The coastline of Racket Ring Island had become a war zone of splintered crates, exploded fake cannonballs, busted watchtower planks, and angry pirates slipping on paint they absolutely should have seen coming.
The crowd loved it.
They were screaming themselves hoarse from the stands, from broken railings, from gambling booths, and from the wreckage of old spectator platforms that looked one strong sneeze away from collapse.
At the center of the madness, the first round of the Davy Back Fight was reaching its final stretch.
The scoreboard had already been updated twice in dripping white paint:
Marauder Claw Pirates — 11 Points
Red-Haired Pirates — 19 Points
The announcer was nearly frothing at the mouth.
"WHAT A DISPLAY! WHAT A ROUND! THE NEWCOMERS AREN'T JUST KEEPING UP—THEY'RE DOMINATING!"
And they were.
The Iron Jackals, the favored round squad of the Marauder Claw Pirates, had entered the game with smug confidence and a well-practiced plan.
They used fake cannonballs to waste time.
Their navigator called target drift accurately.
Their chemist dusted cannon grips and crate lids with slippery powder.
Their acrobat taunted, distracted, and tried to keep attention where it didn't belong.
On paper?
It was smart.
In practice?
It was getting them embarrassed.
Near the half-collapsed watchtower by the eastern side of the arena, Giovanni landed in a spray of sand and broken planks, pink paint still streaked across one sleeve from earlier.
He looked ridiculous.
He did not care.
"Found another one!" he shouted, yanking a real cannonball out from under a hanging fishing net.
The Iron Jackals' acrobat dropped down from above and struck a pose on a broken beam with one hand over his chest and the other pointed dramatically at Giovanni.
"You're too late, pretty boy! The next target is ours!"
Giovanni looked up slowly.
"…You again."
The acrobat spun once, threw his arms wide, and smirked. "You should've surrendered your dignity when the pink paint hit you."
Giovanni hefted the cannonball under one arm.
"Counterpoint."
He kicked the support beam.
The beam snapped.
The acrobat's eyes widened.
Then the entire hanging structure shifted and dumped him into a concealed flour bomb hidden inside a fake cannonball crate below.
POOF.
A thick white cloud exploded into the air.
When it cleared, the acrobat stood there frozen in place, completely covered in flour from head to toe, blinking like his soul had just left and returned.
The crowd erupted.
Shanks, who was sprinting along the shallows at that exact moment with a cannonball under each arm, laughed so hard he nearly tripped.
"GIO! HE LOOKS AMAZING!"
Giovanni pointed dramatically at the flour-covered man.
"That's what happens when you overact!"
Lucky Roo barreled past them both a moment later carrying three real cannonballs stacked in his arms like they weighed no more than apples.
"Less talking!" he shouted through a grin. "More winning!"
At the shoreline cannon, Beckman had turned into the quiet engine of destruction.
He didn't waste words.
Didn't waste motion.
Didn't waste shots.
With Building Snake posted slightly above the coast on a broken ridge, tracking the drifting targets with narrowed eyes, the two of them had become the brain and trigger of the round.
"Target four is drifting left," Snake called. "But target six is opening cleaner!"
Beckman didn't even look up.
"Roo!"
The big pirate arrived with another heavy step, dropping the cannonballs beside him. "Here."
Beckman loaded one with smooth, practiced movements, wiped away another dusting of slippery powder from the grip, adjusted by the slightest angle—
And fired.
BOOM.
The cannon roared.
The shot tore over the water and smashed directly into Target 6.
The crowd lost its mind.
"SIX POINTS TO THE RED-HAIRED PIRATES!"
The scoreboard was updated in huge frantic numbers.
Marauder Claw Pirates — 11 Points Red-Haired Pirates — 25 Points
The announcer screamed so loudly his voice cracked halfway through the call.
"THEY'VE DONE IT! THE RED-HAIRED PIRATES WIN ROUND ONE!"
The crowd exploded into competing roars.
Some cheered because they loved an upset.
Some groaned because they'd just lost money.
Some laughed because the Iron Jackals were covered in paint, flour, and one of them still smelled like rotten seaweed from a stink-ball detonation.
On the Marauder Claw side, Captain Dorga's smile had visibly stiffened.
He didn't look shocked.
But he absolutely looked offended.
His precious opening-round specialists had just been run over by a smaller crew with better instincts, better teamwork, and worst of all, better vibes.
Shanks jumped onto a broken crate and threw both arms into the air.
"YES!"
Giovanni leapt up beside him, fist raised.
"TOO EASY!"
Lucky Roo laughed and clapped both of them on the back so hard they almost fell off the crate.
Beckman remained by the cannon, reloading it out of habit before realizing the round was over and finally exhaling smoke.
Building Snake made his way down from the ridge, looking just a little stunned.
"…That went better than expected."
Limejuice, from the sideline where he had been forced into the role of unwilling spectator, folded his arms and muttered, "No, that went exactly how chaos likes to go."
A short while later, both crews were called back to the central platform.
The announcer had regained enough of his voice to sound obnoxious again.
"AND NOW! AS CUSTOM DEMANDS! THE WINNING CREW MAY CLAIM THEIR PRIZE!"
The crowd leaned in.
Shanks and Giovanni leaned in further.
Dorga crossed his arms, jaw tight.
"Well?" he asked. "What do you want?"
Shanks answered instantly.
"A musician."
Giovanni answered at exactly the same time.
"A musician!"
Then both of them turned to each other with matching expressions of total certainty.
"See?" Shanks said.
"Exactly," Giovanni replied.
Beckman stepped forward and cut through the moment with all the warmth of a tax auditor.
"A doctor."
Shanks and Giovanni froze.
Then slowly turned toward him.
Shanks blinked. "What?"
Beckman took one drag from his cigarette.
"It would be smarter to get a doctor right now."
Giovanni frowned. "But a musician would be cooler."
"That's not the issue."
Shanks pointed toward the Marauder Claw crew. "Do you know how important atmosphere is on a pirate ship?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And infected wounds are more important."
Giovanni put a hand to his heart. "That's a very cruel sentence."
Beckman didn't move. "It's also correct."
Shanks and Giovanni exchanged a glance.
Then both of them turned back toward Beckman.
And made the same face.
Wide eyes.
Slight pout.
Full, shameless puppy-dog pressure.
Beckman stared at them in silence.
The crowd, somehow sensing the absurdity of what was happening, grew quiet just to watch.
Lucky Roo covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
Building Snake looked away out of second-hand embarrassment.
Limejuice whispered, "There is no way this works."
Shanks clasped his hands.
"Beckman…"
Giovanni mirrored him immediately.
"Please…"
Beckman's cigarette burned down by another inch.
His expression did not change.
"No."
The puppy eyes died instantly.
Giovanni pointed accusingly. "Your heart is dead."
"It is healthy enough to know we need a doctor."
Shanks groaned dramatically. "You are no fun."
"That is also healthy."
Dorga, from across the platform, was now openly irritated.
"Are you done deciding?"
Beckman answered before either of the other two could reopen the argument.
"We'll take a doctor."
Dorga snapped his fingers impatiently.
"Fine. Bring them."
From within the Marauder Claw ranks, several men were pushed forward.
Three looked like proper medical staff. Bags, gloves, and instruments at their waists. One looked terrified. One looked old. One looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
And then there was another.
A lean man standing slightly farther back.
Dirty-blonde hair tied into a small ponytail.
A stitched scar on the left side of his forehead.
An open coat exposing part of his chest.
Calm eyes.
Giovanni's gaze landed on him immediately.
"That one."
Shanks noticed. "Hm?"
Giovanni pointed.
"That doctor."
Shanks looked where he pointed.
"The one in the back?"
"Yeah."
"Why him?"
Giovanni shrugged slightly, though his eyes stayed fixed.
"Just a hunch."
That was enough.
Shanks grinned.
"I trust my best friend."
He pointed forward. "We want that doctor."
For the first time since the round ended, Dorga's expression genuinely cracked.
Only for a heartbeat.
But it was there.
Internally, the pirate captain was cursing.
'How the hell did he know?'
Because the man the Red-Haired Pirates had just picked—
Was Hongo.
His best doctor.
One of the most useful officers in his entire crew.
Dorga's jaw tightened, but the rules were the rules. A Davy Back Fight meant risking real losses.
The crowd howled in approval as Hongo stepped away from the Marauder Claw formation and toward the Red-Haired Pirates' side with calm professionalism, as if changing crews in the middle of a pirate game was simply part of the day's work.
Shanks waved cheerfully. "Welcome aboard!"
Hongo said nothing yet.
Beckman gave Giovanni one brief glance.
The boy immediately smirked.
"You're welcome."
Beckman sighed. "…That was a good hunch."
Giovanni's chest puffed up.
"I know."
The announcer was already back on his platform by then, practically vibrating from excitement.
He raised both arms.
"THE FIRST ROUND HAS BEEN CLAIMED!"
He pointed dramatically at the scoreboard, where a rough image of Hongo had already been painted beneath the Red-Haired Pirates' side.
"AND NOW…"
He spun.
The crowd shouted before he even got the words out.
"ROUND TWO!"
The announcer slammed one foot onto the platform and screamed like a man possessed:
"GROGGY RING GAUNTLET!"
The island answered him in a roar.
He pointed toward a giant circular arena built from old shipwreck metal and thick rope fastened together over a packed-earth pit.
It looked like someone had built a coliseum using only pirate wreckage and bad judgment.
"This is a three-on-three ring-out brawl!"
The crowd grew louder.
"Win by knocking all opponents out!"
He raised one finger.
"Throwing them out of bounds!"
A second finger.
"Or forcing surrender!"
He grinned so wide it looked painful.
"PICK YOUR FIGHTERS!"
And just like that, the next stage of the Davy Back Fight began.
---
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