One Piece: Yujiro Hanma

From one of the warships, an annoying laugh broke the silence.

"Kishishishi! What kind of monster!" Moria mocked, laughing out loud as his eyes locked onto Kuma's distant figure. "Not even that guy could break you with brute strength! That's impressive. Maybe… we should get along better, Kuma. What do you say?"

Gion frowned visibly, clearly bothered. She crossed her arms without hiding her discomfort, exchanging a look with Tokikake. Both stared at Kuma, and though they didn't say a word, the same question ran through their minds:

Did you really launch him just like that? What the hell is wrong with you?!

That's when Kuma, still standing on his ship, his face as expressionless as a machine, spoke calmly, "I canceled my ability just as it began. Right now, he's several dozen nautical miles away, in that direction," he said without hesitation, pointing with his palm in a straight line.

!

But what shocked them wasn't the revelation that Tiberion had managed to break free from his ability, but the very fact that Kuma had been able to send someone like him so far.

And if he hadn't broken the ability…? Just how far would he have been sent…? To the other side of the world…?

No one answered, because deep down, they knew that possibility wasn't an exaggeration.

Gion was the one who broke the silence, looking in the direction Kuma had pointed, "Everyone, the direction Bartholomew Kuma indicated leads to Loguetown. We're heading that way to search for Tiberion Hanma immediately. There's no time to lose!"

The Marines nodded, and she added without changing her tone, "With his physical endurance, he could swim for three days straight without drowning. We can't underestimate him for even a second."

None of the present Shichibukai objected to the order.

They all seemed to understand the level of threat Tiberion represented. All of them… except Hancock.

Her beautiful, haughty face was twisted with indignation. Inside, she was boiling with frustration. She hated every second of this. She couldn't bear the thought of her Tiberion being hurt or humiliated—let alone being hunted like a criminal.

And amidst that internal storm, a single target for her hatred emerged.

"Bartholomew Kuma!" she suddenly roared, pointing at him without restraint. "Do you have any idea what you've done!? You even dared attack me earlier! I'll remember this insult! And when the time comes… I'll tear you to pieces!"

Kuma looked at her without saying a word. He didn't try to justify himself. He showed neither guilt nor pride. He simply endured the torrent of hatred with his usual unshakable silence, until the atmosphere settled again.

With tensions high, Gion and Tokikake gave the order to leave a detachment of Marines in Foosha Village. Their reason for doing this was to capture any of Tiberion's subordinates or allies who might still be on the island.

Once control was secured, they departed immediately, leading the fleet along with the Shichibukai, heading toward Loguetown.

…

Garp, after receiving Gion's report, temporarily set aside his punishment for his grandson and quickly departed from Loguetown, heading back toward the route to Foosha Village.

…

In another sector of the sea, one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea was aboard a warship belonging to a special division of the Marines.

Crocodile stood on the deck, his figure emanating both respect and threat in equal measure. He wore a long black fur coat that billowed in the wind, and beneath it, a long-sleeved shirt with orange checkers—a look that reinforced his image as a mafia boss.

A lit cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and his gaze was partially hidden beneath a furrowed brow. His left arm ended in a golden claw, a piece valued at 81 million berries.

In his right hand, he held a blue-toned Den Den Mushi, from which the voice of Vice Admiral Momousagi, the leader of the current operation, could be heard.

"Crocodile, I need you to head to the line between Loguetown and Dawn Island," Gion ordered bluntly. "Tiberion Hanma is on that route. Expand the patrol range. He may be traveling alone by sea."

"…Alright," Crocodile replied dryly, cutting off the communication immediately.

Turning slowly to the marines present on the deck, he exhaled a thick puff of smoke and, in his usual indifferent tone, commanded:

"Oi… you heard her, sailors? Your superior wants the inspection area widened. So get moving."

"Y-Yes, Sir Crocodile!" several marines responded in unison, hurrying to carry out the order.

About ten minutes later, the silence on deck was suddenly broken by a desperate shout from the top of the mast.

"Sir Crocodile! An unknown creature is approaching at extreme speed from the stern!" the lookout reported in panic.

Crocodile didn't react immediately. With the cigar still lit between his teeth, he continued staring ahead, showing not the slightest sign of concern.

"An unknown creature?" he repeated with irony. "What is it, a Sea King or something like that?"

"No, sir! It doesn't look like a Sea King… it's smaller, but the noise it's making is deafening. We can't quite tell what it is," the lookout insisted, visibly tense.

Crocodile snorted in annoyance, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as he cast a look of contempt at the nearby marines.

"Tsk… compared to my subordinates, you're all trash. Bring me a telescope! I want to see it with my own eyes," he ordered with disdain, making his opinion of the Marines crystal clear.

A soldier rushed to hand him a telescope. Crocodile took it calmly, brought it to his eye, and focused precisely in the indicated direction.

And then he saw it.

"…"

For a moment, his body remained completely still.

The figure racing at high speed across the surface of the sea like a lizard was none other than Tiberion Hanma.

A coarse laugh burst from his throat.

"Kuahahahaha…" he laughed, his eyes burning with bloodlust. "Five billion… that head is worth five billion berries. If I take it now… it'll be a delicious prize."

Of course, money wasn't what truly motivated him. Baroque Works already generated more than enough for a life of luxury. But letting such a fortune slip right past his nose would've been an unforgivable stupidity. And on top of that, they were in the middle of the sea—where he had the advantage.

With that thought firmly planted in his mind, his body began to dissolve. His solid form fragmented into a cloud of millions of sand grains, carried off by the wind.

A moment later, he reformed his body atop the warship's cabin roof, his cloak fluttering in the wind as he coldly assessed the distance.

Five or six seconds.

That was all the time left before Tiberion would be within striking range.

"Kuahahahaha… try this: Sabers!" Laughing with pleasure, he extended his right arm, palm open.

A small vortex of sand began to swirl in his hand, just a meter tall. At first, it looked harmless. But within seconds, the tornado burst out of control.

The sand current grew wildly, feeding on his power like a bottomless pit. In just three seconds, what had started as a simple whirl turned into a monstrous upward storm over 330 meters high.

A colossal, spinning pillar rose like a tower over the ocean. Its base ripped up foam and warped waves, while its top pierced through the clouds, wrapping the sky in a thick brown veil.

The waves of energy radiating from the rotation weren't confined to its visible mass—they extended more than a kilometer in every direction. The entire sea beneath twisted as if it were alive, slashed by invisible cuts generated by the friction of rotating energy.

The warship's hull began to creak ominously. Thousands of tiny gashes appeared on its metallic surface, as if an army of invisible blades had suddenly struck.

The marines on deck screamed and clung to anything they could, trying not to be swept away by the winds. But it wasn't enough. Razor-sharp sand fragments sliced through the air, tearing their uniforms, their flesh, their faces. Blood and sand mixed on the slippery deck, while their screams were drowned by the roar of the storm.

And despite the chaos, Crocodile remained unmoving, focused, his eyes locked on the target. He held the tornado's power back with effort, knowing that if he let it loose, it wouldn't just reduce the ship to rubble—it would annihilate everyone on board. And although the lives of those insects meant nothing to him, he did need to keep the ship.

Just as the storm reached a critical point, he redirected its fury toward the incoming threat.

With a wide sweep of his arm, he hurled the massive vortex directly at Tiberion Hanma, who was still charging forward at a monstrous speed, running across the sea at over 1,300 meters per second.

At that distance, with that kind of mass in motion, impact was inevitable.

He knew what this attack meant. If it hit as he intended, it would pulverize a solid rock with ease, topple any structure… and now, he had taken his creation beyond anything he had ever attempted.

In the blink of an eye, Crocodile believed he had succeeded.

He watched as the body of that humanoid monster was swallowed by the massive sandstorm, dragged by its force and lacerated by the countless blades spinning within the vortex. From his point of view, it looked like a perfect execution.

But reality was very different…

Tiberion simply let himself be carried by the current. He offered no resistance, didn't fight against the storm's onslaught. He accepted the flow with fierce passivity, allowing the storm to lash him with all its violence.

And yet, he wasn't destroyed.

The supposed damage—abrasive and brutal like an exfoliation done with ground glass—was nowhere near faster than his astounding cellular regeneration. The wounds barely opened before they were completely sealed again. His body didn't just endure… it grew stronger.

Moreover, he took advantage of the situation. He allowed the whirlwind to envelop him as if it were part of a body treatment.

To him, that devastating storm wasn't an attack—it was stimulation. The superficial cuts felt like an intense exfoliation, similar to a sea salt massage applied with force and precision to every millimeter of his skin.

A full-body experience of deep, intense muscle stimulation, from the air, leaving no area untouched.

"Ahahahaha! Is this your spa treatment? Not bad! I'm loving it!!"

Thirty seconds later, as the storm's wild energy began to fade, Tiberion emerged from the sand cloud bursting into laughter. His white, sharp teeth showed without restraint. And his crimson gaze locked directly onto Crocodile.

He was less than a thousand meters away. He didn't need words to make it clear that nothing Crocodile had done had worked.

Every muscle in his body gleamed under the sunlight, as if the tornado had polished him.

"..."

The expression of satisfaction still frozen on Crocodile's face crumbled. His jaw tightened, and his brow twitched.

He understood perfectly what had just happened: he had been ridiculed.

And when he realized he had been mocked with such open provocation, his gaze darkened. Rage swept over his face like a murderous shadow. Without uttering a word, he unleashed a surge of killing intent so intense the air itself grew heavy.

His fury became a tangible sandstorm that expanded and covered half the sky. This was no longer about restraint, strategy, or control. He was about to take things two hundred percent seriously.

________

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