"My nakama have already started, which means I have to," I said, looking Kuro straight in the eyes. My voice was calm, but inside everything was burning — not with fear, but with determination.
"Arrogant, for someone who's about to die," Kuro sneered, leaning forward as if preparing to leap. His fingers gleamed menacingly on his clawed gloves, his body stretched taut.
"We'll see who falls first," I whispered and stepped forward.
He vanished.
Shakushi again.
But I already knew what to do. Instead of watching, I listened. The creak of the boards. The barely audible rustle of air. I jerked sideways, and Kuro's claws sliced through the air, leaving a faint arc.
"You're learning," a voice came from behind me. "But that's not enough!"
The second strike came faster, almost point-blank. I raised a block, springing my arm like a coil, the metallic clang of the hit echoed in my shoulder. Immediately — a counterattack: a straight punch to the body, which Kuro dodged, letting it pass by.
Kuro was behind me before I could regain balance. His claws carved an arc — I pushed off the deck with my foot, rolling over my shoulder. The blade still grazed my side, cutting through clothes and skin underneath. Pain flared beneath my ribs.
"Still standing?" Kuro said coldly, tilting his head slightly. "But how much longer can you hold on?" he added, then vanished in the next instant, dissolving into thin air.
I was alone on the battered deck, breathing heavily, blood seeping from the cut under my ribs. But my gaze was clear. My heart beat with new sharpness.
"Now I understand what I was missing," I exhaled, rising to my feet. "The time for games is over."
I sucked in air sharply and focused. The so-called Shakushi technique has another, more familiar name — Soru. I had once seen it in anime and thought it was simple: "ten strong, quick touches to the ground" — and you move at great speed, using the accumulated momentum.
But in reality, it was different. After all my attempts, the technique never worked... now I understood why.
Rhythm.
A simple but crucial oversight I had made...
One, two, three... The springs in my legs creaked as I struck the boards left, right, left again — quickly, almost effortlessly. The shift began. The boards flared from friction. The air hummed.
Whoosh.
The world shook. I was already in a different place — two meters to the left. Kuro missed — his claws sliced only air.
"What?!" he gasped, glancing back. For a moment, surprise flickered in his eyes.
"I've been playing by your rules too long," I said. "Time to play by mine."
He growled, raising his claws over his head. Vanished again — Shakushi. This time faster. He aimed for my neck, cutting the air with hurricane fury. But now I heard and felt his movement as well as he did.
One, two... Whoosh.
I shifted again, keeping the rhythm. The springs in my legs roared under the load but held. I was behind him, right in his blind spot. Kuro turned instinctively, but too late — I was already attacking.
Bam!
A straight strike to the ribs, powered by all the accumulated inertia. He threw me back, but I didn't even try to hold my position — retreat was part of the rhythm too. Next shift — sideways. Another hit. Kuro couldn't react in time...
"You... stole my technique?!" he growled, staggering.
"No. I understood it."
He lunged at me in rage, claws extended, face twisted with fury. I dodged sideways again, lifting my feet off the ground for a fraction of a second. Too late — I felt one claw scrape my arm, leaving a long cut. Kuro immediately struck again from above — I ducked and blocked his arm with my elbow, then hit his stomach.
Crunch. He screamed but stayed on his feet. He began retreating, breathing heavily. His movements grew uncertain. I kept going.
One-two-one-two, like a metronome. I felt the technique, once unreachable, become my weapon.
Kuro vanished again — but not fast. I already knew where he'd appear. I moved to intercept, and when he materialized, my fingers were already gripping his wrist. A sharp twist — claws broke, one after another, with a metallic screech.
He roared. His hand gushed blood.
"That's it. The game's over," I said and struck the final, precise straight punch to his chest. He flew back, falling on his chest, breathing heavily.
The spring impulses of my fruit always relied on sharp bursts, jerks, inertia. I was used to navigating breaks in space, where in a split second you decide — and strike; adaptation to this technique was very quick...
"Well, had enough of watching?" I said.
Sabo's Side
The crowd of pirates, controlled by Jango's hypnosis, moved with frightening coordination. Sabo fought off attacks with one hand while gripping his pipe tightly in the other, his gaze sharp and cold. Every opponent's strike was boosted not only by physical strength but also by a strange mental synchronization that Sabo barely managed to resist.
"Karina!" Sabo dodged a sword slash, but the next pirate charged with a club.
He tried to intercept with the pipe but was too slow — the blow grazed his shoulder with a dull crack. Sabo hissed, rolling forward with momentum, kicking the enemy down and dodging the next attack. The smoke cleared. Karina was gone.
"…Fine. I'll have to do it alone," he whispered, clenching his teeth.
Pirates advanced — seven, then ten. Their eyes had the same vacant, hypnotic gleam. They felt no fear, no pain. Sabo would almost believe they weren't human if he didn't smell sweat, iron, and gunpowder.
While I tried to break through to Django, he suddenly ran into the hold.
"We need to defeat them quickly and run after him!" Sabo growled, feeling the crowd tighten the circle around him.
He gripped the pipe tighter, feeling a familiar vibration in his palm, and released a concentrated move—
"Pipe Carousel!" Sabo roared, spinning the pipe with furious speed. The whirlwind howled, sweeping enemies off their feet onto the deck with such force that even Django's hypnosis couldn't keep them in line. Pirates flew like leaves in the wind.
"No time to waste on them!" Sabo thought.
When they attacked the first time, they caught him off guard, but over time it became clear that the hypnosis enhanced the pirates' physical strength, making them faster and stronger, but it didn't give them skill, experience, or tactical thinking. And that's the decisive factor.
I need to get to the hold faster, Sabo thought, rushing there. He jumped down the stairs, darkness engulfing him like an abyss. The dim light of a lantern cast long shadows, playing on the damp walls of the hold.
Sabo moved cautiously, feeling how every sound amplified in the confined space. Enemies could be waiting around every corner, and Karina was still missing.
Suddenly, a sharp click — a shot. Sabo barely raised the pipe, and the bullet whistled and ricocheted off the metal, echoing through the hold walls. A thought flashed: "That shot's no joke." But suddenly, burning pain exploded in his shoulder — one bullet pierced the defense and embedded in flesh. Sabo gritted his teeth, feeling blood run hot down his skin. "No time to get distracted," flashed through his mind, but the pain didn't want to fade.
From the shadows stepped Django, holding an old musket. His eyes gleamed with joy.
"You're too confident," he smirked and fired again.
Sabo reacted instantly — barely noticing the musket's movement, he spun the pipe with wild speed — "Pipe Carousel" howled in the tight hold, becoming a deadly shield of spinning metal. Django's bullets clanged against the rotating pipe with deafening ringing, ricocheting off walls and ceiling.
"Bad shooter," Sabo smirked after the fifth shot, hearing an empty click.
"Now it's my turn to attack," he hissed, giving his opponent no chance to rest.
Jango desperately tried to block with his hypnotic ring, hoping its mystical power would keep Sabo at bay. But the next pipe strike, spun to the limit, crashed with such force and precision that the ring cracked and shattered into small fragments.
Giving the enemy no time to recover, Sabo immediately switched to offense — a series of fast, precise strikes fell on Jango like clockwork. Each blow seemed calculated to the millimeter, aimed at vulnerable points. Jango tried to parry but eventually collapsed to his knees, defeated and weaponless.
"This is the end," Sabo said.
Gin's Side
Gin's tonfas spun wildly, cutting the air with a deafening roar vibrating throughout the ship. Every move was full of kinetic energy — as if the air itself became a weapon in his hands.
Gin threw the tonfas forward — a whirlwind struck Syam, who screamed in sharp pain, loosening his grip and flying back. His face twisted with rage and surprise.
Buti, seeing his comrade fall, charged at Gin with a furious roar. But Gin gave him no chance: at the last second, he jumped aside, dodging the strike, then spun around and slammed a powerful elbow into Buti's body. The blow was so strong Buchi lost balance and dropped to his knees.
"This is just the beginning!" Gin shouted, feeling adrenaline boiling in his veins. He smoothly moved into attack, each movement calculated and deadly precise.
Syam, confused, tried to flank Gin to catch him off guard. But Gin was one step ahead: he deftly grabbed Syam's wrist at the moment of attack and twisted hard, producing a crack echoing across the deck.
"Understand now?" Gin asked coldly. "To break an opponent, first break his weapon."
Sham tried to break free, but Gin gave no chance. He twisted the arm and threw Sham across the deck, taking his clawed gloves — an important part of his weapon.
"You're next," Gin hissed, rushing toward Buti, who was already trying to recover.
Some pirates who fell at the very beginning began to stir, but seeing their leaders fall under Gin's cold strategy and ruthless strength, they pretended to be unconscious. The battle was clearly turning in his favor, and even the most desperate dared not face him.
"Well, I've prepared everything," Karina said in the ship's hold…