One Piece : Brotherhood

Uncharted Island, West Blue

The island was unlike any I had ever seen before. Dense, lush vegetation covered every inch of land, with massive trees that stretched far into the sky. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth, and the sound of rustling leaves filled the atmosphere.

The entire island seemed alive, with vines twisting around tree trunks, bamboo stalks towering over us, and a seemingly endless jungle stretching in every direction. But it wasn't just the flora that gave the island its reputation—its fauna was legendary.

Beasts roamed here, ancient and primal, as if the island itself had refused to move forward in time. The creatures had evolved to their most ferocious forms, resembling the monsters from myths and legends that sailors whispered about in taverns.

Our guide, a man of no particular distinction except for his weathered face and determined spirit, swung his machete through the thick underbrush, cutting down shrubs and bamboo in our path. He had already told us his story several times since we set foot on the island.

"I came across this place the last time I was washed ashore during a storm," he explained, his voice rough from the jungle air.

"Had to spend nearly three weeks on this cursed island before the storm let up and I could sail away. No one believed me when I returned home. They thought I'd gone mad, rambling about treasure and beasts. But I know what I saw."

He hacked away at another vine with a swift stroke of his machete. "It's an ancient treasure hoard, I swear it, but the place is crawling with monsters. I would've returned sooner if it weren't for them."

I walked behind him, observing his every move. The rest of our group followed close behind: a samurai with two blades strapped to his side, the wide-eyed Robin, a couple of mischievous dwarves, and a giantess named Dora, whose footsteps caused the ground to tremble slightly with each step. Robin's curiosity led her to gaze up at the thick canopy above us, eyes gleaming with wonder at the mysteries the island held.

Smoker and Lucci had ventured ahead, eager to deal with the so-called "dangerous beasts." From what I could sense with my Observation Haki, they were already making short work of the creatures that called this place home, taking them down one by one. The island might have a fierce reputation, but those beasts posed no threat to Smoker or Lucci at their current level.

Little Mansherry, seated comfortably on my shoulders, watched everything with the curiosity of a child, while Leo clung to Robin's back like a small, chatty shadow.

"Sir...," the guide turned around for what felt like the hundredth time, giving me a wide grin. "I'll get paid a hundred thousand berries once I take you to the location, right?"

I smiled patiently, even though he had asked this question more times than I cared to count. "Yes, once you show us the place, you'll get your payment. And if the treasure you spoke of turns out to be real, you'll be paid handsomely."

"Berry, berry... Where's your sense of adventure, man?" Dora boomed, her voice filled with amusement. The guide shrank a little at her words, turning back to chop away at more foliage in front of us.

I continued to keep an eye on Smoker and Lucci, both of whom were currently running rampant through the island's wilderness. Although the island was notorious for being a death trap for most who dared set foot on it, the beasts were no match for them. This expedition was turning into more of a training exercise than a real challenge.

My original reason for coming to the West Blue was to deal with the five families that still held power from the incident that nearly destroyed our own family years ago. The time had come to settle old scores.

But when I heard rumors about this island—and I remembered its mention in Oden's journal that I carried—I realized this could be something more of a break that we needed , as for the Mafia families they could wait.

According to Oden's journal, Roger himself had once found a poneglyph here, long ago during his travels. The possibility of finding one of those ancient stones was too good to pass up, and it also provided an opportunity to test the kids in a real-life adventure.

Robin's eager voice broke my thoughts. "Brother Ross! Do you think we'll really find a poneglyph here?" Her excitement was palpable, her eyes wide as she looked up at me, the dense jungle around us only fueling her curiosity.

I smiled, sensing the truth in her excitement. "Patience, Robin. We'll find out soon enough."

Suddenly, my Haki flared, alerting me to a presence. A massive panther had silently stalked us, its body coiled, ready to pounce on our guide. Without a second thought, I plucked a small branch from the tree, infused it with Haki, and flicked it toward the predator. The twig shot through the air like a bullet, piercing the panther's skull cleanly. The great beast dropped dead before it even had the chance to leap.

The guide didn't even realize what had happened, but Mansherry, perched on my shoulders, huffed. "Ross, that was so cruel. Couldn't you have scared it off instead of... doing that?"

I chuckled. "Well, if I had scared it off, we wouldn't have anything to munch on, now would we?" I motioned to Dora, who was already examining the fallen beast.

Dora hoisted the panther's massive body over her shoulder effortlessly. "This thing's not nearly enough to feed all of us, Ross," she said with a teasing grin. "Especially with your appetite."

"Don't worry, Dora. I've already asked Smoker and Lucci to catch a few Sea Kings for us once we get back to the ship. This is just a snack."

Dora nodded, satisfied. "That'll do."

After trekking for a couple more hours through the dense, ancient jungle, we finally reached the edge of a massive cliff. The sight that greeted us was nothing short of awe-inspiring. As we stood there, the entire landscape unfolded before us—a sea of lush, emerald-green vegetation stretching as far as the eye could see.

The trees were towering giants, their canopies blending into one another, creating a thick, verdant carpet that rolled on for miles. The sun filtered through the misty clouds that seemed to hover just out of reach, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the forest below.

We could almost touch the clouds from where we stood, they were so close, swirling in wisps as if they were alive, parting to reveal glimpses of the untouched wilderness below.

A colossal waterfall dominated the scene, cascading down the sheer cliff face into the depths below with a thunderous roar. The waterfall seemed endless, plunging down at least a mile or two, its waters sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight before crashing into the basin below in a tempest of white foam.

The mist rising from the impact filled the air around us, creating a cool, refreshing breeze that carried the scent of the forest and the damp, moss-covered rocks. It was a scene that felt almost otherworldly—untouched by time, ancient and mysterious, as if we were the first to ever lay eyes on it.

"It's down there," our guide said, his voice trembling slightly as he pointed to the base of the waterfall. "The temple... or what's left of it. We'll have to trek carefully down the cliffside. It's a long way, and one wrong step could—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Miyamoto grabbed the guide by the collar and, without so much as a word of warning, leapt off the edge of the cliff. The guide let out a terrified, high-pitched scream, his arms flailing as he clung desperately to Miyamoto like his life depended on it—which, to be fair, it did. His scream echoed through the misty chasm, quickly drowned out by the deafening roar of the waterfall.

I couldn't help but shake my head at Miyamoto's recklessness. Typical. He could've at least given the poor man a moment to prepare, but subtlety was never his strong suit. "Couldn't wait a couple of seconds, could you?" I muttered under my breath, amused.

Robin, standing beside me, chuckled softly. "Miyamoto san has his own way of doing things."

I nodded at her, and without another word, I placed a hand on her shoulder. In the blink of an eye, I transformed into a bolt of crackling lightning. The world around us dissolved into streaks of blue and white as I carried us through the air, reappearing in an instant at the base of the waterfall.

We landed on a large boulder that overlooked the massive pool of water below. The power of the waterfall was mesmerizing up close—water crashed down like the wrath of the ocean itself, roaring with an almost primal energy. Mist filled the air, drenching the surrounding rocks and vegetation. It was loud, chaotic, and beautiful all at once.

"Aaaargh!" The guide's terrified scream cut through the noise of the waterfall. I turned just in time to see Miyamoto and the guide plummeting through the air, descending rapidly toward the base of the cliff.

At the very last second, Miyamoto effortlessly kicked off the air with a burst of Geppo, breaking their fall and landing softly on the rocky shore. He casually set the guide down as if nothing had happened.

The guide, however, looked as though he had seen death itself. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily. His face was pale, eyes wide in disbelief, still clutching at the ground for stability.

"I-I thought I was dead..." he gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "I... I can't believe I survived..."

Miyamoto, completely unfazed, gave the man a pat on the back. "Relax. You're here now, aren't you? And you've still got all your limbs. That's a good day in my book."

The guide shot him a look of pure incredulity but said nothing. He was far too shaken to respond.

I stepped off the boulder, landing gracefully beside them. "Well, you're not dead, and we're here. Now, let's get to the real reason we came all this way." I gazed toward the waterfall, feeling the unmistakable pull of something ancient, something hidden deep within the island's secrets.

Robin joined me at my side, her eyes wide with wonder. "This place... it feels different," she murmured. "It's almost like the island itself is alive."

"That's because it probably is," I said with a smile. "If the stories are true, this island has been untouched for centuries. Whatever lies beneath the waterfall has been waiting a long time for someone to find it."

Dora, who had just descended down the cliff in a single leap, landed with a heavy thud, her feet sinking slightly into the wet earth.

"Well, whatever it is, we're about to find out. But first... I think our guide needs a moment to catch his breath." She glanced down at the man, who was still trembling and muttering to himself.

Mansherry, still perched on my shoulder, gave a small sigh. "Humans are so fragile. He'll be fine in a few minutes."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Take a moment if you need to, but we'll be moving soon." My eyes lingered on the massive waterfall, the ancient energy radiating from behind it. Something important was hidden here. Something Roger himself had once sought. And soon, we would uncover it.

******

The dimly lit chamber was thick with the stench of fear, the oppressive air heavy with smoke from cigars that did little to mask the anxiety hanging over the room. More than a dozen figures, each one a powerhouse in West Blue's underworld, sat around a long, polished table.

They were individuals used to commanding respect and dealing in power, heads of vast criminal empires and clandestine networks, but today, their faces were taut with tension.

Among them were the five heads of the Western Mafia empire—men and women whose word was law in these seas—but tonight, not even their collective authority could hide the growing sense that death itself was lurking just beyond the shadows.

The source of their dread was no ordinary threat.

"Are you absolutely sure that it was one of Donquixote's ships?" Capone Nicolo, one of the five mafia heads, asked for the third time, his voice laced with poorly concealed anxiety. He took a deep drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling around his face, but even that couldn't cover the fear that flickered in his eyes.

Across from him, the man who had brought the news shifted uncomfortably. "Capone… no matter how many times you ask, the answer isn't going to change," the informant replied, his voice low but steady. The mere mention of the ship had set the room on edge.

It wasn't just any ship—it bore the feared insignia of the Donquixote Pirates. That alone had sent every criminal boss in West Blue scrambling to convene this emergency meeting in all haste.

Some of the veterans present still had vivid memories of Doflamingo's ruthless power. The Wedding Massacre, as it had come to be known, was still a terrifying legend that no one dared to forget.

Though none of them had been present at that bloodbath, the brutal tale of how members of the Five Families were slaughtered by the "Heavenly Yaksha" lingered like a ghost, a constant reminder of what crossing the Donquixote family meant.

"Maybe… maybe they're here for something else," said a woman dressed in a crimson gown. She had the sharp, calculating eyes of someone used to maneuvering in dangerous waters, but even she couldn't hide the tremor in her voice.

She clasped her hands a little too tightly, her confidence wavering as she glanced around the room. "Perhaps we're just… panicking for no reason."

"Something else?" Another man at the table scoffed, his voice cutting through the room like a dagger.

"What does someone who controls part of the New World and the entire North Blue come to West Blue for? A vacation?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, though his eyes flickered nervously, betraying his own unease. "And do you even have an idea about whose ship it is?"

The room fell deathly silent. Some of them had heard the rumors but were too afraid to voice the truth. A few exchanged nervous glances, their fear palpable. It wasn't just the ship that terrified them—it was who might be on board.

The man seated at the head of the table finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension like ice. "If I'm not mistaken," he began calmly, "it belongs to the younger Donquixote."

His tone carried an unnerving sense of certainty, and unlike the others, he seemed unnaturally calm. His gaze swept over the room, assessing the panicked faces of his peers. He knew fear wouldn't help them now, only swift, calculated action.

The mention of the name seemed to drain the remaining color from the room. One of the mafia heads gulped audibly. "You... you mean Rosinante? The monster with a bounty of more than three billion berries?" His voice cracked as he spoke, his hand shaking as he reached for his drink.

Rosinante. The mere utterance of the name sent a ripple of terror through the room. It wasn't just the astronomical bounty that struck fear into their hearts—it was the brutal reputation that followed it. Rosinante wasn't just any pirate. He was a force of destruction, a man so dangerous that even the World Government tread carefully around him.

After the Donquixote family had solidified their place as one of the Emperor crews in the New World, they had become untouchable. The World Government hadn't dared to openly oppose them, and even when Rosinante had led an assault on one of their most guarded facilities, the response had been muted.

Officially, it was reported as an attack on a decommissioned research site, but everyone in the room knew better. It was no ordinary base—it had been Vegapunk's island, a place where the world's most dangerous experiments had been conducted. And Rosinante had razed it to the ground.

"I've heard rumors," one of the men muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "After they took out that government facility… they say he's unstoppable now. There's nothing the Marines can do to contain him."

The woman in red clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white. "If they've come to West Blue, they're here for blood. He's not like his brother… Rosinante's worse. He doesn't just kill—he wipes out everything. Leaves no trace behind."

A deep, heavy silence fell over the room, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They had all built their empires on fear and power, but today they realized that no matter how vast their networks were, no matter how many soldiers they commanded, they were like insects compared to the Donquixote family. One wrong move, and they would be crushed.

"What do we do?" Capone NIcolo finally asked, his voice low and tight. He had always prided himself on his strategic mind, but even he was at a loss now. "If Rosinante is here…"

The man at the head of the table took a long drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly before speaking. "We stay calm," he said. "If we panic, we're as good as dead. For now, we gather information. Find out why they've come. They could be passing through."

"Or they could be here to kill us all," one of the mafia heads muttered darkly.

"Then we prepare," the leader replied coldly. "Because if that's the case, nothing short of a miracle is going to save us."

"Miracle? You dare talk about miracles?" One of the mafia heads erupted, his voice trembling with fury. His fist crashed down on the table with a resounding crack, sending splinters flying. His wrist buckled under the force, twisting unnaturally, but the pain did nothing to calm him.

Blood seeped from the wound, pooling on the polished wood, but he didn't care. His fear was now an inferno of rage directed squarely at the man seated at the head of the table.

"This... this is all your fault!" he roared, his face red with fury.

"If it hadn't been for you back then, my family wouldn't have gotten involved in this mess! You convinced us to strike the Donquixote while they were down—*you*! You gave us your word they'd be eradicated, that the World Government would finish the job for us!"

He stood, shaking with anger, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at Daniel, the man who had orchestrated the failed plan to eliminate the Donquixote brothers years ago.

Capone Nicolo, sensing the shift in the room, added fuel to the fire. His voice dripped with bitter realization. "Now that you mention it," Capone said slowly, piecing it together, "the Donquixote didn't come for us these past few years because of you; isn't that what you told us?"

Capone's face turned to a scowl as if wanting to tear Daniel apart. "But the truth was, It wasn't because of any so-called protection you promised us. No… they were too busy to bother with us. They didn't even see us as a threat. And now, now that they've grown bored, the reaper's come calling to collect."

Capone's eyes narrowed as he glared at Daniel, the weight of betrayal pressing down on the room like a suffocating fog.

"You lied to us, Daniel," another voice echoed from the other side of the table, dark and accusatory. Whispers followed, rippling through the assembled criminals as the realization sank in. Daniel had claimed that his influence had kept the Donquixote away, but now they saw through the ruse. They were nothing more than prey, patiently awaiting the hunter's return.

"Enough…!" Daniel's voice boomed, cutting through the rising tide of accusations. His face darkened with a cold, calculating rage. He knew the situation was slipping out of his control, and he needed to act fast.

"Talking about the past isn't going to change a damn thing! What's done is done. We need a plan…now. Rosinante's presence here isn't the end of us. We have alternatives."

He leaned back in his chair, trying to regain the upper hand, his sharp eyes scanning the room as he lit a fresh cigar and took a deep drag. The room quieted, not because they trusted him, but because they were desperate. Desperate for any solution that could save them from the looming storm that was Rosinante.

Daniel's words, though hollow, acted like a life raft to the drowning men and women in the room. They latched onto his confidence, hungry for anything that could keep the fear at bay. If they were going to survive this, they needed more than hope—they needed a miracle, or at least a weapon capable of stopping the nightmare that had come for them.

Daniel glanced at one of his guards by the door and gave a subtle nod. The guard quickly left the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

"You all overestimate the Donquixote and underestimate the forces that lurk in the open seas," Daniel continued, his voice cool and measured.

"Do you think the Donquixote haven't earned their fair share of enemies on their way to power? No empire grows without making its own demons. We just need to find the right people who have the same grudge we do. And this time, I have found someone—someone with a personal vendetta against the younger Donquixote."

A slow, cold smile spread across Daniel's lips as the tension in the room rose to a fever pitch. "He's here to help us eliminate this menace, once and for all."

The heavy double doors of the meeting room creaked open with a groan, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. A hulking figure stepped through the threshold, his massive frame filling the entire doorway.

His sheer size made even the bravest of the criminals in the room recoil instinctively. The air seemed to thicken with his presence, a suffocating weight that sent shivers down their spines. His eyes were sharp, burning with fury and arrogance, his bald head gleaming under the dim light, and his jaw clenched tight as though holding back a lifetime of rage.

It was Don Chinjao—the legendary "Drill Dragon," chief commander of the Happo Navy.

Chinjao was a monster from the current era, a man whose name still echoed in the New World, a titan of strength in his prime, and now he was standing before them. His towering form seemed even more immense in the cramped room, the muscles beneath his battle-worn armor taut with restrained violence.

His very aura radiated power, the kind of raw force that made lesser men tremble. His infamous conical head, once able to split entire continents, was now slightly dulled from age, but the menace in his eyes was sharper than ever.

Chinjao scanned the room, his gaze piercing through the assembled mafia bosses. He barely acknowledged them, his attention fixated on one goal: revenge.

"I hear there's talk of a young Donquixote causing trouble," Chinjao growled, his deep voice reverberating like thunder. His hatred for the Donquixote family ran deep—particularly for Rosinante, Garp's protégé.

Chinjao didn't care for the grand tales that circulated about the younger Donquixote's strength. To him, the boy was barely in his twenties, and strength like his couldn't possibly compare to the legends of old.

And beyond all of that, Chinjao still harbored a seething grudge against Garp. The man who had humiliated him, shattered his pride, and robbed him of his glory. Killing Rosinante wouldn't just be a victory—it would be Chinjao's revenge against Garp's legacy.

"Don Chinjao," Daniel said with a smug smile, waving his hand toward the giant of a man. "Let me introduce you to the chief commander of the Happo Navy. He has graciously agreed to help us take care of the Rosinante problem once and for all."

The mafia heads stared in awe, their previous fear beginning to ebb away, replaced by a fragile sense of hope. They knew Chinjao's reputation, and while they still feared Rosinante, they began to wonder if this ancient warrior might be their salvation.

Chinjao cracked his knuckles, the sound like boulders grinding together. "I don't care for your politics," he muttered, his eyes burning with determination. "But that boy… that Rosinante… I'll take his head and prove to the world that the Drill Dragon still reigns supreme."

The room fell silent again, the mafia heads watching in stunned silence. For the first time that night, the shadow of death that loomed over them seemed a little less certain. They had found their weapon.

*****

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