Water 7 III

Before Roger could leave, Tom angrily yelled, "Stop! Roger! This is my problem, not yours. Your time is limited…" His voice cracked at the end, his head lowering as the weight of the situation pressed down on him.

"Go on with your adventure," he added, lifting his gaze to Roger with a sad yet determined smile. "Just promise me… you'll finish your adventure with gusto!" His smile grew brighter, despite the somber mood.

Roger paused, gripping his blade tightly, his knuckles whitening. His shoulders slumped as he let out a heavy sigh, releasing his grip on the hilt. A moment of silence filled the room before Roger pulled out a chair and sat back down at the dinner table. His hat shadowed his eyes as he muttered, "Are you sure… old friend? We'll be leaving tomorrow night…"

After a long pause, "Ye-", before Tom could finish his word, 

Roger looked up, his expression a mix of sadness and resolve. "It would only take a few hours," he said with a faint grin, his usual energy returning as he pushed his chair back and stood. Without another word, he strode toward the door, his crew Rayleigh, Scopper, and Oden, falling into step behind him.

Tom stood there for a moment, his mouth agape in surprise. A soft chuckle escaped him as he muttered, "Thank you, Roger…" The shipwright turned to Iceburg, who was still frozen in the corner. "Let's go… tell the men to look for Taylor. Roger's made up his mind." With a subtle grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, Tom walked out the door, leaving Iceburg scrambling to catch up.

Iceburg, now sweating from both nerves and excitement, ran off toward Dock 1 to rally the other shipwrights. He could feel the air buzzing with tension and anticipation as word of Roger's involvement spread.

[At a Bar]

Meanwhile, Draco sat in a dimly lit bar, utterly drunk. His legs propped up on the table, and he gulped down yet another barrel of booze. Alcohol flowed through his veins like a second bloodstream. The bartender, visibly nervous, darted around, hauling more barrels of alcohol to keep up with the pirate's demands.

"Ten more!" Draco barked, his voice slightly slurred but still commanding.

The bartender, drenched in sweat, muttered under his breath as he hoisted another barrel from the back room. 'Does this kid even have a limit?' he thought, watching in disbelief as Draco effortlessly lifted the heavy barrel and drank straight from it.

Despite the drunken haze, Draco's sharp ears caught the distant commotion outside. He slammed the empty barrel onto the floor, the sound reverberating through the bar. "People really don't chill, do they?" he grumbled, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression.

[Just a few hours ago at the Bar]

The bartender was sweating, his nerves frayed. The moment the kid walked in, chaos had erupted. Pirates who had been disrupting the peace all day suddenly found themselves angering the young kid. 

Before the bartender could even comprehend what was happening, the room fell silent. Every single one of the rowdy pirates dropped to the floor, unconscious, as though struck by an unseen force. The air felt heavy, and oppressive, as if an invisible storm had just passed through.

Draco, however, remained indifferent. He leaned against the bar and ordered another drink, utterly unconcerned about the bartender's trembling hands or the unconscious bodies littering the floor. To Draco, they were just annoying his peace. 

[Back to the Trio]

Elsewhere, Enel, Shanks, and Buggy were sprinting through the labyrinthine streets and alleyways of Water 7. Their panicked shouts echoed off the walls as they dodged marines and angry citizens alike.

"Damn it, Enel! This is all your fault!" Buggy hollered, his voice cracking in frustration.

"If you hadn't started trouble, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Shanks added, panting as he struggled to keep up.

Enel, sparks of electricity crackling around him, shot back, "That mortal insulted my divine presence! He deserved to be punished!"

"Your divine presence is going to get us all killed!" Buggy snapped, tripping over a loose cobblestone but managing to catch himself.

As they rounded a corner, they spotted the warm glow of a bar. Without a second thought, they bolted inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

The trio collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. "Where the hell is Draco?" Buggy groaned, clutching his side.

Shanks threw an arm over his face, his voice muffled. "He's probably drinking himself into a stupor somewhere…"

"Captain or not, he's got some nerve leaving me behind," Enel muttered, crossing his arms as he glared at the ceiling.

Their complaints were interrupted by a familiar, tipsy voice. "Whadya say, Enel!?"

The trio froze. Slowly, they lifted their heads to see Draco standing before them, towering over the fallen trios. Despite his somewhat drunken sway, his half-lidded eyes glinted with amusement, and his lips curled into a mischievous grin.

Draco stood swaying slightly, his drunken grin plastered on his face as he leaned over the trio. Enel, now seething with frustration, stood up abruptly and yelled, "Where the hell have you been for the past few hours?! You just left us!"

Draco blinked, tilting his head as if the words were being filtered through his ears. "Few hours?" he mumbled, scratching his head. "I thought it's only been a few minutes…"

The trio collectively broke into a sweat, groaning internally at Draco's skewed perception of time. Shanks thought in his head, 'how is he so strong... but drinks booze all day? should I do the same?'

With that, Draco turned toward the bartender, raising his hand lazily. "One more barrel!" he ordered, then plopped himself into a nearby chair, motioning for the trio to join him.

Reluctantly, the three sat down, still fuming. Draco, now nursing yet another barrel of booze, looked at them expectantly. "So… what happened? You guys cause trouble already?"

The trio exchanged awkward glances before Shanks sighed, starting the explanation. "It was all because of this guy," he jabbed a finger at Enel.

Enel snapped, "Don't pin it all on me! That marine mortal shoulder-checked me! What was I supposed to do, let it slide?"

Shanks cut in, "You escalated it! Captain Taylor wasn't even looking for trouble until you made it worse!"

Buggy groaned, rubbing his temples. "And then Vice Admiral Aokiji showed up…"

Draco perked up slightly, his drunken stupor not enough to mask his interest. "Aokiji? The Vice Admiral?"

"Yeah," Buggy continued. "He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, looked like he was on vacation. He didn't seem to care much about us, though. Just walked off like it wasn't his problem."

Draco nodded slowly, processing the story while taking another long swig from his barrel. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then set the barrel down with a heavy thud. His expression turned unusually sharp for someone as drunk as he was.

"Well, alright then," he said calmly. "Let's beat him up."

Enel's eyes lit up like sparking flares. "Yahahaha! Yes, Captain!" he bellowed, leaping to his feet with wild enthusiasm. Turning to the bartender, he grinned wickedly. "You! Mortal! Bring me apple juice!"

The bartender froze, trembling, before stumbling to comply.

Meanwhile, Shanks and Buggy exchanged exhausted, almost defeated looks. "We're doing this, huh?" Buggy muttered, shaking his head.

"Do we even have a choice?" Shanks replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We couldn't even explore the island for one day..."

With that, Draco and the trio left, Draco, being the good Samaritan, left a gold bar for the Bartender. 

[Dock 5]

At Dock 5, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the chaotic buzz of the main city. This was a fortress of marine presence, and Captain Taylor Quinten ruled it with an iron fist. The buildings were pristine, orderly, and eerily quiet despite the large number of marines stationed there.

Inside one of the grander buildings, a luxurious bedroom lay shrouded in veils and soft candlelight. Captain Taylor sat up in bed, the woman beside him lying still as he rose without a word. With a bored expression, he lit a cigar and took a slow drag before exhaling a plume of smoke.

Grinning coldly, he slipped into a gold-laced silk robe and stepped out of the chamber. Outside, a trembling butler awaited him. Taylor stopped mid-stride and turned his sharp gaze toward the man. His face twisted into a cruel sneer.

"Worthless," he said icily. "Throw her in the garbage."

The butler's eyes widened, tears forming at the corners. "But… sir, she..."

Taylor raised a hand, silencing him instantly. "Did I stutter?" he growled, his tone razor-sharp.

The butler bowed his head, his voice trembling. "Understood… sir."

Taylor smirked, his teeth glinting as he took another drag from his cigar. Without another word, he strode down the long, marble-floored hallway, his footsteps echoing ominously.

Behind him, the butler hesitated, then slowly stepped into the room, his heart heavy with guilt. He muttered under his breath, "I'm so… sorry," before closing the door behind him.

Taylor, now reaching the end of the hallway, walking outside on the porch, turned his attention to the bustling dock outside. Marines scrambled to and fro, ensuring the dock's operations ran smoothly. Yet beneath the surface, darker dealings were at play, slavery, extortion, and the abuse of power, all under Taylor's command.

The captain took another long puff of his cigar, exhaling with satisfaction. "Let's see who dares to challenge me tonight," he said to himself, his grin widening.