Somewhere far from known shipping lanes, a sleek black ship cut silently through the waves. Its hull gleamed darkly despite the overcast skies, its sails billowing with quiet grace. This was the Silent Orca, and it was entering a place few ships dared to go.
The sea ahead had turned strange—its surface a murky, chemical green that reflected little light. The air was heavy with mist, carrying a biting smell of rust and industrial decay. A quiet unease settled over the ship as it moved deeper into the region.
Twisted remnants of metal jutted from the water like skeletal fingers. Broken cranes, drifting pipes, shattered barrels, and the occasional half-submerged platform floated ominously by. The wind carried the faint creak of old machinery—like the ghosts of a forgotten industry still whispering to the world.
"This place feels cursed…" Usopp muttered, peering over the railing.
"Looks like some kind of abandoned industrial site," he added, narrowing his eyes. "A scrapyard at sea."
"Do you think anyone actually lives here?" Binko asked, gripping the edge of the ship.
"I doubt it," Sanji replied, flicking away a cigarette. "The water's too poisoned to fish. The air's heavy with metal fumes. You'd choke before you found anything to eat."
The others nodded grimly, the atmosphere weighing on them.
Just then, Hibari—positioned on lookout duty—shouted from the crow's nest, "Man overboard! Looks like a survivor, clinging to some wreckage!"
Immediately, the crew jumped into action. Galdino adjusted the sails while Kruz spun the helm, guiding the Orca toward a slowly drifting pile of rusted barrels lashed together with old ropes and netting.
As they drew closer, they saw the figure—a young boy, barely clinging to life, slumped across the makeshift raft. His body was filthy, his clothes little more than rags soaked in grease and soot.
Gin reached down, gripping the boy by the arm and hoisting him up with one smooth pull. The child collapsed onto the deck, coughing harshly, oily water leaking from his mouth.
His eyes fluttered open—hollow, sunken, yet sharp. Despite the hunger, despite the exhaustion, those eyes darted around, scanning the faces and surroundings like a feral animal.
"Please," he croaked, voice raw and cracked. "I haven't had real food in a week. Only soup… from the sea…"
Zino came closer, his usual calm presence tempered by the sight. He crouched, studying the boy in silence. The child was on the brink, yet something about him stood out. He didn't look like a common castaway. His gaze, his instincts—they were sharp, too sharp for someone this young.
Without a word, Zino gave Sanji a nod.
The cook disappeared into the galley and returned moments later with a steaming bowl of noodles and a bottle of fresh water. The scent of real food hit the boy like a shockwave. His eyes widened.
Before anyone could even offer a spoon, the boy lunged forward, using his bare hands to scoop the noodles into his mouth. He devoured it in seconds, slurping loudly, uncaring of manners or dignity. Between bites, he chugged the water like his life depended on it—because it did.
The crew watched in silence, some with pity, others with curiosity. No one spoke until the bowl was empty.
Only then did the boy pause, breathing hard. He looked up at them all, eyes still wary but no longer desperate.
"…Thank you," he murmured.
Zino stood slowly. "What's your name, kid?"
The boy hesitated, then answered softly. "…Sabi."
Zino exchanged a glance with Sanji, silently weighing the situation. Then he turned back to the boy. "What happened to you, Sabi? Why were you stranded out here?"
Sabi hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edge of his tattered shirt. "I... I was scavenging for dry goods," he said quietly. "Anything edible, really. But my luck's been bad. I haven't found anything to eat in over a week."
His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. Then, lifting his head, he looked at Zino with pleading eyes. "That food you gave me… Do you have more? Could I… maybe get some more?"
Sanji stepped forward. "You're still hungry?"
Sabi opened his mouth to say no, pride flickering in his eyes—but at that moment, his stomach let out a loud, miserable growl. His cheeks flushed, and without another word, he dropped to his knees in front of Zino.
"Please…" he said, his voice shaking. "My mother and my sister... they haven't eaten either. It's been a week. Please, if you have any food left—anything—we need it."
Sanji's expression darkened with concern. "A week without food? And there are women, too?"
He turned to Zino, his voice resolute. "Captain, we have to help them."
Kaya, who had been silently watching from behind also spoke up. "He's just a child. And if there's a mother and sister, they could be sick or worse. We really need to help them."
Several other crew members nodded in agreement, murmuring words of support.
Zino gave a small nod. He looked down at the boy. "Alright, Sabi. We'll help you. We'll bring food. But we need you to guide us. Can you take us to where you live?"
Sabi blinked in surprise. For a moment, his tough exterior cracked, replaced by disbelief. Slowly, a grim smile crept onto his face. "Okay. I'll take you there. But... you should know—the others in the settlement don't trust outsiders. If they see your ship, they might open fire."
"We'll take that risk," Zino said calmly. "Lead the way."
With that, the Silent Orca began following the boy's directions. Sabi stood at the bow, pointing out landmarks—sunken cranes, rusted towers, broken oil platforms—all half-submerged in the polluted sea. It became clear he was using these metallic remnants like markers in a crude map only locals would understand.
However, as they ventured deeper, the sea grew more treacherous. The water was cluttered with jagged scrap and collapsed structures, creating a natural barrier too risky for the ship to cross.
"We can't go any farther by ship," Kruz muttered from the helm. "Too many obstacles."
Zino stepped forward. "I'll go on foot. The rest of you stay here."
"I'm coming too," Sanji said, already slinging a backpack over his shoulder. "I'll bring enough food to last them at least a few days."
"I'll come as well," Kaya said, pulling on her satchel. "If they're weak or sick, they might need medical help."
Zino nodded. "Alright. Sanji, Kaya—you're with me."
Sanji quickly packed several meals: cooked rice, soup in thermos jars, broth and vegetables, all wrapped carefully for transport, while Kaya prepared a basic medical kit with bandages, just in case.
Once they were ready, Zino, Sanji, and Kaya followed closely behind Sabi, who led the way through the twisted wreckage of the sea. The boy moved with surprising agility, hopping across corroded metal beams and ducking beneath rusted pipes as if he had done this path a hundred times.
As they navigated through the polluted seascape, Sabi began to speak, his voice steady despite the eerie surroundings.
"This place is called Rust Belt Island," he explained. "It used to be a major manufacturing hub for the World Government. They built weapons and machines here—massive factories and steel mills that never stopped working."
Zino looked around at the broken, water-logged ruins. "Doesn't look like much now."
Sabi nodded grimly. "Yeah. After they got what they needed, they shut everything down and left. No jobs. No cleanup. Just... abandoned us. Now the whole place is sinking."
"Abandoned? Does the Government not care for the people living here?" Zino asked, his tone firm but curious.
"They don't care unless there's something in it for them," Sabi replied without hesitation. "We don't make them money anymore. So, to them, we don't exist."
Zino fell silent, his expression darkening as he considered the boy's words.
"What about your family?" Kaya asked gently. "Haven't you ever thought of leaving? Going somewhere safer?"
Sabi gave a small shrug. "We wouldn't know how to survive out there. None of us know how to sail, and even if we did, where would we go? Rust Belt's all we've ever known."
The conversation ended as the group reached the inner ruins of the island. Their journey grew more difficult—large, jagged slabs of metal formed unstable paths over oil-slick waters. They climbed up twisted ladders and ducked through broken frames of decaying structures.
Eventually, Sabi led them to the heart of the island: a massive warehouse that looked as though it had been stitched together from various factory parts. The air inside was damp and heavy, filled with the low groans of the structure as it continued to settle under its own weight. Faint yellow lights flickered from high overhead, illuminating makeshift defenses—harpoon guns and barbed wire aimed at the only visible entrance.
"We're here," Sabi whispered, pointing to a platform high above, nestled in the rafters of an old gantry crane. It was a "nest" made of salvaged shipping containers and rusted metal sheeting—clearly fortified to protect against intruders.
As they climbed up toward it, a voice called out from behind the tarp that served as a curtain. It was raspy, tired, and edged with suspicion.
"Sabi? Is that you? Are you alone? Did you find anything?"
Sabi stood tall and called back, "It's okay, Mom! I found some outsiders. They're pirates… but they gave me food!"
A moment later, the tarp was pulled aside. A thin woman stepped out, her clothes stained with grease and dust. Her wary eyes immediately locked onto the strangers. A little girl, no more than five years old, clung to her leg, peeking out with frightened curiosity.
"You're pirates?" the woman asked sharply, shielding her daughter behind her. "We heard the Government's been hiring pirates."
Zino raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "We're not with the Government. In fact, we just declared war on them at Enies Lobby. We're here to help."
Sanji opened his backpack and gently pulled out several food containers. He knelt, offering them up. "Here, ma'am. Fresh food. You and your daughter should eat."
The woman stared at the food, hesitation in her eyes. But the smell—warm broth, cooked rice, and real vegetables—overpowered her doubt.
"…Thank you," she whispered.
She took the meal with trembling hands. Her daughter followed eagerly, eyes lighting up with hope as they began to eat—carefully at first, then faster as hunger took over.
Watching them, Zino remained still, his expression unreadable—but inside, a quiet anger burned. Not at the woman, nor the place—but at the system that abandoned them.
Off to the side, Sabi watched the scene quietly. Though he had just eaten, the smell of Sanji's freshly prepared food still made his mouth water. His eyes lingered on the meals being devoured by his mother and little sister, but he didn't move, too respectful—or too cautious—to ask for more.
Zino noticed the boy's restraint. Without saying anything, he reached into his System Storage and pulled out a small tin of biscuits. The packaging was clean and preserved, far better than anything the boy had likely seen in weeks.
"Here," Zino said, handing it to him. "Eat this first."
Sabi's eyes widened. "Really? For me?" He took the tin carefully, as if afraid it might vanish. "Thank you, sir."
As Sabi began nibbling on the biscuits, Zino turned his focus to the environment. The air inside the warehouse was still thick with chemical fumes and metallic rot. Concentrating, Zino activated his air element, sending a current of purified wind through the enclosure.
The stench of rust and decay began to fade, replaced by clean, breathable air. It gave the place a strange, surreal feeling—almost like a sanctuary in the middle of a polluted hell.