Meanwhile, back in Alabasta….the Alabastan sun beat down with a relentless, unforgiving heat, baking the desert sands and turning the temporary Marine encampment into an oven.
The air shimmered over rows of white tents, the only signs of life the slow, weary patrols of soldiers and the distant cry of a desert hawk.
The defeat at Rainbase had left a pall over the base, a collective shame that was almost as tangible as the dust clinging to their uniforms.
The crunch of wheels on sand broke the midday lethargy. A lone figure approached the perimeter on a bicycle, pedaling with a lazy, unhurried rhythm that seemed to defy the oppressive climate.
He was a giant of a man, draped in a white Marine Admiral's coat over a blue suit, an eye mask pushed up on his forehead, and a strange, fluffy hairstyle that defied gravity. He looked utterly out of place, like a glacier casually cycling through a desert.
The guards at the gate snapped to attention, their exhaustion forgotten in a surge of shock and reverence. They recognized him instantly. This was not just any Marine.
"Admiral, sir!" one stammered, saluting so sharply his arm trembled.
"At ease, you guys, just point me to Smoker's tent." The man, Admiral Aokiji, also known by his real name as Kuzan, gave a languid wave.
He was directed to a larger medical tent at the center of the camp. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and sweat. The scene he walked in on was one of frustrated tension.
The smoker was shirtless, lying on a cot, his massive torso a canvas of bandages. A fresh, horrific scar carved a path from his left shoulder down to his right hip, a raised, jagged line of ruined tissue that spoke of a blade wielded with monstrous force.
A young nurse was trying to re-bandage him, her hands shaking slightly, while Tashigi stood by, her face a mask of concern and lingering anger.
Smoker had apparently torn his previous bandages in a fit of pained agitation, and now he was gritting his teeth, his body rigid as the nurse tried to work around the terrible injury.
"Arara… you look pretty miserable, Smoker," Kuzan's deep, sleepy voice cut through the tense silence.
Everyone in the tent froze. Smoker's head snapped towards the entrance, his eyes widening a fraction before narrowing in a complex mix of relief and profound shame. He knew this man well, well enough to bypass formalities born from rank.
"Kuzan," Smoker grunted, the name sounding like a confession of his failure.
The nurse and Tashigi, however, were not on such familiar terms. They stiffened, their postures becoming ramrod straight.
"A-Admiral Aokiji, sir!" Tashigi managed, her voice tight with a mixture of awe and nervousness.
Kuzan gave a slow, acknowledging nod, his gaze never leaving the scar on Smoker's chest. He ambled further into the tent, his immense height making the space feel suddenly small.
"Was the Sea Scourge that terrible?" he asked, his tone casual.
"That he did this to you?"
A muscle in Smoker's jaw twitched. Shame burned in his gut. The memory was not of Ragnar's overwhelming presence, but of green hair, three swords, and a demonic aura. Despite having fought Ragnar before, Zoro's figure was deeply rooted in his memory.
To admit that he, a seasoned Marine and Logia user, had been taken down not once, but twice, by a pirate's subordinate… it was a humiliation that ate at him more than any physical wound.
"Yes," Smoker lied through gritted teeth, his voice dropping low. He stared at the canvas ceiling of the tent, unable to meet Kuzan's perceptive gaze. "He's… powerful. Unconventional."
It was a weak deflection, and everyone in the tent felt its fragility. Tashigi, ever literal-minded and incapable of such deceit, especially to an Admiral, blinked in confusion. Her loyalty to her captain warred with her inherent honesty.
"But… Smoker-san," she interjected, her brow furrowed, "wasn't it Roronoa Zoro who did this to you? In Loguetown was Vortex D. Ragnar, and then again here, it was Roronoa Zoro twice?"
The silence that followed was absolute and deafening. Smoker closed his eyes, a wave of pure, unadulterated helplessness washing over him.
He loved Tashigi's dedication, but her lack of tactical discretion in this moment was physically painful. The carefully constructed facade of having been bested by the infamous captain himself crumbled into dust, exposing the far more embarrassing truth.
Kuzan didn't react with mockery or anger. He let out a long, slow sigh, a puff of condensation forming in the hot air before his lips.
His lazy demeanor sharpened, his focus intensifying. He understood now. This wasn't just about a powerful new pirate, it was about a crew, a hierarchy of monsters where even the first mate could dismantle a Logia-using Marine captain with brutal efficiency.
"I see," Kuzan said simply. The two words carried the weight of a fully reassessed threat level.
He pulled up a stool, the furniture groaning under his weight, and sat beside Smoker's cot.
"Details, Smoker," he commanded, his voice losing its sleepiness, becoming the crisp, authoritative tone of a Marine Admiral.
"From the beginning. Don't leave anything out. Not your pride, not your assumptions. I need to know what we're dealing with."
Defeated and stripped of his last pretense, Smoker relented.
He spoke in a low, gravelly voice, recounting the first encounter with Ragnar in Loguetown, the shocking speed, the Haki-infused strike that had drawn first blood, then the sheer animalistic power of the three-sword style of Roronoa Zoro that had overwhelmed him before he could even properly process the threat.
Then he detailed the second, far more devastating encounter for him here in Alabasta.
He described Zoro's growth, the refined control, the named technique Santoryu Ogi: Sanzen Sekai that had carved this permanent reminder into his flesh, a technique that moved faster than his smoke could disperse, that struck with a concussive force that felt like being hit by a siege cannon.
He spoke of Ragnar only in passing, as a distant, observing presence, a commander who didn't need to lift a finger because his subordinate was more than capable of handling the local Marine authority.
The implication was clear, if the first mate was this powerful, what unimaginable terror did the captain represent?
Kuzan listened without interruption, his expression unreadable. When Smoker finished, the Admiral leaned back, stroking his chin.
"Roronoa Zoro… the Pirate Hunter. And this Ragnar," Kuzan mused.
"A crew that operates with this level of coordination and individual strength doesn't appear out of nowhere. They have a purpose. And from the sound of it, they're just getting started."
He stood up, the stool creaking in relief. "Alright. Don't worry about it anymore, Smoker. You focus on healing that body." He placed a hand on Smoker's shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture from the man known as the coldest of the Admirals. "I'll take care of them."
There was no bluster in the statement. No grand promise of vengeance. It was a simple, factual declaration, and that made it all the more terrifying. When Admiral Aokiji said he would "take care" of something, it meant the full, frozen might of the World Government was about to be brought to bear.
It meant bounties would skyrocket again, fleets would be mobilized, and the full, terrifying attention of a top-tier world power would be focused on a single target.
Smoker nodded, a grim sense of relief settling over him. He trusted Kuzan. He trusted his old friend's power, his sense of justice, and his ruthless efficiency.
The shame was still there, a cold stone in his gut, but it was now joined by the grim satisfaction of knowing that the Sea Scourge and its demonic swordsman would soon learn what it meant to attract the gaze of an Admiral.
As Kuzan turned and left the tent, the atmosphere lightened only slightly. Tashigi looked at her captain, finally understanding the depth of his shame. "I'm sorry, Smoker-san, I didn't-"
"Forget it, Tashigi," Smoker cut her off, his voice tired but firm. He stared at the tent flap swinging shut behind the Admiral. "Just… forget it."
Outside, Kuzan mounted his bicycle, his mind already working, analyzing the data. A captain with unknown but presumably immense power.
A first mate who could effortlessly defeat a Logia user. A crew that operated with chilling precision.
They weren't just another rookie crew to be crushed by the natural order. They were a symptom of a coming storm, a new breed of pirate that challenged the very foundations of Marine supremacy.
And Admiral Aokiji, the Lazy Justice, was now fully, and dangerously, awake. The hunt for the Sea Scourge had just escalated to a priority of the highest order.