Go in?
Or don't?
Two choices—yet Smoker found himself stuck in place, sinking into silence.
He could feel it. Either decision would leave a scar on his life.
The smell of blood drifted in on the wind—thick, pungent, clinging to the back of his throat.
His expression darkened.
How many people died in there?
He didn't have an answer.
But one thing was certain: a terrifying battle had erupted inside that building, and the aftermath had turned the surrounding streets into a ruin.
"A monster… is waiting inside for me."
Smoker's intuition screamed it at him.
He stared at the broken structure for a long time, unable to force his body to move.
Then—
he clenched his teeth.
He exhaled hard and stepped forward.
That single step felt like pushing a mountain.
It took everything he had.
"Send a ten-man squad," Smoker ordered, voice hoarse with resolve. "You're coming in with me. We're checking it ourselves."
Saying that felt like burning through every last bit of courage in his chest.
He wasn't ignorant.
He knew what waited inside was dangerous.
But he was a Marine.
And a Marine couldn't retreat here.
Not in front of his men.
Even if it was a dragon's den or a tiger's lair—
he had to enter.
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel!"
The lieutenant hurried to assemble men.
Soon, ten Marine elites lined up behind Smoker. With the lieutenant and Smoker included, twelve of them prepared to go in.
The rest stayed outside, tightening the encirclement and sealing the building like an iron cage.
"Move."
Smoker led the way.
His posture was straight—stubborn, proud, unyielding.
The lieutenant waved the squad forward. "Keep up! Stay close!"
They advanced.
Their boots crunched over shattered tiles, and every step made the ruined floor complain.
Crack. Crack.
The ground was already broken; under their weight it crumbled further, collapsing into gravel and dust that scattered with the breeze.
"Careful," Smoker warned at the door.
Then he reached out—
and pushed.
Creeeak—
The door swung open.
The sound echoed in Smoker's ears like a warning bell.
His nerves snapped tight. Goosebumps rose on his skin. A chill ran from his spine down to his heels.
And then—
he saw it.
The moment the door opened, the inside revealed itself fully.
A mountain of corpses.
A sea of blood.
Bodies lay everywhere, thrown in heaps and sprawled across the hall, blood trails smeared over shattered flooring like someone had painted the place red.
The stench hit them like a wave.
Thick. Hot. Violent.
A tide of blood smell that had been trapped inside finally found an exit—rushing out and flooding over the Marines.
"Ugh—!"
A few Marines vomited on the spot, faces turning sickly pale.
Even Smoker—steady as he was—had his expression sink.
He stared across the hall, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
There were too many corpses.
So many that at first glance, it was impossible to count.
"So… so many…" the lieutenant whispered, voice shaking.
This was his first time seeing something like this.
His legs felt weak.
This wasn't a crime scene.
It was a slaughterhouse.
No—worse.
Even a mass grave couldn't compare.
A graveyard held cold bodies.
These… these felt fresh. The blood still carried warmth, like it hadn't finished leaving the dead.
"What happened here…?" the lieutenant breathed, instinctively taking a step back.
This place was hell.
Smoker tightened his grip on the seastone weapon.
As if holding it could stabilize his nerves.
"So I was right," he murmured. "A lot of people died."
The severity was beyond what he could manage—
and beyond what Loguetown should ever contain.
But the corpses weren't what dragged Smoker's gaze the hardest.
It was the figure at the center.
Ahead—
a boy in white.
Not a stain on him.
Standing among the corpses like the scene belonged to him.
The contrast was so violent it felt unreal.
Blood soaked the floor.
Bodies piled like debris.
And yet the boy's clothes were spotless—almost radiant against the gore, like a presence too clean for the world he stood in.
The hall fell silent again.
Oppressive.
Dead quiet.
Because in a room where everyone else had died—
only this boy remained alive.
That alone was wrong.
And stranger still—
he didn't look out of place at all.
Smoker stared at him, eyes narrow.
A strong instinct told him the truth:
Everything that happened here…
was tied to this boy.
There was no other explanation.
"Lieutenant Colonel…" the lieutenant whispered, throat dry. "He's not right."
"I know," Smoker replied.
No reminder needed.
In an environment like this, for someone to stand calmly in a corpse heap—without fear, without trembling—
that wasn't normal.
Not for a boy.
Not for anyone.
"I'm seriously suspecting…" Smoker said slowly, voice heavy. "Everything that happened here… is because of him."
"Maybe…"
"…he's the one who did it."
The lieutenant and the squad stiffened.
"What?!"
They stared at the white-clad boy, then at the mountains of corpses, the broken walls, the cracked earth.
A boy… did all this?
It didn't make sense.
It couldn't make sense.
There were hundreds of bodies here.
That meant—
this boy killed hundreds of people by himself?
And the most terrifying part—
he didn't have a scratch.
Not a tear in his clothes.
Not a speck of dust.
A person who slaughtered hundreds and looked like he'd just stepped out of a clean room…
How was that human?
"It's not simple…" the lieutenant thought, swallowing hard.
His eyes stayed locked on the boy, heart pounding.
Smoker's breathing slowed, but his mind burned.
"This era really has changed," he muttered.
"A boy who looks ordinary… and yet he's the center of this nightmare."
At the center of the corpse heap—
Ryukawa rolled his shoulder, smiling faintly.
"Gentlemen," he said lightly, as if greeting guests at a doorway instead of Marines walking into a massacre, "I've been waiting."
He'd just finished clearing everyone inside. His stamina had taken a hit, and he'd intended to leave—
but the Marines had arrived at the perfect time, sealing the building from the outside.
So he stayed.
Rested.
And waited for them to step in.
And when he saw Smoker—
Ryukawa's eyes flickered with a trace of amusement.
So it's him.
Young Smoker was easy to recognize the moment he walked in.
"Whether he already has the Logia fruit…" Ryukawa thought, calm.
"But it doesn't matter."
"With Armament Haki under control…"
"In East Blue, a Logia might feel untouchable."
"But in front of me—"
"Logia isn't invincible."
His smile turned a little sharper.
Smoker drew a breath and spoke, voice hard.
"Was this all you?"
Ryukawa didn't deny it.
He couldn't even if he wanted to.
If not him—then who?
He was the only one alive.
Every CP agent here had been cut down without mercy.
"Yes," Ryukawa replied simply. "It was me."
Smoker's blood ran colder.
"So that means…"
"…you're the monster who used Conqueror's Haki."
His eyes widened, shock mixing with dread.
Before he opened that door, he never would've imagined it.
A Conqueror.
Not just someone with the potential—
someone who could use it with control.
And that monster… was a teenager.
It was an insult to logic.
It smashed everything Smoker believed he understood about the sea.
Smoker wanted to deny it.
But he couldn't.
Reality was standing in front of him, smiling—clean and calm amid a sea of corpses.
"I never would've believed it…" Smoker said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself.
"A boy from East Blue… with Conqueror's Haki."
"This… overturns everything I thought I knew."
"It's insane."
"It makes me want to doubt my own life."
A teenager who could wield Conqueror's Haki like this—
even on the Grand Line that would be rare.
Yet here it was.
Here, in East Blue.
In the so-called weakest sea.
And Smoker had walked straight into it.
He tightened his grip on the seastone weapon, posture rigid.
He didn't dare loosen even a fraction.
Too terrifying.
No matter how harmless the boy looked—
Smoker understood one thing with absolute clarity:
This wasn't a harmless boy.
This was a monster wearing a boy's face.
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