laughter, and movement of people broke that serenity, turning it into something far more chaotic up close.
He docked his ship and glanced at the number "20" carved into the trunk of the giant tree. After securing the ship, Gojo activated the alarm mechanism Iceburg had installed at his request. He needed it—he was alone, and once he left his ship, he would otherwise have to constantly monitor it with his Observation Haki to ensure no one tried to steal it.
This made things easier.
If anyone attempted to forcefully steer or move his ship, the mechanism would immediately fire a flare into the sky with a loud, sharp burst. That signal alone would be more than enough for Gojo, no matter where he was nearby, to locate and return in time.
That should be enough.
With everything set, Gojo stepped away from the dock and began walking through the archipelago, his gaze moving from place to place as he took in his surroundings. At the same time, his mind was already focused on his goal—finding a way to reach Fish-Man Island.
He needed information.
A tavern would be a good place to start.
With that in mind, Gojo adjusted his pace slightly and began roaming the area, blending into the lively crowd as he headed off in search of answers.
But he had barely gone 200 to 300 meters from the dock when, suddenly, a few men holding knives stepped into his path, spreading out and surrounding him.
Their movements were deliberate.
Predatory.
A few passersby slowed down at the sight, glancing over before quickly whispering among themselves.
"Oh… aren't those Bounty hunters?"
"It looks like they've caught a big fish."
One of them squinted, then his eyes widened slightly. "Oh, definitely. But they're in trouble… that person is Gojo."
Another scoffed, folding his arms. "They must be confident if they're going after him. They've definitely seen the newspaper—his bounty and all. If they're still attacking, then they must have something up their sleeves."
The murmurs spread.
Some believed the bounty hunters would succeed—they had numbers on their side, nearly ten of them, with a mix of blades and guns. Against a single man, no matter how infamous, it didn't seem impossible.
Others, the ones who had actually read about his feats… they stayed silent.
This won't end well for them.
Gojo glanced at the group now surrounding him—ten bounty hunters in total. His expression remained calm, almost indifferent, as if this interruption barely registered.
A faint breeze passed, rustling his clothes.
"What is it that you all want?" Gojo asked evenly. "I'm in no mood to fight."
For a brief moment, there was silence—then one of them stepped forward with a crooked grin.
"Gojo Satoru. Bounty of 500 million." He let out a short laugh, tilting his head. "The Marines must be really desperate… or blind, to put that kind of bounty on a young man like you."
He took another step closer, knife glinting faintly.
"Your age isn't even close to the number of teeth you'll have left when I'm finished with you."
Hearing the taunt, Gojo simply stood there. A faint smile crept onto his face as he spoke, calm and almost amused.
"It seems you're not going to leave." He tilted his head slightly. "Looks like we'll have to… talk."
As the last word left his lips, Gojo stretched his fingers—crunch, crunch—the sharp sound of his knuckles echoing faintly in the air.
The bounty hunters burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! Did you hear that? The kid thinks he's going to attack us!"
Their voices were loud, mocking—but beneath that carelessness, their grips tightened. Knives angled forward, guns subtly raised. Even in their disdain, they weren't foolish enough to completely lower their guard.
Good. At least they're not entirely stupid.
And then—
Gojo vanished.
In the next instant, he was already in front of them.
His index finger extended, precise and effortless, it drove forward and pierced straight through a bounty hunter's shoulder. The man didn't even register what had happened until the pain followed a heartbeat later.
"—?!"
Before anyone else could react, Gojo disappeared again.
A sharp crack split the air.
His palm connected with another bounty hunter's face in a loud, resounding slap, sending the man flying sideways. His body spun uncontrollably before crashing hard into a thick tree branch with a dull thud.
Leaves trembled. Bubbles nearby wobbled from the shock.
Gojo moved again—too fast to track—reappearing beside another and driving a punch straight into his gut. The impact folded the man instantly, lifting him slightly off the ground before he collapsed, gasping.
One step.
Another vanish.
Another strike.
To any onlooker, it barely looked like a fight.
It looked like a storm moving through a group of men.
Within moments, the space that had once been filled with laughter turned chaotic—shouts, cries, and the dull sounds of bodies hitting wood and ground echoed around.
And through it all, Gojo moved with effortless ease.
A calm expression. A faint smile.
As if he were simply… conversing.
A very one-sided conversation.
Where Gojo's fists were the only ones speaking.
Gojo then turned toward the onlookers, his gaze sweeping across them, calm but unmistakably sharp.
"Are you guys also interested in talking with me… and my fist?"
For a brief moment, silence hung in the air.
Then, almost instantly, the crowd broke apart. People stepped back, some turning away entirely, others hurrying off with lowered gazes, unwilling to attract even a fraction of his attention.
Good choice.
Gojo exhaled softly. He hadn't killed the bounty hunters—first of all, because he didn't want to cause a bigger ruckus here. Killing them would only draw more attention, possibly even the Marines. Though, considering the number of onlookers who had already recognized him, that attention might come regardless.
Still… it didn't matter much to him.
Without wasting time, Gojo walked over to the man who had mocked him earlier—the one who had spoken the most, the one who seemed to lead the group. The man was barely conscious, groaning faintly.
Gojo crouched down beside him, gripping his collar lightly and pulling him into a sitting position.
"It seems you're the leader of this group of bounty hunters."
The man flinched, his body stiff.
"So today," Gojo continued, his tone even, "as I said, I'm in no mood for fighting. And neither for killing."
A small pause.
"So let's leave it at my fist doing the talking."
The bounty hunter swallowed hard.
"You just need to tell me where I can find the best ship coating person. I want my ship coated—I'm heading to Fish-Man Island."
For a second, the man froze… then relief flooded his face.
I'll… live.
"Yes! Yes, I'll tell you immediately!" he said quickly, his voice shaky but eager. "There's a ship coater—very skilled. One of the best. He should be somewhere around Grove 13."
He hurried his words, afraid even a pause might change Gojo's mind.
"His name is Ray. You can find him at Shakky's Rip-Off Bar."
Gojo listened quietly.
The name of the bar sounded… questionable.
Rip-Off Bar? Seriously?
But he didn't dwell on it.
Right now, there was only one thing that mattered—finding this Ray and getting his ship coated.
He had asked, "Are you sure it's named Shakky's Rip-Off Bar? That sounds… odd."
The bounty hunter nodded quickly. "Yes, that's the name. You'll definitely find it at Grove 13."
"Grove 13… you mean those numbers?" Gojo asked, pointing toward the large "20" carved into the massive trunk.
"Yes," the man replied. "The groves are numbered from 1 to 79."
After getting his answer, Gojo gave a small nod and turned away.
He began roaming through the area, his pace unhurried. The lively market stretched out before him—rows of stalls, the scent of food drifting through the air, bubbles floating lazily above it all. Vendors called out, people laughed, dishes sizzled.
Gojo stopped here and there, sampling different cuisines, casually eating as he walked. There was no rush to find Ray. He had spent days out at sea—right now, what he needed more was to refresh his mind.
No point rushing everything.
At the very least, he could enjoy what the Sabaody Archipelago had to offer.
Time passed easily.
Eventually, at a small shop, Gojo bought himself a strawberry-flavored ice cream. The cool sweetness melted slowly as he walked back onto the road, casually licking it, his gaze wandering over the surroundings.
Then—
A loud voice cut through the air.
"World Nobles are coming!"
In an instant, everything changed.
The lively atmosphere shattered. People began to panic—some ran, others dropped to their knees on the sides of the road, heads lowered. The shift was immediate, almost suffocating.
"Tsk… where did these Celestial Dragons come from?" a pirate muttered nearby. "Our bad luck. Let's get out of here."
Without wasting another second, they turned and left.
Gojo, however, didn't move.
At the mention of Celestial Dragons—World Nobles—he paused, his steps halting as curiosity and a hint of anger flickered across his face. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the direction they were coming from.
And then he saw him.
A bloated man, walking forward with an air of absolute arrogance, a transparent bubble helmet covering his head. Around him were multiple men in black suits—World Government agents, clearly acting as his guards.
For a brief second, Gojo froze.
He..
The World Noble hadn't noticed him yet. Everyone around Gojo had already dropped to their knees, heads lowered. Someone beside him tugged urgently at his trousers.
"Kneel down! What are you doing? Kneel!"
But Gojo didn't respond.
His eyes remained fixed ahead.
As the Celestial Dragon walked, his gaze lazily drifted to the side—until it landed on a man kneeling nearby. The man's face was twisted in pain, his body trembling slightly. One of his legs was clearly injured, likely fractured, yet he was still forcing himself to kneel, gritting his teeth.
He didn't dare do otherwise.
Seeing this, the Celestial Dragon's expression twisted in displeasure.
"You dare make such a face while kneeling before me?" he said coldly. "It seems you are not very happy to kneel in front of me."
The injured man immediately lowered his head further, almost slamming it to the ground as he began kowtowing.
"Saint Jalmac… that is not that case. I am injured—my leg…"
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