Alabasta, "Dream City" Rain Dinners.
Under the relentless desert sun, Rain Dinners wasn't just a city; it was an oasis, a shimmering mirage of pleasure and prosperity that had sprung forth from the arid sands.
Under the unlikely joint governance of the former Warlord, Sir Crocodile, and the wise King Cobra, the city hadn't just recovered from its near-death experience; it had exploded into something almost unrecognizable.
Alabasta's development was, on the whole, comprehensive and moving in the right direction.
But Rain Dinners… Rain Dinners was different.
Thanks to the particular preferences of a certain influential, perpetually slacking Marine Captain, the entertainment sector here hadn't just flourished; it had become the pulsing, hedonistic heart of the entire nation.
Some might even call its growth "abnormal," a glittering, slightly scandalous jewel in Alabasta's crown.
The "Three Wonders of Alabasta"—the luxurious Hot Springs of Yuba, the colossal gold-drenched Gambling Palace of Rain Dinners itself, and the sophisticated, alluring Pleasure District of Alubarna—were now whispered about in ports across the Grand Line.
They were renowned far and wide, magnets drawing in countless tourists, merchants, pirates laying low, and thrill-seekers, all eager to lose themselves in the city's intoxicating embrace.
"Look at these melons!" A sun-darkened man, sweat beading on his brow despite the shade, hefted a honeydew the size of a small child's head.
He boasted proudly to his companion, his voice booming over the market din.
"Bigger than your skull, eh? One bite of this, I tell you, and it'll sweeten you right down to your soul!"
"Sweeten my soul? Cut the crap!" His companion, a wiry fellow with shrewd eyes, curled his lip in disdain.
"If you've got the guts, take that melon money and head to 'Rain Dinners.' Win big, my friend, and forget melons—you could be piling up gold bars like firewood!" He jerked his thumb towards a dazzling, multi-tiered building that dominated the city skyline, its golden facade shimmering in the heat haze.
It was the largest, most opulent casino in Alabasta, perhaps in the entire first half of the Grand Line: "Rain Dinners."
Every day, fortunes were won and lost within its gilded walls.
Hopeful souls poured in, chasing the intoxicating dream of striking it rich overnight, while others stumbled out, broken and penniless, their desert dreams turned to dust.
Inside, the walls weren't just painted gold; they were gold.
Chandeliers dripping with gemstones cast a glittering, almost blinding light.
The air was thick and heavy, a potent cocktail of expensive perfume, cheap sweat, cigar smoke, desperation, and the unmistakable smells of money and raw desire.
Around the countless gambling tables—dice, cards, roulette, bizarre games involving dung beetles—crowds jostled and shouted.
The crisp clatter of dice, the musical clinking of chips, the sudden, ecstatic cheers of winners, and the groaning sighs of losers wove together into a chaotic symphony, playing out the eternal tragedies and comedies of human greed.
High above the casino floor, fluttering slightly in the artificially cooled air, hung the flag of the "Triangle Syndicate"—the three-way alliance of Shichibukai.
It wasn't just decoration; it was a symbol of absolute, untouchable authority.
This place, built on sand and sin, had become a "lawless zone" in the truest sense, a place where even the Marines tread carefully, a place no sane person dared to challenge.
"You ever heard of the hot springs over in Yuba?" a merchant, face flushed red either from excitement or the free-flowing liquor, waved a thick wad of newly won Belly notes at his companion.
"Pure bliss, I tell you! One soak in those waters, and it feels like every ache, every worry just melts away!"
"No kidding!" The other merchant's eyes gleamed, already picturing himself submerged in steaming, mineral-rich water.
He rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"They say those springs are dug from deep underground, full of rare minerals! Even King Cobra himself can't stop raving about them!"
"Come on, then! After we've had our fill of the thrills here," the first merchant urged, already turning towards the exit, "we've gotta go unwind in Yuba. And after the hot springs… hehe… after the hot springs, we head straight for Alubarna!"
"Alubarna?" The second merchant leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I hear the ladies there are… something else. Not just beautiful, they say, but skilled in music, chess, calligraphy… and most importantly…" He winked suggestively.
"They're talented."
"Really? Or are you just blowing smoke up my…"
"Smoke? Why would I lie about something so sacred? Last time I was there, I nearly got drained dry… couldn't walk straight for a week!"
"Alright, alright! Say no more! Let's go! If we're late, the best ones will be booked!"
"Charge—!"
"Let's move!"
Scenes like this, fueled by newfound wealth and a desperate urge to live life to the fullest, played out daily in every corner of Alabasta.
.....
Sigh…
At the very top floor of the "Rain Dinners" casino, in an office that was more luxurious than most royal chambers, King Cobra massaged his temples wearily.
He was buried under a mountain of official documents, reports, and development proposals.
He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in days.
With Crocodile summoned away to Marine Headquarters for the Warlord meeting, all of Alabasta's administrative tasks, from managing the burgeoning economy to mediating disputes over water rights, had landed squarely back on his royal shoulders.
Normally, Crocodile handled the day-to-day grind from this very office.
Cobra had even relocated his own workspace here simply for convenience, a king working out of a casino—how times had changed.
He pushed himself away from the desk and walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
He gazed down at the bustling, glittering city below, watching the throngs of people lost in their pursuit of wealth and revelry.
Only then did the exhaustion on his face ease slightly, replaced by a complex mix of pride and apprehension.
Ever since Captain Mike had somehow "recruited" Crocodile (a story Cobra still found hard to believe), Alabasta's economy hadn't just recovered; it had skyrocketed.
The standard of living was rising daily.
Crime rates, outside the carefully managed chaos of the casino, were plummeting.
Everything was moving in the right direction.
His only headache was Crocodile himself.
Since leaving for Marineford, the man had vanished without a trace.
Not a single call, not a single update.
'Brother,' Cobra thought wryly, 'you're not just lounging around enjoying the Marine's hospitality, are you…?'
He shook his head. "Never mind. I need a break. I'll take a walk around Rain Dinners and clear my head."
With that, Cobra left the quiet solitude of his office and strode into the vibrant heart of the casino.
The moment he stepped through the ornate double doors, a deafening cacophony assaulted his senses—the rhythmic clatter of dice, the excited howls of gamblers winning big, the groans of those losing everything, all interwoven with loud, exotic melodies designed to heighten the senses and loosen the purse strings.
Cobra walked slowly along the plushly carpeted corridor, nodding politely to the guards and staff, observing the controlled chaos around him.
Just then, a familiar figure strode confidently through the main entrance.
The man was tall, imposing, with a thick cigar clamped between his teeth, his angular, scarred face partially obscured by swirls of expensive smoke. He wore his usual flamboyant, fur-lined coat despite the desert heat.
"Crocodile?!" Cobra exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
'Hadn't he gone to Marine Headquarters? How could he be back already?'
The gamblers and waitstaff nearby also noticed the newcomer, pausing their activities.
Respectful greetings rippled through the crowd.
"Sir Crocodile, you're back!"
"Welcome back, sir!"
The locals, especially, were delighted.
To them, despite his fearsome reputation, Crocodile had become something of a guardian deity, the unlikely architect of their newfound prosperity.
"You're back?" Cobra approached, scrutinizing the Warlord closely.
Something felt… off.
The way he carried himself, the look in his eyes…
"Of course, Cobra. How could I, the guardian of Alabasta, stay away for too long?" the figure replied with a wide grin, clapping Cobra jovially on the shoulder.
But his voice… it sounded oddly high-pitched, lacking its usual gravelly menace.
"..." Cobra stared for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head helplessly.
"Bon Clay. Stop fooling around."
"Oh dear! Was I discovered already?" 'Crocodile' gasped dramatically, swiping his left hand across his face.
In an instant, the scarred, menacing features melted away, replaced by the flamboyant, cross-dressing visage of Bentham, also known as Mr. 2, Bon Clay.
"But my transformations are supposed to be flawless, you know! How did you know?"
Cobra allowed himself a small smile.
"Because… Brother Crocodile would never call me by my name. He'd only ever call me 'Old Cobra.'"
Just then, a deep, resonant voice, tinged with a magnetic richness and quiet authority, came from nearby.
"Crocodile…?"
A tall figure, who had been sitting quietly at a nearby dice table, slowly rose to his feet.
He held a simple dice cup in one hand and leaned lightly on a shikomizue, a sword hidden within his cane, which tapped softly against the marble floor.
He had short, neatly combed black hair and a simple mustache framing his mouth.
An X-shaped scar stretched prominently from the left side of his forehead down across both eyes.
He wore a light purple kimono tied with a dark obi, a simple scarf around his neck, and plain wooden sandals. He moved with a quiet grace, yet projected an aura of immense, restrained power.
It was Issho, the man who would one day be known as Admiral Fujitora.
"Are you two discussing Sir Crocodile, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea?" Issho asked politely.
He slowly opened his eyes, revealing pure white, sightless sclera that gleamed eerily under the casino's dazzling lights.
Yet, his tone remained perfectly calm, almost gentle.
Using his Observation Haki, he had already sensed the regal bearing of the man standing before him—likely Alabasta's "Wise King," Cobra.
"Uh…" Cobra hesitated, momentarily intimidated by the blind man's intense presence.
"Yo—!" Bon Clay, however, had no such reservations.
Seeing a potential threat to the King, he instantly snapped into a protective stance in front of Cobra, knees slightly bent, hands poised in a graceful, yet deadly, ballet pose.
One wrong move, and Okama Kenpo would be swiftly and flamboyantly served.
"My apologies. I mean no harm," Issho said, giving a slight, courteous bow.
"I am merely a newcomer to this city, admiring its exceptional prosperity." His sightless eyes seemed to scan the bustling casino floor.
"The people here seem to live very well, quite contrary to the rumors I heard of Alabasta suffering from a severe drought."
He turned his head slightly, as if listening to the conversations around them.
"During my time here, I have heard many stories about Crocodile. They say he is not only a Warlord but also the guardian deity of this city, deeply beloved by its people." He tilted his head, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
"But… aren't the Warlords merely lapdogs of the World Government? Tools used to maintain their corrupt system?"
His voice was genuinely puzzled.
"Why would such a man dedicate himself to protecting this city? It seems… contradictory."
"The Warlords?!"
Hearing Issho's dismissive, yet accurate, description, Cobra, who had once suffered terribly under that very system, could no longer hold back.
His recent experiences, his alliance with Mike, the hope he now felt for Alabasta's future—it all surged up within him.
"The Warlord system," Cobra declared, his voice ringing with a newfound, passionate conviction, "is EXCELLENT!!!"