Okta Island wasn't a place for honeymoons—unless your idea of a honeymoon involved blood, broken bones, and shattered teeth. The island was famous not for its beautiful beaches—there were none—but for its gladiator arena, touted as the finest "entertainment" spot in West Blue, or to put it more honestly: a semi-legal slaughterhouse.
As La Fortuna slowly docked at the rickety wooden pier, the sounds of another world seemed to crash into them. Metal gongs clanged. Cheers mixed with cruel laughter. The crack of bones breaking echoed—perhaps from the arena, or perhaps just from someone slipping in the arena's filthy restroom.
Bastien was already standing at the bow, his eyes sparkling like a child entering a theme park for the first time.
"Whoa... look at that!" he shouted, pointing to a massive round building that looked like an unhealthy mix between an ancient fortress and a giant steamer pot. From the holes in the arena walls, clouds of dust, sweat, and who-knew-what-else rose into the sky. "This... this is the ultimate free-for-all paradise! I'm ready!"
Arthur shivered, tightening his grip on the mast. "I think... it looks more like hell with a ticket booth."
Ahead of them, a huge crimson banner lazily flapped in the wind, reading:
"OKTA GLADIATOR TOURNAMENT!"
"Open to: Pirates, Criminals, Revolutionaries, and Anyone Bored of Living!"
"Prize: 5 Million Berries + Title of HELL'S CHAMPION!"
Arthur read the banner with his mouth hanging open. "Hell's Champion? What's that... do they hand you a medal and throw you into a volcano afterward?!"
Bastien just laughed, clapping Arthur on the back. "As long as I get the prize first, I don't mind."
Without a second thought, Bastien leapt onto the dock, sprinting toward the registration booth like a man chasing festival discounts. He dug into his pocket, scribbling on the registration form with ridiculous enthusiasm.
Nara raised an eyebrow, watching Arthur. "You joining?"
Arthur opened his mouth, hesitant. "I... maybe..."
Nara quipped quickly, "Arthur, you even lost a duel against a broom yesterday while swabbing the deck."
Arthur scowled. "That broom played dirty! It jabbed me in the eye first!"
Nara clicked her tongue. "Excuses. If a broom can beat you, I think even earthworms in this arena will need an ambulance for you."
"Hey!" Arthur crossed his arms, face red. "I have potential, you know!"
"Potential to be the first casualty," Nara shot back mercilessly.
Meanwhile, Bastien returned, the folded form tucked into his pocket, his face glowing as if he had just won the lottery.
"I got contestant number 37! They said I'm fighting first thing tomorrow!" he said, nearly bouncing on his heels.
Arthur looked at him as if Bastien had just handed him a brochure for graveyard tours. "Seriously? You're way too excited for someone about to get hit with an axe the size of a door."
"I live for this," Bastien replied dramatically, clenching his fist to the sky.
"If you die, don't forget to will your revolver to me," Nara said casually.
The Grand Rusted Iron Arena truly lived up to its name. The old round building was coated in rust, patched steel, and decorations apparently installed by someone with a vendetta against public safety.
When Bastien entered the arena for his first match, the roar of thousands hit him like a tidal wave: screams, jeers, cheers, and betting calls faster than birdsong at dawn.
In the center of the arena, Bastien stood relaxed. One hand rested on his revolver, the other in his pocket. He wore a thin dark leather jacket, his hair tousled slightly by the breeze. His smile was mischievous, as if to say: "Come on, entertain me."
His first opponent appeared: Gorvan "Stone-Eater," a massive man with a gleaming bald head and a five-meter-long iron chain coiled around his body like a lazy serpent.
"One punch and you'll be mush," Gorvan growled in a deep voice.
Bastien only shrugged casually. "In that case, hope you enjoy being today's first meal."
Gong!
Gorvan roared and charged.
Bastien moved first. Pheww! The first bullet hit the ground right in front of Gorvan, kicking dust into his eyes.
Pheww! The second bullet struck the iron chain, sending it flying into the air.
Pheww! The third bullet whizzed through Gorvan's exposed shoulder, making the giant stagger and crash into the ground with a heavy thud.
"You little—" Gorvan tried to get up.
Pheww! The fourth shot erased that idea.
Gorvan collapsed. Round one was over before a single drop of blood had a chance to fall.
The crowd was stunned for a few seconds, then exploded into cheers and wild screams. An old lady even threw her handkerchief into the arena, yelling, "Marry my granddaughter!"
In the stands, Arthur and Nara watched with mixed expressions.
"He won!" Arthur jumped in excitement.
Nara crossed her arms, munching on rice crackers. "Yeah, yeah. But if he starts strutting around like a drunk rooster, I'll personally kick him into the pig-baboon lion pen."
Arthur shot her a look. "You're just jealous."
"I'm being realistic," Nara countered, pointing at the arena. "Realistic that we still need a living hero, not a flamboyant corpse."
While Bastien readied for his next fight, the La Fortuna crew was busy drafting a very long list of ship renovations.
"Extra cannons, hull repairs, a new engine room..." Juno scribbled furiously onto a wooden board.
"And an automatic coffee maker," Nara added, elbowing Arthur.
Arthur raised his hand high. "And a big bathtub! That tiny bucket traumatized my childhood!"
Nara rolled her eyes. "You're traumatized because you almost drowned in a bucket, you wimp."
Arthur flushed red. "That bucket was evil!"
Nara just facepalmed.
The Okta Tournament lasted three days. And while Bastien fought match after match, the name La Fortuna slowly began to carry more weight—armed with more steel, more cannons, and a lot more reasons not to be underestimated at sea.
The dust of Okta still floated in the air. Blood still dried on the arena's soil. But when all of this ended...
This ship—and this crew—would be reborn.