Impel Down, Level 5.5.
In this temporary stronghold transformed from Newkama Land, Bahr adjusted the black trench coat he had taken from some unlucky prison guard—finally freeing himself from the bloodstained prisoner uniform. The cuff brushed against the unhealed marks left by shackles on his wrist, sending a faint sting through him.
Leaning against the stone wall, his gaze swept over the two men sitting across from him. Crocodile was meticulously polishing his golden hook, the soft metallic scrape unnervingly loud in the silence. Jimbei sat with his eyes closed, meditating, his broad shoulders rising and falling slightly with each breath, as though he were fully aware of everything around him.
Straw Hat Boy had arrived right on schedule—just as in the original story, a step too late. After their escape, they had regrouped here to rest. The air still carried traces of the urgency from their flight.
Bahr was still somewhat dazed. He had just questioned Straw Hat Boy and finally understood the full picture.
As it turned out, just like in the original story, Straw Hat Boy had been sent flying by Kuma to Amazon Lily. The events that followed largely matched, with one key difference: Hancock had agreed to help Straw Hat Boy infiltrate Impel Down on the condition that they rescue Bahr.
Now, Bahr was certain he hadn't been overthinking things. The object of Hancock's infatuation wasn't Straw Hat Boy—it had shifted to him.
No wonder, back in Level 6, when Hancock was supposed to whisper into Ace's ear as per the original plot, she had deliberately stopped in front of his cell instead.
And no wonder, whenever she mentioned him, her tone carried a reverence that starkly contrasted with her usual arrogance—the way she uttered "Lord Bahr" so softly yet earnestly.
All these overlooked details now connected, forming a logical explanation.
Bahr was beginning to piece things together.
He and Hancock had never met before, so any talk of genuine affection was baseless. The only plausible link between them was his attack on the Celestial Dragons.
The Pirate Empress's hatred for the Celestial Dragons was bone-deep. Her past as an abducted slave had carved an undying loathing for those bubble-headed fools into her soul.
And his actions—assaulting and abducting Celestial Dragons—had spread across the seas. To Hancock, this was nothing short of delivering long-overdue vengeance on her behalf.
As for Straw Hat Boy, though he had also punched a Celestial Dragon, some things simply came down to timing.
Bahr had struck first. Perhaps it was this "pioneering" brutality that had perfectly triggered Hancock's twisted admiration—after all, in matters of hatred, latecomers could never compare to the one who threw the first punch.
The Pirate Empress, huh… A smirk curled at the corner of Bahr's lips. The thought was oddly thrilling.
"Hey." Crocodile suddenly stopped polishing his hook, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. "Have any of you heard of a guy named Uchiha Obito? Some masked man with a spiral pattern?"
Bahr's heart lurched. He looked up at Crocodile, his expression strange. "Why do you ask?"
Crocodile's fingers clenched around the golden hook, his knuckles whitening, suppressed fury churning in his eyes. "That bastard… had the nerve to call me trash."
His Adam's apple bobbed—clearly, the memory was eating at him.
Back in Alabasta, getting ambushed by that Uchiha Obito was bad enough, but the bastard just had to add those soul-crushing remarks—"Lost your spirit after being beaten by Whitebeard," "This trash is just small fry at best," "You're an embarrassment just by existing."
Those words pierced his heart like countless needles, making his teeth grind with fury every time he recalled them.
Bahr remained silent without responding. Who was this Uchiha Obito? Just a fake name he'd casually made up in Alabasta.
"Never heard of him," Jimbei opened his eyes and shook his head, his tone calm and unreadable.
"Impossible," Crocodile frowned deeply, his golden hook scraping a shallow mark into the stone floor, sparks flickering faintly. "With skills like his, there's no way he'd be unknown."
As he spoke, he suddenly turned to Bahr, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Do you know him?"
"No idea," Bahr replied impassively, slowly shaking his head while unconsciously rubbing the buttons of his trench coat.
Crocodile's eyelid twitched violently, clearly dissatisfied with this answer.
He clenched his golden hook until his knuckles turned white, the hatred in his voice almost tangible. "Better hope I never run into him again. Next time, I'll tear off that pretentious mask of his myself and show him who the real small fry is."
Watching Crocodile's gnashing teeth, Bahr's lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
The sheer intensity of his hatred—it was like he wanted to tear flesh from bone and drink blood. If he found out that the man before him was the very "Uchiha Obito," he'd probably lunge with that golden hook in the next second, ready to fight to the death.
Maybe... screw with this sand crocodile one more time? Save the trouble for later.
The thought had barely surfaced before Bahr suppressed it.
He glanced at the swirling sand around Crocodile. The man's aura was completely different from back in Alabasta—seemed like his time in Impel Down had toughened him up, turning him back into that "50-50" fighter who'd take on anyone.
Not that Bahr feared him. But right now, they were technically on the same side. If a fight broke out here, Jimbei and the others wouldn't just stand by, and even the Straw Hat Boy would probably jump in to meddle.
Not worth it.
Bahr withdrew his gaze, privately amused. Who'd have thought a random fake name from back then would make this former Seven Warlord of the Sea hold a grudge for so long?
This feud... ran deeper than expected.
Then, Bahr suddenly straightened up, brushing nonexistent dust off his trench coat before saying coolly, "I have some matters to attend to. I'll take my leave first."
Crocodile glanced up at him, spinning his golden hook idly, his tone as cold as ever. "Don't expect us to wait. Miss the ship, and you're on your own."
"No need to wait for me," Bahr waved dismissively.
Without the suppression of Sea Prism Stone Chains, the power of the Space Fruit meant nowhere could hold him. Leaving was the least of his concerns.
After leaving Level 5.5, the damp, rusty air of the prison corridors hit him, thick with the oppressive weight unique to the underground.
Bahr's figure flickered like a panther merging with shadows. Before the patrolling guard ahead could react, he'd already seized the man's throat and slammed him against the stone wall. The pulse beneath his palm made the guard go limp instantly.
After a few sharp interrogations, the soldier, his voice trembling, revealed the location of the weapons storage, the fear in his tone nearly grinding his teeth to dust.
Bahr quickly arrived at the stone chamber marked "Weapons Storage" and slipped inside. The moment he entered, a cold metallic gleam filled his vision. Rows of swords and blades were neatly arranged on weapon racks, their sheaths and hilts etched with intricate patterns that shimmered faintly under the dim torchlight, like slumbering beasts.
And in the most prominent position lay the unmistakable Black Sword Autumn Water.
The ancient scabbard bore the same familiar patterns, its imposing aura undiminished even in the dim light, as if radiating an innate, chilling intimidation.
Bahr stepped forward, his fingertips tracing the grooves of the scabbard—a sensation as familiar as if it had always been a part of him.
With a sudden grip on the hilt, a soft shing echoed as the blade left its sheath. The red serrated patterns along the steel glimmered in the faint light, reflecting the cold determination in his eyes. The air itself seemed to split as the blade cut through, carrying a force sharp enough to pierce armor, as though even the atmosphere had been cleaved apart.
"At least they had the sense not to lose it," he muttered with a low chuckle, his fingers curling around the familiar icy touch of the hilt, his gaze darkening.
Now that his weapon was back, it was time to settle the score—for the lashes, the beatings, all of it.
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