The deck of the sloop is a monument to neglect. Ropes coil across the planks in tangled nests. A fishing net, torn and unrepaired, drapes over the railing like a discarded shroud. The smell of stale rum and unwashed bodies hangs in the air, thick enough to taste.
The occupants don't look up when the group boards.
One man—thin, wiry, with a scar that runs from his eyebrow to his jaw—continues shuffling a deck of cards. Another—massive, bald, with arms like tree trunks—takes a long pull from a bottle that might be rum or might be paint thinner. A third—young, nervous, with eyes that dart everywhere—glances up, then immediately looks back down.
Luffy is the first to speak.
He plants his feet on the deck, puffs out his chest, and proudly hooks a thumb toward himself as if proclaiming his own legend.
"I am the King of the Pirates!"
The card game stops.
The bald man lowers his bottle.
The nervous young man's eyes go wide.
Luffy continues, his voice brightening as he remembers something important. "We're going to save Uta!"
Law pinches the bridge of his nose. He slowly shakes his head, long resigned to the chaos that follows Monkey D. Luffy.
Marya, Atlas, Vesta, Eliane, Jannali, and Sanza stand in a loose semicircle behind him, blinking in collective bewilderment.
Eliane giggles. "You're funny."
Luffy opens his mouth—about to continue with more proclamations, more announcements, more Luffy—
Jannali whacks him across the back of the head.
The sound echoes across the deck. Luffy stumbles forward, rubbing his skull with both hands. He glares at her, eyes narrowed in outrage at the seemingly unprovoked blow.
"What did you do that for?!"
Jannali crosses her arms. Her headscarf shifts slightly, revealing a hint of her third eye before she adjusts it. "You're a bloody drongo!"
Marya steps forward, holding the flyer. Her calm, measured voice reflects years spent navigating chaos with grace.
"We're looking for the person who was handing these out."
The wiry man with the scar turns back to his card game. He points a thumb over his shoulder toward a door at the far end of the deck—a door that looks like it hasn't been opened in years, its hinges rusted, its handle wrapped in what appears to be electrical tape.
"Captain's in his quarters."
Atlas's ears twitch. His nub swishes. "And you're okay with us going in and..."
The wiry man shrugs. "Yeah. What's it to us?"
The group exchanges a confused look. Vesta's brow furrows. Eliane tilts her head. Sanza's eyebrows draw together in concentration.
Luffy opens his mouth—about to ask something, about to announce something, about to be Luffy—
Law jerks his head toward the door. "Let's go."
---
The door slams shut behind them.
Romano Armando's office is a monument to chaos. Stacks of paper rise from every available surface like fungal growths—flyers, posters, wanted bills, crumpled notes covered in illegible handwriting. Empty coffee cups litter the desk, the floor, the windowsill. The smell of stale caffeine and ink hangs in the air like a physical presence.
And at the center of it all, hunched over his desk with his back to the door, is Romano Armando himself.
He doesn't notice them at first. His pen scratches across a fresh sheet of paper, his shoulders hunched, his head bent at an angle that suggests either deep concentration or chronic spinal damage. He raises the flyer he has been working on and studies it with the pride of a man admiring his masterpiece.
Then he spins in his chair.
His eyes—bloodshot, ringed with dark circles, darting everywhere at once—land on the group. His pen clatters to the floor. His mouth opens.
Luffy announces, "I AM MONKEY D. LUFFY! I AM THE KING OF THE PIRATES! WHERE IS UTA!"
Marya glances at Law. "This is normal for him?"
Law groans. "Yes."
Luffy points at Romano with the intensity of someone convinced nothing matters more. "GIVE US UTA!"
Eliane giggles. Atlas holds Jannali back from slugging Luffy again.
Romano Armando blinks. His eyes—still darting, still scanning, still unable to settle—land on the flyer in Marya's hand. Recognition flickers across his sharp features.
"Oh! Okay, okay, you're here about the Diva auction!" He reaches for a massive cup of coffee on his desk—cold, judging by the lack of steam, but he doesn't care. He takes a long gulp, grimaces, and continues without missing a beat. "You must have one of my flyers. I've got the flyers, I've been up for three days printing them, well not three days, maybe two and a half, I lost count after the second pot of coffee, but the point is—what was the point? The flyers. The auction. Right."
Luffy replies, "YEAH! THAT'S RIGHT, UTA! GIVE HER BACK!"
Marya calmly walks forward. She places the flyer on the desk, then the locket beside it. The silver gleaming in the dim light, the triple clef dangling from its center.
"Where did you get this?"
Romano glances at the flyer. He reaches for his coffee again, takes another long gulp, and launches into another rapid-fire monologue.
"Okay, okay, so—the thing is—the thing is, the UTA thing, the clone, the Diva, whatever you want to call her—she's real. She's real and I have the flyers. I printed five thousand. Five thousand! Well, maybe four thousand, the printer jammed, but the point is—the auction is happening, Bootleg Island, and I—hey, are you listening? You look like you're not listening. I need you to listen. This is important. This is the most important thing I've ever—wait, what was I saying?"
He takes another gulp of coffee. Grimaces. Continues.
Jannali mutters under her breath, "Bloody hell. He's like a broken ticker stuck on repeat."
Marya's eyes narrow. Her voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. "Where?"
Romano puts his mug down. He leans back in his chair—or tries to. The chair creaks ominously, threatening to collapse.
"Where, you says. Where? You see, that is the thing. Wait—what is the thing? Oh yeah! His name. What was his name?"
He holds his chin. His eyes drift to the ceiling. His fingers drum against the arm of his chair—a rapid, uneven rhythm.
"Think it was... think it was... what was..."
He snaps his fingers.
"Right! Rosward Don J. Puth!"
Sanza perks up. His head swivels toward Marya, his heavy eyebrows rising.
"Rosward?"
Marya looks over her shoulder at him. "You know him?"
Sanza shakes his head—not a denial, but a correction. "Not him. But his last name sounds familiar."
Law cuts in, his voice weighted by years spent uncovering the world's darkest secrets. "That's because he's one of the founding families of the Celestial Dragons."
Atlas's ears flatten against his skull. "I thought the Celestial Dragons were gone."
Law shakes his head. "Mary Geoise is gone. The Celestial Dragons have lost the power of the World Government. But they still live. Just not in Mary Geoise."
Sanza perks up. His eyes—wide, hopeful—fix on Law. "Really?"
Law nods.
Sanza looks at Marya. His voice is smaller now, younger. "That means..."
Marya nods. Her expression softens—just slightly, just for a moment. "Yes. Don't worry. You'll see them again."
Sanza smiles. The expression transforms his face—the heavy eyebrows lifting, the permanent scowl fading, replaced by something bright and young and hopeful.
Luffy snaps, "HEY!"
Marya nods. Right. She turns back to Romano Armando, her voice sharpening.
"Where is the auction? And where can we find this Rosward Don J. Puth?"
Romano stands. His chair creaks with relief. He spreads his hands—a gesture that might be accommodating or might be theatrical, depending on how you read it.
"That's the question! And it's a good one! But you know, I can't just tell anyone. There's a cost, you know. Information has a cost."
Marya raises an eyebrow.
"You're right."
Romano grins. It's a grin that says I've got the upper hand—a grin that says I'm in control—a grin that says I've finally found someone who will take me seriously.
Marya's eyes flash red.
It's not a dramatic transformation. There's no explosion, no shockwave, no cinematic burst of energy. Just a flicker—a pulse of Conqueror's Haki, controlled and measured, released with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel rather than a butcher's cleaver.
But it's enough.
Romano Armando's eyes roll to the back of his head. His knees buckle. He collapses to the floor with a thud, his coffee cup shattering beside him, cold brown liquid pooling across the papers scattered across his desk.
Luffy yells, "HEY! WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR!"
Marya turns. She points a thumb over her shoulder at the unconscious promoter.
"Atlas. Bring him. He can ride along in the brig."
Atlas nods, his nub swishing with satisfaction. He strides forward, hoisting Romano over his shoulder with the ease of carrying a sack of potatoes.
Jannali asks, "Where to, then?"
Marya replies, her voice steady. "He can tell Shanks all about what it costs."
Law grins. The expression transforms his tattooed features—sharp, predatory, satisfied.
"The Red Hair Emperor."
Luffy jolts.
His entire body goes rigid. His eyes widen. His mouth opens—then closes—then opens again.
"Shanks?"
Marya nods. "Yeah. We need him for this. He's the only one who can convince Uta to leave."
Luffy swallows. His throat bobs. His expression shifts through a dozen emotions in the space of a heartbeat—surprise, confusion, something that might be fear, something that might be hope.
Eliane jumps up and down, clapping her hands. Her silver ponytail bounces with each leap, and her blue eyes sparkle with excitement.
"We get to see Mr. Red Hair again!"