Ace crouched in front of the iron cell, breath still uneven from the chaos he'd fled. Smoke and gunpowder clung to his clothes; adrenaline buzzed stubbornly through his veins. The rocking ship groaned beneath them, cutting steadily through the waves.
Inside the cell, the stranger watched him with narrowed, exhausted eyes—sharp, guarded, intelligent. The lantern above them swayed, throwing fractured light across his bruised face and unmistakably pineapple-shaped hair.
Ace grinned. "Well, pineapple-head, looks like we're roommates."
The man didn't return the grin. "Who are you?"
"Ace," he replied, brushing dust off his sleeves like this was a perfectly casual morning meet-and-greet. "Resident escape artist, recent ship thief, part-time circus hostage. Long story."
The man blinked. "…Clearly."
"And you?" Ace asked, tapping one of the bars with a knuckle. "Most people don't get premium accommodations like these unless they've seriously annoyed someone."
A quiet exhale—half annoyance, half resignation.
"Marco," he said. "And yes… I annoyed someone."
Ace leaned closer, interested. "Buggy?"
Marco shook his head. "Kuro."
Ace straightened, surprised. "Kuro locked you up? But I stole his ship."
"Not the smartest move," Marco murmured.
Ace puffed up defensively. "In my defense, he was busy getting diced by Buggy's floating torso."
Marco lifted an eyebrow. "I… don't want you to explain that."
Ace sat cross-legged on the floor, still peering into the cell like he was inspecting a rare animal. "So what'd he lock you up for?"
Marco hesitated—but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed he didn't have the energy to lie.
"Kuro had information I wanted. About an island and a map he once possessed." His voice dropped. "I tried to steal it from him. He caught me. I woke up in this cell."
"Yikes," Ace said bluntly.
Marco's lips twitched. "Yikes indeed."
Ace drummed his fingers on his knee, thinking. "Well, good news is, I have something that might make your day a little better."
He reached into his pocket.
Marco's posture sharpened instantly—the first sign of real interest he'd shown at all.
Ace pulled out the small, ancient bronze key he stole from Buggy's belt. The metal glinted dimly in the lantern light, intricate carvings wrapped around its neck.
Marco stared. "…Where did you get that?"
"Oh, it's Buggy's," Ace said with a shrug. "Stole it right off him while he was trying to rip my limbs off."
Marco's voice went flat. "Buggy the Clown. That Buggy."
"Yep. The one with detachable everything."
Marco rubbed his face with his shackled hands. "This sea is cursed."
"Anyway," Ace continued happily, "he said it opens a vault. Treasure, swords, Devil Fruits—some kind of ultra-secret stash. And apparently, the map to actually find the vault is on the island we're heading toward."
Marco slowly lowered his hands, eyes locked on the key. "You're chasing a Devil Fruit?"
"And a legendary sword," Ace added. "I mean, why pick one?"
"You're telling all this to someone you found in a cell," Marco said dryly.
Ace shrugged. "Well, you're not chained anymore."
Marco lifted his wrists pointedly. "Yes I am."
"Details," Ace said, grinning as he pulled a bobby pin from his pocket. "Hold still."
With a few clicks, the lock on Marco's wrist cuffs popped open. Then the shackles. Then the cell door itself, creaking as it swung outward for the first time in who-knows-how-long.
Marco stepped out, rubbing his wrists, gaze flicking between Ace, the key, and the open cell as if he were mentally cataloging everything he could exploit.
Ace caught that look and smirked. "Listen. I've been thinking…"
"That's concerning," Marco muttered.
"Join my crew!"
Marco froze. "Your what?"
"My crew." Ace gestured broadly around them. "This ship. You. Me. Boom—crew."
Marco looked around at the empty, battered cargo hold. "…There is no crew."
"There is now!" Ace declared. "You're the first mate."
Marco stared at him like he'd just declared himself king of the moon.
"You're unbelievable."
"And you're free," Ace countered, leaning back with a satisfied smile. "Seems like a good trade, yeah?"
Marco considered him for a long moment—calculating, weighing odds, measuring Ace the way a thief measures a lock.
Finally, a slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips.
"Alright," Marco said softly. "I'll join your 'crew.'"
Ace beamed.
Marco's eyes flicked once more to the key.
"…Just don't slow me down," he added.
Ace didn't notice the glint in the man's gaze—cold, quiet, cunning.
The glint of someone who had every intention of stealing the treasure out from under him.
Ace clapped Marco on the shoulder. "Welcome aboard, mate!"
Marco only smiled.
And for both of them, the real adventure was just beginning.
Back on the ruined island, dawn crept over devastation.
The once-grand circus tent—Buggy's pride, his stage, his playground—was nothing more than a half-collapsed carcass. Torn red-and-white fabric sagged like torn flesh. Bent poles jutted out at odd angles, casting long shadows across shattered crates, splintered stands, and the bodies of men who hadn't escaped.
Smoke curled lazily from deep fissures in the earth. The ground still steamed from cannon blasts. Seagulls circled cautiously overhead, drawn by the silence but unwilling to land just yet.
The wind swept through the ruins, catching the surviving circus banners—once bright, now blackened—and making them flutter weakly like dying breaths.
The place looked haunted.
And abandoned.
Almost.
Far beyond the crumpled tent, a ship pulled away from the coast, cutting through the fog like a phantom.
Its figurehead—a grinning clown—gleamed mockingly in the rising sun.
But the ship was not manned by the Buggy Pirates.
Black coats and sharp silhouettes lined the deck. The flag of the Black Cat Pirates snapped in the wind, replacing Buggy's emblem with ruthless efficiency.
On the bow stood Captain Kuro.
His usual precision was marred: coat torn in three places, one sleeve ripped completely off; glasses cracked across the left lens; smears of dirt and streaks of powdered rubble clinging to his usually immaculate appearance.
But he stood tall, spine straight as a blade, glasses glinting even through the damage.
The calm he exuded was unnatural after such chaos—cold, methodical, deadly.
He placed a hand over the railing, tapping it lightly with a gloved finger.
Just once.
Just enough to make the pirate nearest to him flinch.
"Captain," the pirate said, nervously adjusting his collar, "the battle is over. Casualties on both sides, but… we secured the ship."
Kuro did not look at him.
He stared out at the burning island shrinking behind them, gears turning behind his calculating eyes.
"Have you identified the one responsible?" Kuro asked quietly.
"T–The one who stole your ship… we don't have a name," the pirate stammered, "but Buggy's crew kept shouting something about a brat with a big mouth—They call him Redheart"
A soft, deadly hum left Kuro's throat.
He adjusted his cracked glasses with two fingers.
"Find him," Kuro murmured, voice so calm it chilled the crew. "Track him across every sea if you must. The brat who stole my ship will learn what true fear is."
"Aye, Captain!" the crew shouted, scrambling.
The chase had begun.
And he always got what he wanted.
Below deck, light filtered dimly through the grated ceiling, illuminating a battered iron cell. Shackles clinked faintly with the ship's sway.
Inside the cell, Buggy the Clown lay sprawled on the floor.
Half-conscious. Half-limbed. Fully humiliated.
Ace leaned over the ship's railing, squinting at the endless horizon. "So… where are we, exactly?"
Marco had taken over the wheel, posture relaxed, one hand resting lazily on the spokes. "We've left the East Blue," he said. "Currents and winds pushed us north during the night." He tilted his head to the pale, colder sunlight. "We've entered the North Blue."
Ace's eyes sparkled. "Which means the map is close!"
Marco nodded. "If we sail straight for—"
A cannonball slammed into the ocean beside them, rocking the ship violently.
Ace grabbed the rail to keep from falling. "WHAT THE—?!"
Another cannonball exploded against the aft deck, showering them with splinters.
Marco sighed as if mildly inconvenienced. "Problem number two. We should have taken down Kuro's flag."
"We WHAT?!"
Ace spun toward the mast—and sure enough, the Black Cat Pirates' flag still fluttered proudly.
"Oh, come ON!"
Across the water, a pirate ship was barreling toward them, guns blazing. At its bow stood a massive man with arms like tree trunks and a grin too wide to be sane. In his hand he held a wanted poster.
Kuro's face sneered on it.
Wanted: 16,000,000 Berries
The man roared over the waves, "THAT'S THE BLACK CAT PIRATE SHIP! MEN! SINK IT! THE CAPTAIN'S MINE!"
Ace panicked, sprinting in a circle like a headless chicken. "Marco—Marco—MARCO—they think we're Kuro's crew!"
Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Ace. Because you never took down the flag."
"You didn't take it down either!"
"I was chained to a wall when we departed."
"…Oh. Yeah. Good point."
Bullets tore through the sails.
Ace grabbed Marco by the shoulders. "What do we do?!"
Marco sighed again, rolling his neck. "First thing: stop screaming. Second—start running the cannons."
"What's the third thing?"
Marco cracked his knuckles and smiled with a calm, deadly edge.
"Try not to die before we get the map."
And with cannon fire lighting up the sky, the chase began.