The duo, Gojo and Ryuken, let out exhausted sighs after their failed mission, now stranded without the means to sail.
"Then how the hell are we supposed to set sail if we don't find a navigator soon?" Ryuken grumbled.
Gojo smirked. "We'll manage for now. At least we don't have a bounty on our heads… yet."
"Keep calm and execute our plan stealthily," Gojo added, raising a finger. "Secure a navigator and stir up a little chaos along the way."
Ryuken's eyes gleamed. "Sounds fun!"
"Let's head out for a bit."
"Where to?"
"The casino! Hehe."
At dawn, the melodic chirping of birds perched atop the trees echoed through the neighborhood as the sun cast a golden-brown glow across the horizon.
The breeze was cool and gentle—a perfectly auspicious day to visit the casino and hit a massive jackpot.
At least, that was what played in Gojo's mind. Win big, become legendary.
But was luck truly on his side? Only time would tell.
After changing into casual attire, Gojo grabbed his stash of cash and slipped on his sunglasses.
Ryuken raised an eyebrow. "What's got you so pumped about the casino?"
Gojo grinned. "I just wanna win a few million to ease my mind."
Ryuken blinked. "Millions?"
"Yeah. Millions!"
"So, you're some kind of gambling prodigy?"
Gojo hesitated, replaying the question in his head. "…Probably."
"'Probably'?" Ryuken scoffed. "Well, guess we're leaving it to luck. Let's fucking go win the lottery."
"That's the spirit, Ryu." Gojo gave Ryuken's shoulder an enthusiastic slap before flashing a smirk.
They slid the door open and stepped outside, the morning sun bathing the streets in warm light as they set off toward their destination.
The trip to the casino was brief, filled with shared stories and raucous laughter that earned them suspicious glares from passersby.
Moreover, Ryuken's sword wasn't anything extraordinary… yet. It wasn't one of the legendary 21 Great Grade blades, just an ordinary weapon he'd saved up for through countless part-time jobs.
He carried it slung over his shoulder—[A/N: Similar to how Trafalgar Law carries his sword known as the Kikoku]—its large, cross-patterned sheath and furry guard drawing curious stares.
While whispers followed them, Gojo paid no mind to the murmurs, even as he casually flaunted his hefty bag of money.
Then again, who in their right mind would dare rob Satoru Gojo in broad daylight in East Blue seeing him carrying a stash of money?
After some wandering, they stopped at a local shop for Coca-Cola before resuming their journey.
Gojo sipped his drink, trailing behind Ryuken, who led the way with an odd, exaggerated stride—arms swinging, legs stretching unnaturally.
With a satisfied sigh, Gojo downed the last of his cola, crushed the bottle, and tossed it aside.
Then, in the distance, the casino came into view.
The duo exchanged smirks before breaking into a sprint, racing toward their desired destination.
"So… this is it?"
Their eyes widened in disbelief as they stood before the casino's grand entrance. Towering above them, an intricately carved serpent statue loomed, its scales shimmering under a halo of rainbow lights.
Fresh floral arrangements flanked the doorway, their vibrant hues contrasting against the building's opulent façade. Two impeccably dressed doormen stood sentinel, greeting each guest with practiced smiles.
As the duo ascended the marble steps, the men crossed their arms, blocking their path with a courteous yet firm gesture.
"Huh?"
"Welcome, gentlemen, to the finest casino in all of East Blue." Their voices resonated with rehearsed grandeur. "Welcome to La Plymouth—where fortune favors the bold, and luck reigns supreme." With a synchronized bow, they swept the doors open, ushering the pair inside.
"...Thanks."
Stepping into the gilded elevator, they ascended in silence, the soft hum of machinery the only sound between them.
Tink!
A delicate chime announced their arrival at the highest floor. The doors parted smoothly, unveiling chaos draped in luxury.
The moment they stepped out, their breaths caught.
Gamblers swarmed every corner—high rollers draped in silk, desperate souls clutching their last chips, and everything in between. The elevator doors slid shut behind them, sealing them inside a world where money breathed and dreams shattered.
Golden chandeliers rained light onto polished marble, their reflections dancing across velvet-draped walls. The air thrummed with energy—laughter, the clatter of dice, the crisp shuffle of cards. Crystal glasses clinked in toasts, while the occasional roar of victory or groan of defeat punctuated the symphony of chance.
Gojo's grip tightened on his bag of cash.
Unveiling a kingdom of opulence.
At Diamond Royale Poker, players masked their calls behind practiced smirks. Blackjack Noir dealers moved with mechanical precision, their hands a blur of flicking wrists and turning cards. The Roulette Élite wheel spun, a hypnotic whirl of red and black, while Golden Baccarat tables watched fortunes flip with every revealed hand.
The Imperial Craps section erupted in cheers as dice defied odds. Sic Bo Prestige's jeweled tiles glittered under crystal cases, and the Fortune Wheel Deluxe turned with agonizing slowness, its arrow teasing unimaginable riches.
And everywhere—everywhere—the Royal Slots sang their siren song, reels spinning in a kaleidoscope of false promises.
"This really is a gambler's paradise," Ryuken muttered, swallowing hard.
Gojo's lips parted beneath his sunglasses, his pulse hammering. The opulence was intoxicating.
"This… is insane."
Adrenaline surged through him, prickling his skin with goosebumps. He wanted to conquer every table, outplay every opponent, own this gilded den of vice.
Around them, seasoned gamblers glanced their way—some amused, others sizing them up—before returning to their games. Champagne flutes tipped back, cigars smoldered in crystal ashtrays, and the room vibrated with the raw euphoria of wins and the hollow despair of losses.
Near the exit, a man in tattered sleeves was dragged out, his pleas drowned by the crowd's indifference. Another followed, stripped to his underwear, his face a mask of numb disbelief.
The first rule of gambling: Win endlessly, or lose everything—down to the last stitch of dignity.
They watched as another broke man was tossed into the hall, his debts etched into the pit boss's ledger.
Gojo's grin sharpened while Ryuken scoffed, eyeing the crowd.
"Sweet, sweet money."
"These amateurs don't stand a chance."
The gamblers exchanged hushed whispers and sly grins, their predatory instincts sharpening. The duo's wide-eyed reactions and the conspicuous sack of money marked them as fresh prey—naïve newcomers who had never felt the sting of a high-stakes loss.
A sleekly dressed hostess approached, extending a polished hand in greeting.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure. First time at La Plymouth?" She murmured, her voice dripping with practiced charm.
"Thanks. Mind giving us a tour?" Ryuken interjected before Gojo could speak—knowing full well his captain's impulsiveness would betray them instantly.
"My pleasure," she replied smoothly. "Right this way."
"Why can't we just start winning already?" Gojo grumbled, only for Ryuken to drive an elbow into his ribs.
"Could you try not to throw our entire fortune at these professional swindlers in the first five minutes?"
"Hah? What's that supposed to mean?" Gojo whined, his childish retort drawing amused stares from nearby players. The hostess's smile didn't waver.
"Infighting already? Delightful," the gamblers muttered amongst themselves.
The duo's "argument" lasted just long enough to sell the act before they composed themselves. The performance had been flawless.
As they wove through the casino's glittering labyrinth, the time for observation ended. Now, they would play—and vent their frustrations from their botched mission.
Whose idea was this gamble? Gojo's, naturally.
The clientele was a rogue's gallery of thugs, bandits, pirates, and even a few Marines lounging in the shadows.
'Marines, huh? Is this their idea of justice?'
Ryuken's lip curled as he leaned his sword against the table and joined Gojo at Blackjack Noir.
"Place your bets!"
Gojo slapped his cash onto the felt, his grin widening as the dealer slid him his first winning hand. The surrounding players exchanged knowing glances—let the mark taste victory early. Greed always follows.
Champagne materialized in Gojo's hand as the stakes climbed. Then, the trap sprung.
"You lose."
"Whatever. I've got plenty left," Gojo scoffed, patting the sack with forced bravado. His knuckles whitened around his glass.
"That's the spirit."
Ryuken, meanwhile, played the distracted fool, flirting with dealers and sipping champagne—blissfully "unaware" they'd walked into a den of wolves with their entire fortune on display.
Round after round, Gojo's losses mounted. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the reality set in: This wasn't luck. This was predation.
His gaze locked onto their last remaining stack of bills.
"So that's how it is."
Slowly, he removed his sunglasses. The room stilled as he pushed the entire stash forward.
The gamblers barely concealed their glee, matching the bet without hesitation.
Then—
"I win."
Silence.
The gamblers' faces twisted in disbelief. How? Their systems were foolproof. Their tricks, undetectable. Yet here stood this grinning idiot, stacking their chips.
"Cheating bastard!"
Chairs screeched as the players erupted, veins bulging like live wires. Hidden firearms cleared holsters in a synchronized snarl of metal.
"You've got nerve breaking house rules," one hissed, hammer cocking. "Let's educate these cheaters."