Everyone turned toward the speaker.
It was a dark-skinned young man who had somehow wandered over and was now boldly sampling the persimmon wine from their barrel with a wooden cup.
Ardo glared at him.
"Hey! Who are you? You're freeloading off our food and drink and still acting picky?"
The young man showed no fear. Instead, he took another sip, smacked his lips thoughtfully, and shook his head.
"I'm serious. This wine is just average—too sweet. If you want truly good wine, you've got to try the Wine King we drink during the Sweet Wine Festival."
"Sweet Wine Festival?" someone asked.
"Yep, our island's annual celebration," the young man said, his eyes lighting up. "Besides that, we also have the Dried Persimmon Festival, the Persimmon Product Fair, the Persimmon Harvest Festival…"
"Good grief," Sami laughed. "You people are completely obsessed with persimmons."
"Can't help it. That's what our island produces." The young man shrugged. "And our persimmons aren't like other islands' either. We've got caramel-scented Honeyfire Persimmons, salty-sweet Sea Salt Persimmons, crisp Woodcore Persimmons…"
Sami swirled the wine in his wooden cup and cut him off.
"The Wine King you mentioned—where can we buy it?"
"You can't," the young man said, shaking his head while pointing toward the town center. "It's a title earned in competition. During the Sweet Wine Festival, dozens of wineries bring their best wine to compete. The one that wins gets called the Wine King. It's not a specific kind of wine—it's the champion's title."
"That's a shame," Cahelo sighed. "Looks like we won't get to taste it."
"What do you mean?" the young man grinned. "The festival starts in half a month!"
"Half a month…" Sami murmured thoughtfully.
Isaac leaned down and whispered into Sami's ear.
"Boss, Hans is practically falling apart from exhaustion. Let him rest a bit. Why don't we stay here for half a month? Let everyone relax."
Sami glanced toward the distant Swordfish, then looked at the eager faces around him.
He nodded.
"Alright. Once Hans gets enough sleep, pick two sharp guys from the navigation crew to assist him. Let him use the time to teach them how to predict weather and sail through extreme conditions."
He raised his cup slightly.
"We'll stay here and wait for the Sweet Wine Festival."
Half a month passed slowly under Bolse Island's pleasant autumn skies.
Hans slept for two full days before finally recovering. After that, he resigned himself to training the two young sailors chosen to assist him.
Every day he pointed at clouds, seabirds, and crude instruments, pouring out years of hard-earned navigation experience bit by bit.
The rest of the crew completely relaxed.
In the warm weather, wounds healed faster. Bandages were gradually removed, revealing sun-darkened skin glowing with healthy color.
The crew went ashore in small groups, using their Berries to buy new clothes and personal supplies, or spending time in taverns listening to locals boast about island life.
Gradually, they blended into the island's everyday rhythm.
Until finally—
The day of the Sweet Wine Festival arrived.
The entire harbor town seemed to ignite with excitement.
Temporary stalls lined both sides of the long streets. The air was filled with the roasted fragrance of grilled dried persimmons, the sugary sweetness of candied fruit, and the rich aroma of fermenting alcohol.
In the main square, dozens of competing wineries had arranged their booths in a circle.
Behind each stall stood confident brewers displaying their proudest creations.
At the center of the square stood a decorated platform where the island's elders and judges sat.
Even more eye-catching was the tasting area along the edge of the square, cordoned off by red silk.
One hundred seats waited empty.
Those seats would be filled by lottery—lucky winners who would be allowed to judge the wines.
"I heard whoever gets picked can taste every wine for free!"
"Then what are we waiting for? Write your name down!"
"Pick me! Please pick me!"
Sami and his crew squeezed through the crowd, caught up in the pure festive atmosphere.
"The drawing begins—!"
An elder on the platform announced loudly.
A large wooden box was shaken, and names were drawn one by one.
"…Number 87, Isaac!"
"Number 99, Nostra Cahelo!"
Isaac froze for a moment, still in the middle of wrestling with a grilled fish.
The crew erupted in cheers of envy as the two were escorted toward the tasting area amid their companions' teasing.
One hundred lucky participants soon took their seats.
Long tables were arranged neatly, each person with dozens of delicate ceramic cups placed before them.
"Tasting begins—!"
At the command, the brewers personally poured wine from their jars.
Amber, golden-orange, and deep crimson liquids flowed into the cups one after another.
Isaac lifted a cup, sniffed carefully, then slowly drank it, narrowing his eyes to savor the flavor.
Cahelo, on the other hand, maintained an elegant posture. After each sip, he rinsed his mouth with water and jotted notes in a notebook like a true connoisseur.
Outside the tasting area, Sami and the rest of the crew were completely immersed in the festival.
They wandered from stall to stall, tasting all kinds of persimmon treats, watching street performers juggle and dance, and listening to spontaneous bands playing music.
Hiluluk and a few outgoing sailors even joined the locals' dance circle, clumsily stomping to the rhythm.
There were no pursuers.
No battles.
No life-or-death tension.
Only food, wine, music—and long-lost carefree laughter.
Warm sunlight rested on their shoulders while sea breezes carrying the sweet scent of persimmons brushed across their faces.
For everyone aboard the Swordfish, this was a rare moment of peace on the Grand Line.
Meanwhile—
Waters near Jaya Island.
A Marine warship had been quietly anchored far from the main route for fifteen days.
On deck, the soldiers' exhaustion was obvious.
Fresh water was strictly rationed. Fresh vegetables had run out three days ago.
Every meal now consisted of hard biscuits and salted fish.
Jaya's remote location—far from any Marine base—made resupply difficult.
Maintaining a half-month ambush here was a brutal test of both willpower and endurance.
Several sailors leaned weakly over the railing, staring longingly at the distant silhouette of Jaya Island.
There were supplies there.
Taverns.
Soft beds.
But it was also a lawless gray zone beyond the World Government's control—a paradise for outlaws.
Inside the bridge, Sengoku put down the Den Den Mushi he had just finished using for communication.
He rubbed his temples.
Even with his resilient body, two weeks of constant vigilance had left him fatigued.
"Commodore Sengoku?"
"Withdraw," Sengoku said, standing up.
"Withdraw? But sir, weren't we ordered to capture the Jellyfish Pirates if they came to Jaya? They're already far later than expected, but maybe—"
"No need to wait."
Sengoku interrupted him and walked to the sea chart.
He tapped Jaya's position, then traced a line toward another route.
"Headquarters just reported something. At an auction in Sabaody Archipelago, a slave appeared whose identity has been confirmed as Short-Legged Vena, former captain of the Dog Pirate Crew."
"Short-Legged Vena?!" the aide exclaimed. "Wasn't he… absorbed by the Jellyfish Pirates? Why would he appear at an auction house?"
"That's exactly the problem," Sengoku replied.
"A pirate crew that risked an armed prison break in Alabasta to rescue a companion… and a leader like Sami who shows exceptional talent in absorbing and organizing strong fighters… would he really sell someone like Vena, a powerful fighter with a Devil Fruit ability, so easily?"
He paused.
"Unless…"
The aide followed his reasoning and sucked in a breath.
"Unless they encountered a major disaster while sailing toward Jaya… an enemy they couldn't resist. Or perhaps they were ambushed by an even more cunning force. Vena being captured and sold at auction could mean only one thing…"
He hesitated.
"The Jellyfish Pirates may already have been destroyed."
"Exactly," Sengoku said.
"Based on that analysis, headquarters has already lowered the pursuit priority for the Jellyfish Pirates. Their final fate still requires confirmation, but whether they were annihilated or diverted onto another route, they will not be coming to Jaya."
"The ambush… has lost its meaning."
He turned to the officer.
"Transmit the order. Turn the ship around and head to the nearest Marine branch for resupply and rest."
The warship slowly turned its bow and sailed toward the nearest Marine base.
The soldiers on deck sighed in relief.
Yet they also felt an indescribable frustration.
They had waited half a month—only to end with such an anticlimactic conclusion.
What they would never know—
Was that at the exact moment they turned away…
Far away on Bolse Island, Sami was raising a cup of the championship wine—praised as a miracle by Isaac and Cahelo—and clinking it with every member of his crew.
Cheers echoed across the beach once more.
"To the Wine King!"
"To Bolse Island!"
"Cheers—!!!"
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