The air on the *Oro Jackson* tasted of salt and secrets. Under a bruised twilight sky, Buggy leaned against the forecastle rail, his blue hair a stark flag against the darkening sea. Shanks found him there, a silhouette carved from restless ambition.
"There you are," Shanks said, his voice light, but his eyes were sharp. "You've been quiet since the party. Planning your next big score?"
Buggy didn't turn. "Something like that. A man's got to think about his future, Shanks. Can't sail in another man's shadow forever."
"Leaving?" Shanks moved to stand beside him, the casual question hanging between them like a blade.
"Maybe. Roger's dream… it's not mine. I want my own legend. Gold, treasure, a crew that fears my name." Buggy finally looked at him, a smirk playing on his lips. "What about you, little brother? Still dreaming of adventures and singing songs?"
Shanks' smile was genuine, infuriatingly so. "I'll find a crew. We'll sail the world, free as the wind. See all the wonders."
A harsh, mocking laugh burst from Buggy. "You're too soft, Shanks! Too naive! The Grand Line will eat a dreamer like you alive. If you weren't so damn sentimental, I'd consider taking you with me. You've got spirit, I'll give you that."
Shanks' smile didn't falter, but his gaze hardened. "Our roads are different, Buggy. You chase fortune. I chase freedom. If our paths cross on these seas…"
"We'll fight," Buggy finished, the word a solemn vow. "To the end."
The tension crackled, a silent understanding forged in the space between them. It was Shanks who broke it, his tone shifting. "The party tonight… it wasn't just for the sake of it. We found something. A Devil Fruit."
Buggy's heart gave a violent thud against his ribs. *A Devil Fruit.*
"The Chop-Chop Fruit," Shanks continued, oblivious to the wildfire he'd just ignited in Buggy's mind. "They say it lets you split your body apart, make yourself immune to slashing attacks. Worth a king's ransom to the right buyer… or an empire to the one who eats it."
An empire. The word echoed in Buggy's skull, drowning out the crash of the waves. A plan, perfect and terrible, crystallized in an instant. He would not eat it. He would *sell* it. His ticket to everything.
***
The next morning, under the bright, judging sun, Buggy stood before the gathered crew. In his hand was a gaudy, wax-replica fruit he'd crafted in the dead of night. The real one was hidden away, a cool, promising weight in his secret locker.
"For the future!" Buggy declared, and with a theatrical grimace, he bit into the fake. He chewed, swallowed, and spread his arms. "Nothing! See? Devil Fruits are just fairy tales for fools!"
The crew roared with laughter, dismissing the myths. Buggy's chest swelled with triumph. The con was perfect.
That night, with a sack containing the real Devil Fruit and a stolen map to a rumored treasure trove, Buggy crept toward the ship's longboat. Freedom was a few feet away.
"Going for a midnight swim?"
Buggy froze. Shanks. Leaning casually in a doorway, illuminated by a sliver of deck light.
Panic seized him. In a desperate, clumsy motion, he shoved the Devil Fruit into his mouth and thrust the map inside his jacket. He turned, cheeks bulging, trying to mumble an excuse.
Shanks just raised a brow, that infuriating, knowing look on his face. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets." He waved a hand and walked away, whistling.
Buggy slumped against the gunwale, spitting the precious fruit back into his hand. He let out a shuddering sigh of relief. *So close—*
"Forgot to say good luck."
Shanks' voice was right behind his ear.
Buggy jolted. A scream of pure, startled fury erupted from his throat. And as he gasped in shock, the Devil Fruit, slick from his saliva, shot to the back of his mouth and *slid down his throat.*
He felt it. A cold, unnatural wrongness spreading from his gut. He clutched his neck, eyes wide with horror, turning to Shanks who looked back with innocent confusion.
"You—you idiot! Do you have any idea what you just made me do?!" Buggy screeched, his voice raw.
But Shanks wasn't looking at him. He was pointing past Buggy's shoulder, toward the sea. "Buggy… is that your map?"
A single piece of parchment, caught by a mischievous wind, was fluttering like a ghost over the ship's rail.
"NO!"
Every thought of the fruit vanished. The map! His future! Buggy didn't think—he *leapt*, a desperate, soaring dive over the side.
The night air rushed past him. Then the cold, black sea swallowed him whole.
And the stories became truth.
It wasn't just that he couldn't swim. It was as if the ocean itself had become his enemy. His limbs turned to stone. His strength bled away into the water. He was an anchor, dragging himself into the abyss, the map dissolving into darkness above him. *This is how I die*, he thought, terror a ice-cold vise around his heart. *Not in battle, not in glory. Drowned by my own greed.*
Above, on the deck, voices filtered down, confused. "Buggy? He's a great swimmer… why isn't he coming up?"
Then, a splash. A figure cutting through the water. Strong hands grabbed him, hauling him back toward the light he thought he'd lost.
***
In the present, aboard his own ship, Buggy finished his tale, his painted face a mask of simmering, decades-old rage. Luffy stared, then burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
"So Shanks saved you! That's great!"
*Great.* The word hung in the air.
A visible tremor ran through Buggy. The memory of choking on saltwater, of helplessness, of Shanks' pitying grip—it all collided with Luffy's beaming, oblivious face. The careful facade of the great Buggy-sama shattered.
His voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper that made the very deckboards seem to flinch. "You think… that was *great*?"
He rose slowly, his body beginning to quiver, then *separate*. His hands detached, floating. His torso split at the waist. A manic, unhinged grin spread across his face, wider and more terrifying than any he'd ever painted on.
"That moment… that humiliation… is the reason I am who I am today!" he shrieked, the sound tearing through the air. "And you… you carry his *hat*!"
Every floating piece of Buggy's body snapped into a combat stance, hovering around a core of pure, undiluted fury. He pointed a disembodied, trembling finger at the straw hat perched on Luffy's head.
"For twenty-two years, I've waited! Today, Straw Hat… today, I finally get my revenge on *him*—THROUGH YOU!"
The air itself seemed to sharpen. The Straw Hats tensed. Luffy's smile vanished, replaced by a look of fierce determination.
And as Buggy's pieces shot forward in a blizzard of slashing knives and murderous intent, his final, screaming promise echoed across the deck:
**"I'M GOING TO CUT THAT HAT—AND EVERYTHING UNDER IT—INTO A THOUSAND PIECES!"**