Early morning. Inside the opulent dining room of a grand estate in the Kingdom of Chessaly.
A short, stout man with a sharp hook nose and a heavy belly sat at the head of a mahogany table, gracefully cutting a medium-rare steak with a silver knife and fork.
His name was Capone "Gang" Bege—the Godfather of the Fire Tank Syndicate.
Just as he split a prime cut of beef into exact, uniform portions, the heavy double doors burst open. A drenched, breathless syndicate member rushed into the room, shouting in panic.
"Godfather! Something's gone terribly wrong!"
Bege's hand, holding a silver fork, paused for a fraction of a second. Without raising his eyes, he calmly brought the steak to his mouth, chewing with deliberate, mechanical slowness.
It wasn't until he swallowed the bite completely that he casually reached down with his right hand, picking up a large-caliber flintlock pistol resting beside his plate.
BANG!
He didn't even turn his head. The heavy lead slug tore through the air, landing dead center between the intruder's eyebrows.
"Rude," Bege muttered, his tone flat.
Setting the smoking barrel back on the linen tablecloth, he retrieved a damp silk handkerchief, meticulously wiping the trace smell of black powder from his fingers.
Standing silently in the shadows of the dining room, a tall lieutenant with an unusually long tongue—known to the underworld as "Weird Gun" Vito—stepped forward. He poured a glass of decanted red wine, placed it near Bege's hand, bowed respectfully, and quietly dragged the bleeding corpse out by its ankles.
Ten minutes later, Vito returned to the dining room, his long tongue flicking slightly as he spoke in a measured tone.
"Boss. Garner, our lieutenant handling business in Keya Town, was killed last night."
Bege raised an eyebrow, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his hook-nosed face. "Who did it?"
"We don't have all the names yet," Vito replied. "However, Garner's remaining men claim that one of the three assailants was 'Nightmare'—the star wrestler the Junkrat Gang has been heavily promoting over the past two years."
"That's enough," Bege chuckled, his smile widening into something vicious. "Bring me the snail."
Vito carefully presented a Den Den Mushi decorated with a gilded shell.
Boru-boru-boru... Kacha.
The receiver lifted. Bege lit a heavy cigar, blowing a thick ring of gray smoke into the morning air.
"Hammy," Bege said, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling register. "Your people broke the rules."
On the other end of the line, miles away in the capital, "Junkrat" Hammy had just crawled out of bed. Hearing the unexpected voice, his immediate instinct was to curse out the caller. "I swear on my mother's—"
Hammy cut himself off mid-sentence.
He stared in absolute horror at the Den Den Mushi on his desk, which had perfectly mimicked Bege's dark, slicked-back hair, cigar-chomping jaw, and ruthless glare. The cold reality slammed into him: This was the exact trouble Nightmare warned me about last night! Bege is calling for blood!
Instantly swallowing his rage, Hammy forced a frantic, placating tone.
"Bege! Look, my person made a mistake last night—I won't deny it! To show my sincere apologies, I'm willing to hand over all of our Junkrat Gang's territories within the Kingdom of Chessaly. What do you say?"
This was the compromise Hammy and his senior lieutenants had deliberated over into the early hours of the morning.
In the current underworld hierarchy of the West Blue, power was divided primarily among three factions. The legendary Gambino Family sat at the top, controlling nearly forty percent of the sea's criminal operations, while the Fire Tank Syndicate and the Junkrat Gang held roughly twenty percent each, leaving the remaining ten percent to minor ocean trash.
The Kingdom of Chessaly was Bege's home turf, though the Junkrat Gang held a few outer border towns there. While those territories were geographically large, their populations were sparse, and the annual protection money barely equaled a single week's gate receipts from Keya Town's underground ring.
Hammy had wanted to dump those unprofitable territories for months. Packaging them as a "peace offering" felt like a stroke of brilliant diplomacy.
"Not enough," Bege said coldly, tapping his cigar ashes onto his empty plate. "Garner was my brother. He bled with me when we built this crew. If I let his death slide for a few barren border towns, how am I supposed to look my men in the eye as Godfather?"
It was the exact same theatrical lie Garner had used on Ornn the night before.
Hammy cursed Bege's greed a thousand times in his head, but kept his voice smooth. "Then... what are you asking for?"
"Simple. Blood for blood," Bege replied, a mocking edge to his voice. "Hand over the wrestler who struck my man."
Hearing Hammy offer up land so readily had confirmed Bege's suspicion: that female fighter was vital to the Junkrat Gang's bottom line.
Sure enough, Hammy panicked, refusing outright. "No! 'Nightmare' is non-negotiable! She's central to our operations!"
Fearing he might push Bege into an immediate war, Hammy softened his tone, desperate to preserve the peace. "How about this—you can pick any other territory under my control. Name it."
Bege remained silent for a long moment, watching the smoke drift toward the ceiling. Finally, he spoke a single name.
"Baya Town."
Hammy froze.
Baya Town was a lucrative port district in a neighboring territory, famed throughout the West Blue as a nightlife haven. Packed with over a hundred luxury establishments and gambling halls, it was an absolute goldmine.
Hammy's jaw tightened. After a long, painful hesitation, he gritted his teeth. "Deal!"
In Hammy's mind, he was already rationalizing the loss: When I transfer the territory, I'll just pull all the staff out, open a dozen new clubs right next to Keya Town's fight hall, and take my revenue back anyway!
Kacha.
The connection went dead.
The moment the line disconnected, Bege leaned back into his leather armchair, bursting into a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the manor dining hall.
"BHAHAHAHA! That brainless rodent! He actually handed me the perfect staging ground to wipe him out!"
Bege spat his cigar into the fireplace, his eyes gleaming with dark ambition. "Does he really think I care about a few clubs? Hmph. It seems I've been dormant for so long that these fools have forgotten how I carved out my name!"
Capone Bege hadn't climbed to the top of the West Blue through honor. He had built his empire by backstabbing his former superiors and systematically orchestrating the brutal assassination of every rival boss who stood in his path.
Seeing his boss in such high spirits, Vito let out a soft, sibilant laugh, bowing low. "Boss, how many men should we mobilize for this operation?"
Bege rested his chin on his hands, his smile turning cold.
"Notify a thousand of our brothers. Have them fully armed and waiting at the docks in five days. When the transfer goes through, I'll use my power to deliver Hammy a surprise he'll take to his grave."
"Understood, Godfather."
"Wait," Bege added, calling Vito back just as he reached the door. "I was so focused on Hammy that I almost overlooked Garner's killers. Have our informants in Keya Town gather every scrap of intelligence they can find on the other two who were with the girl."
Bege's eyes narrowed. "Once I erase the Junkrat Gang, I'll deal with those three myself. Avenging Garner publicly will solidfy my reputation among the men. I won't waste the opportunity."
"Understood." Vito bowed once more and departed.
Left alone in the quiet grand hall, Bege stood up, walking over to a massive chart of the West Blue pinned to the wall. His eyes traced the ink lines connecting the islands.
Once the Junkrat Gang is wiped out, only the Gambino Family will remain. Once I crush them and unite the West Blue... what comes next?
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