The gentle creaking of the merchant ship filled the air, the salty breeze carrying the smell of the open sea. The faint orange glow of sunset reflected off the rippling waves as the ship cut through the waters, just a few miles away from entering the dreaded Donquixote Pirates' territory.
On the deck, the crew was restless, casting occasional nervous glances toward a cloaked figure sitting quietly beside a stack of crates. The tension was thick, the air heavy with unspoken words.
"Captain, what are we going to do with her?" The navigator leaned closer, his voice low, though his words dripped with malice. He gestured toward the small girl huddled beneath the oversized cloak. She was barely more than a shadow among the cargo, her face hidden, her small frame still and silent.
"Maybe we can trade her for some extra berries once we're done at Dressrosa?" the navigator added with a smirk, his greed gleaming in his eyes. He was a scrappy man with a sordid past, an ex-pirate who had abandoned his crew in fear of death and now sought comfort among merchants, hiding behind their neutrality. His grin widened, his thoughts clearly brewing darker schemes.
The next moment came like lightning.
SMACK.
The sound of the captain's palm cracking against the navigator's face echoed across the deck. The man staggered back, clutching his reddened cheek, his eyes wide with shock. A few of the other crewmen turned their heads at the sudden commotion, their murmurs cutting through the growing unease.
The captain, a weathered man with salt-and-pepper hair and a face lined with years of experience, glared at his nephew with unrestrained fury. His eyes, usually calm, now burned with warning.
"You damn fool!" he roared, his voice thundering over the crashing waves. "Do you want to get us all killed? If you weren't family, I'd have thrown you overboard myself for saying something that stupid!"
The navigator flinched, clutching his cheek as he looked at his uncle, utterly dumbfounded. "But Captain—"
"Shut your damn mouth and listen!" The captain's voice rose even further, his hand trembling as he pointed a calloused finger at the cloaked figure. His face was pale, but his fury overrode his fear.
"Do you think we can just waltz into Donquixote territory and trade anyone—let alone her? Have you seen the heads of slavers lined up on the ports of Dressrosa? Do you think we're better than them? Do you think Doflamingo will hesitate to use us as an example if we overstep even a little?"
The captain paced angrily, shaking his head. "You're an idiot, but I didn't think you were this stupid. If I hadn't been desperate for a decent navigator, I would've left your sorry hide at the last port."
The other crew members remained silent, the captain's fury casting a dark shadow over the deck. They dared not interrupt. Even the navigator, clutching his cheek, seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his uncle's words.
The captain stopped pacing and turned his attention to the girl. His anger softened, though wariness still flickered in his eyes. Beneath the ragged cloak, the child sat motionless, her knees drawn to her chest.
A strand of unkempt hair peeked out from under the hood, and her delicate hands clutched the edges of her tattered clothes as though shielding herself from the world.
Her silence was unnerving, not the silence of fear but something else entirely. It was deliberate. Every movement, every still moment, felt calculated. It was as if she were simply waiting, biding her time.
The captain had noticed her stealing glances at a worn and tattered paper hidden within her cloak—a bounty poster. He'd caught sight of it once, just briefly, and the image on that poster had nearly made his heart stop.
The face of a man who, even in the shadows, haunted the seas. A man whose name was spoken only in whispers. The connection to the girl wasn't clear, but the resolve in her eyes… It was unmistakable.
He shook his head, sweat beading on his brow despite the cool sea breeze. This isn't some ordinary stowaway, he thought grimly.
The girl wasn't just strong—she was unnatural. Earlier, when some of the younger deckhands had tried to grab her and toss her off the ship at their last port, she had fought them off with frightening ease. Six grown men, overpowered by someone who barely came up to their waists. And she didn't even look winded.
"Why?" the captain muttered under his breath, half to himself. He clenched his fists, the memory of that poster gnawing at him. Why was someone like her heading to Dressrosa, of all places? What business could she possibly have in the heart of Don Quixote territory? And more importantly, how much danger had she brought onto his ship by being here?
"Captain…" one of the other crewmen ventured nervously, but the captain silenced him with a wave of his hand.
"We do nothing," the captain finally said, his voice gruff but decisive. "She's not to be touched. Not a word, not a hand laid on her. If any of you so much as look at her the wrong way, I'll throw you overboard myself."
The sky was streaked with the deep orange of a waning sunset, but the tranquil beauty of the sea was shattered by the sharp cry from the crow's nest.
"Captain! Starboard side—PIRATES!"
The lookout's panicked shout echoed across the deck as he leaned over the edge, his spyglass trembling in his grip. His face was pale as he pointed to the silhouette of a ship cutting through the waves, bearing down on them with unnerving speed.
The captain, who had been pacing near the helm, snapped his head toward the direction indicated, his heart sinking. "Are they flying Donquixote colors?" he bellowed, his voice filled with desperate hope.
If it was one of Donquixote's patrol ships, they might have a chance to negotiate. Merchants like him carried permits to trade within Dressrosa's borders—an expensive piece of paper that kept their necks safe from the noose.
"No, Captain!" The lookout's voice was nearly drowned out by the howling wind. His nephew, standing beside him with a spyglass of his own, lowered it slowly, his face ashen with dread.
"It's the Head Hunter Pirates…" the nephew whispered, his voice cracking with fear. "Those bastards are relentless… vicious. They never leave survivors."
The captain swore under his breath, his fingers tightening around the helm. Of course, he'd heard of the Head Hunter Pirates. They were a scourge in these waters, infamous for their ruthlessness. Paying a ransom wouldn't save them, nor would surrender. They hunted for sport and lived for the thrill of the kill.
"All hands on deck!" the captain roared, his voice cutting through the rising panic. "Hoist the sails, full speed ahead! Trim the sheets and tighten the halyards! We're less than a dozen nautical miles from Donquixote territory—if we make it past the line, they won't dare follow us!"
The crew scrambled into action, fear lending their movements a frenzied urgency. Sailors dashed to the rigging, their hands fumbling as they hauled at the ropes to catch every breath of wind. The creaking of the ship's timbers mixed with the shouts of the men as they pushed the vessel to its limits.
The captain's nephew was already at the bow, scanning the horizon with wide eyes. "They're closing in fast, Captain!" he yelled, his voice strained.
The captain cursed again. The Head Hunter ship was clearly superior in speed, cutting through the waves with precision. Worse, the wind wasn't in their favor. It was as though fate itself had turned against them.
By the rail, the cloaked girl stirred. For the first time since boarding, she moved with purpose, stepping out of the shadows. She walked to the edge of the deck, her small frame dwarfed by the towering masts and fluttering sails. She said nothing, but her presence felt charged, like a storm brewing beneath the surface.
"Get her below deck!" the captain barked, sparing her a frantic glance. "If they catch us, they'll—"
"Boom!"
The roar of cannon fire drowned out his words, the first volley tearing through the air. One cannonball whistled past the ship, splashing into the sea just off the starboard side. Another struck the water closer, spraying the deck with a deluge of saltwater.
"Brace yourselves!" a crewman shouted, clutching the rigging as the ship rocked violently.
The Head Hunter Pirates were within range now, their cannons firing with precision. The pursuing vessel was monstrous, its black sails emblazoned with a grotesque jolly roger. Even from a distance, the laughter and shouts of its bloodthirsty crew could be heard, their voices carried on the wind like the wails of banshees.
The captain's knuckles turned white as he gripped the helm, steering with every ounce of skill he possessed. He glanced at the horizon, where the faint outlines of perimeter island cliffs of the Donquixote territory loomed like salvation itself. They were so close. Just a little farther, and the Donquixote Pirates' ruthless patrols would keep the hunters at bay.
"Dump the cargo!" the captain ordered suddenly, his voice trembling. "Lighten the load—anything that slows us down, throw it overboard!"
The crew hesitated, their eyes darting toward the crates of precious goods. Those crates represented their livelihoods, their hard work and future.
"DO IT NOW!" the captain roared, and the men obeyed. Crates of supplies were heaved over the rails, splashing into the sea as the ship's bow rose slightly, gaining a precious bit of speed.
But it wasn't enough.
The Head Hunter ship was gaining, and fast. Its cannons thundered again, one ball smashing into the aft mast, splintering the wood with a deafening crack. The crew screamed as the mast began to teeter, ropes snapping like whips.
The girl at the railing remained still, her gaze fixed on the pursuing ship. Her hood slipped slightly, revealing sharp, determined eyes beneath a cascade of messy hair.
"Captain!" The lookout's voice was shrill with terror. "They're almost upon us!"
The captain felt his heart sink. He was out of options. He could see the bloodthirsty pirates on the deck of the enemy ship now, their weapons gleaming in the fading light. They were grinning, howling, ready to claim their prey.
And then, as the Head Hunter ship loomed so close that its shadow fell across the merchant vessel, the girl moved.
Without a word, she climbed onto the railing, her cloak billowing in the wind. Her small hands gripped the edge as she balanced precariously, her eyes locked onto the enemy ship.
"Hey! What are you—" one of the crewmen started, but his voice faltered as the girl suddenly leapt.
She soared through the air, her hood falling back to reveal young Yamato, her expression calm but fierce. She landed on the deck of the Head Hunter ship with a thud, crouched low like a predator ready to strike.
For a moment, the pirates stared in stunned silence. Then, as one, they erupted into laughter.
"Look at this!" one of them sneered, stepping forward with a wicked grin. "A little rat thinks she's gonna fight us?"
But the girl didn't flinch. She straightened, her hands clenched into fists. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that made even the most seasoned pirates hesitate.
The chaos of the chase had reached a fever pitch as Yamato crouched, ready to spring forward and tear through the pirates who stood in her way to Dressrosa.
Her instincts were razor-sharp, honed by the relentless trials of months spent at sea, and she knew hesitation would mean death. Her muscles coiled like a spring as she prepared to launch herself at the enemy pirates.
But then, slicing through the cacophony of creaking wood and desperate shouts, came a crisp, unshaken voice that carried authority like a thunderclap.
"Overheat…!!!"
It was not shouted. It did not need to be.
From the stormy sky above, a searing streak of molten crimson light descended like judgment itself. The air hissed and crackled as an enormous whip, glowing with superheated intensity, tore through the heavens. The string, aflame and alive with volcanic fury, lashed downward and struck the pirate ship with devastating precision.
BOOM.
The impact was immediate and catastrophic. The whip tore through the hull as if it were paper, splitting the ship apart with a sickening crunch. The fiery string didn't stop there—it seared through wood, steel, and bone with equal ease, leaving only smoldering ashes and molten debris in its wake.
Yamato's sharp instincts kicked in, and without hesitation, she vaulted backward toward the merchant ship, landing with feline grace just as the fiery whip cleaved through the deck where she had stood moments earlier. She turned her eyes upward, scanning the clouds, her breath catching as she beheld the source of destruction.
Descending through the swirling white clouds was a figure of immaculate poise and cold, calculated menace. Senor Pink wore a pristine white suit, its crisp fabric untouched by the chaos unfolding below.
His jacket gleamed under the dim light, his silk tie perfectly straight, and his polished dress shoes shone as though he'd stepped out of a ballroom rather than a battlefield. His perfectly groomed hair glimmered like obsidian under the waning sun.
But it wasn't just his appearance that stunned onlookers. Senor hovered in midair, held aloft by nearly invisible strands of string stretching into the clouds. The mastery of his Devil Fruit powers was evident in every movement—he floated effortlessly, his white suit rippling in the wind, untouched by the destruction he wrought below.
In his hand, he held the source of the carnage: a molten whip made of superheated string, glowing a fierce red-orange like molten lava. It coiled and snapped as if it were alive, radiating a heat so intense that even from a distance, the air seemed to shimmer.
"You dare trespass into the territory of the Donquixote Family," Senor spoke, his voice low and cold, carrying a razor's edge of menace. He gestured lazily with his free hand, as though the annihilation of an entire ship and its crew was no more effort than brushing dust off his sleeve.
The pirates aboard the Head Hunter ship screamed in panic. Some tried to flee, diving into the sea in a desperate bid to escape, while others turned their weapons toward Senor in a futile attempt to fight back. But their resistance was meaningless.
With a flick of his wrist, Senor unleashed the whip again.
The fiery lash streaked through the air, cutting across the length of the pirate ship with surgical precision. The ship exploded in a shower of splinters and flames, its powder kegs igniting with deafening force. Smoke billowed into the sky as the sea claimed what little remained of the vessel.
The carnage was absolute. Bodies and wreckage littered the water, floating in the smoldering aftermath of the attack. Senor remained calm, unmoved by the screams, curses, and pleas of the dying pirates. His expression was one of detached professionalism, his piercing gaze fixed on the merchant ship—or rather, on the cloaked figure standing near the railing.
Yamato tensed under his scrutiny, her instincts warning her of the immense power radiating from him. But there was no malice in his eyes, only a cold appraisal.
Senor's voice rang out again, calm but commanding. "You're fortunate I arrived when I did. Those scavengers would have killed you all before you reached Dressrosa."
With another subtle movement, he dismissed the molten whip, the fiery strands dissipating into thin air as if they had never existed. His feet touched the deck of the merchant ship with the grace of a dancer, his spotless white shoes somehow unmarked by the soot and ash swirling around him.
He approached the cloaked girl, his sharp eyes taking in every detail with the precision of a predator. Finally, he spoke, his tone as measured as ever. "You're the one I was sent for."
The girl, still catching her breath from the ordeal, looked up at him with wide, unflinching eyes. Yamato didn't know who this man was, but his presence alone was enough to still the chaos in her heart.
The air around the merchant ship was heavy with the lingering tension of battle, the ocean eerily calm now that the Head Hunter pirates were obliterated. Yet, amidst the silence, Senor stood calmly, his imposing figure cutting through the smog like a blade.
His sharp eyes lingered on the young girl before him. Despite her ragged cloak and small stature, there was something fierce about her—a defiance in her stance, her fists clenched and ready, even though she clearly understood the sheer difference in their strength.
Senor's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. He gave an approving nod, acknowledging the child's courage. He had personally come to the edge of Donquixote territory because Shyarly's foresight had foretold the arrival of someone significant to the family.
This wasn't just about recruiting another follower for young master Ross—it was about a bond that would cement itself in loyalty so absolute that even Rosinante, the family's absolute pillar, was unaware of the girl's allegiance.
But what made this girl exceptional wasn't just her raw potential or tenacity or her loyalty towards Rosinante—it was her bloodline. This child wasn't just anyone. She was Yamato, daughter of Kaido, the sworn enemy of the Donquixote Family.
Yet, despite her lineage, Senor showed no malice. He wasn't here to judge her by her father's actions. No, he knew she wasn't Kaido's shadow—she was someone with her own fire, someone who would soon belong to the Family.
Senor glanced briefly at the merchant captain, who stood paralyzed at the helm, his face pale with lingering fear. Beads of sweat dripped from the man's brow as he locked eyes with the white-suited devil who had just delivered them from annihilation.
Senor's voice, cold and measured, cut through the silence. "It seems like you've lost all the goods you brought for trade." He adjusted the cuffs of his suit casually, as if the destruction of an entire ship moments ago had been a mere inconvenience.
"But willingly or not, you've done the Donquixote Family a great service by delivering this girl to our waters."
The captain opened his mouth to stammer a response, but before he could utter a word, Senor raised a hand to silence him.
"Speak to the harbor master when you dock at Dressrosa. I'll ensure you're issued a Privilege Pass to trade with the Donquixote Family henceforth."
The captain's knees nearly buckled. His wide, astonished eyes locked onto Senor, barely able to process what had just been said. A Privilege Pass. Only a handful of merchants across the New World had such a permit.
It granted protection under the Donquixote Family's name and near-unlimited trade rights within their territory. It wasn't just a pass—it was a golden ticket to unimaginable wealth and influence.
Meanwhile, Senor turned his attention back to Yamato, his sharp gaze softening slightly. "Let's go," he said simply. "You've suffered enough trying to reach Young Master Rosinante. I'll escort you to Dressrosa myself."
Yamato tensed. She had come all this way to seek out Rosinante, the one she had accepted as her spiritual master, the one destined to guide her path toward strength. But she didn't trust easily. Her journey across the perilous seas had taught her that survival meant relying on no one but herself.
Before she could react, Senor moved. With a speed that made her instincts scream, he closed the distance between them in an instant. She braced herself, but instead of attacking, he grabbed her by the scruff of her collar like she was a kitten. Her indignant protests were drowned out as Senor launched himself into the air, propelled by his string powers.
The merchant crew gawked as the two disappeared into the clouds, Senor moving effortlessly, as though walking on air. His pristine white suit shimmered against the sky, a stark contrast to the chaos he left behind.
Back on the deck, the stunned silence was broken by the sudden sound of a loud, resounding slap.
"The hell did you hit me for this time, Uncle?!" the navigator groaned, rubbing his cheek. His frustration bubbled over as he stared at the captain. "We just escaped death! What could I possibly have done wrong now?!"
The captain, however, was grinning like a madman, his weathered face alight with blissful disbelief. He grabbed his nephew by the shoulders and shook him, almost gleefully.
"Tell me I'm dreaming! Do you even realize what just happened?! We're going to be filthy rich, boy! Filthy rich!"
The rest of the crew stared at the captain as though he'd lost his mind. Just minutes ago, they'd been staring death in the face. Now he was grinning like he'd hit the jackpot?
The captain jabbed a finger in the direction where Senor had disappeared. "Do you understand what a Privilege Pass means, you idiot?!" He was practically shouting now, his excitement pouring out in waves. "We're not just merchants anymore—we've got the Donquixote Family's protection! That's more valuable than anything we could've traded on this trip!"
Realization slowly dawned on the crew, and their stunned expressions gave way to cheers. The promise of wealth and security, of trading under the Family's protection, was beyond their wildest dreams. They would no longer be at the mercy of pirates or other merchant rivals.
The captain, however, couldn't help but glance back toward the horizon, where the girl and her escort had vanished. Something told him that little stowaway was far more important than any of them realized.
"Whatever's waiting for her in Dressrosa," he muttered to himself, "it's bigger than any of us."
And with that, the merchant ship adjusted its battered sails and began limping toward Dressrosa, their hearts lighter despite the destruction they had endured. Above them, the clouds parted as Senor Pink and Yamato soared toward the kingdom that would shape her destiny.