Gojo glanced at Miss Valentine, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.
"Hey, little woman," he drawled, "didn't your mother ever teach you how to speak to someone far stronger than you? Otherwise, the consequences can get pretty nasty."
Miss Valentine's smile stayed plastered on her face, but the anger beneath it flared instantly—eyes narrowing with irritation.
"Hahaha," she replied, voice sharp, "it seems your mother forgot to teach you not to offend anyone stronger than you! Especially if it's a beautiful lady."
The moment the words left her mouth, she sprang upward—though "jump" wasn't the right word.
She floated.
Her body lifted weightlessly into the air, rising several meters above the ground as if caught on a gentle breeze. It was the unmistakable sign of her Devil Fruit power—the Kilo-Kilo Fruit (Kiro-Kiro no Mi).
A sinister glint lit her eyes.
By making her body weigh only 1 kilogram, she rose effortlessly into the sky.
Then—without warning—she increased that weight to a crushing 10,000 kilograms.
Gravity seized her like a hammer.
She rocketed downward at terrifying speed, air shrieking around her as she folded into a lethal drop-attack aimed directly at Gojo's skull.
"Valentine Stomp!" she shouted, the words echoing through the clearing as her enormous weight turned her into a falling meteor.
As Miss Valentine came crashing down, her heels cut through the air and slammed against—
—or rather, should have slammed against—
Gojo's face.
A muted shockwave rippled outward, kicking up dust and sending a faint gust across the clearing. It wasn't strong enough to topple anyone, but the force behind it was undeniable.
Miss Valentine grinned triumphantly—already picturing Gojo crushed beneath ten thousand kilograms of pressure.
Except—
Her heels never touched him.
Gojo still stood exactly where he had been—comfortable, relaxed, not even shifting his feet.
Miss Valentine's heel hovered mere inches above his face.
An inch that was, in truth, infinite—an untouchable barrier she would never cross.
Her triumphant grin dissolved instantly.
"What… what kind of Devil Fruit have you eaten!?" she gasped, horror bleeding into her voice.
But Gojo didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
His hand was already on his sword.
In a blink, steel flashed.
The blade cleared its sheath and he swung—not wildly, not dramatically, but with the calm, crisp precision of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
Miss Valentine's instincts screamed.
She bent backward and launched herself away, weight already lightening as she retreated with all the speed she had.
She landed beside Mr. 5—but stumbled, almost falling as pain shot up her leg.
Her left thigh was split open, blood pouring freely from a deep, clean slash.
It hadn't even felt like a sword. It was too fast. Too sharp.
Cold sweat soaked her brow.
Because she understood—if she had hesitated for even half a heartbeat, that cut wouldn't have been across her leg.
It would have taken the whole thing clean off.
Mr. 5 spared a quick glance at Miss Valentine's bleeding leg and clicked his tongue in irritation.
"Why do pests like this always show up to interfere with our missions?" he muttered, clearly more annoyed than concerned.
Then, without ceremony—and with the kind of casual vulgarity only he could muster—he shoved a finger into his nose.
He dug for a moment, pinched something between his fingers, and flicked it outward.
A glinting blob arced through the air straight toward Gojo.
Because Mr. 5's Devil Fruit ability allowed him to turn any part of his body into a bomb—most famously, snot.
His signature technique.
Disgustingly effective.
A booger grenade.
Gojo's face twitched in revulsion the instant he saw it coming.
"Seriously? That's disgusting," he muttered.
And then—he simply vanished.
One heartbeat Gojo was there, disgust curling his lip.
The next heartbeat—nothing.
Mr. 5's eyes widened. His instincts screamed.
He shifted just a fraction—trying to dodge, trying to react, trying to live.
Too late.
A wet thup echoed behind him.
He didn't get a chance to look.
His right arm was already airborne, spinning away from his body in a spray of blood, severed so cleanly it barely hurt at first.
Only the sight of it—fingers still twitching as it flew—made the shock register.
Gojo stood behind him, sword lowered, expression flat and unimpressed.
"You really should pick cleaner hobbies," he said.
Mr. 5 froze as reality finally caught up to him.
A heartbeat ago, everything seemed normal.
Now, his arm was gone.
And then the pain hit.
A white-hot, searing shock like fire ripping up his nerves.
He clutched the torn stump near his shoulder, blood pulsing between his fingers.
"ARGH!!!"
His scream tore through the clearing, raw and agonized.
His thoughts scrambled in panic.
How… how fast was he?
When did he even move?
When did he get behind me?
When did the sword swing?
How did I not see anything!?
None of it made sense.
None of it registered.
Gojo calmly turned and looked back at the kneeling agent, as if this were all routine.
Mr. 5 was shaking, teeth clenched, desperately pressing down to slow the bleeding.
Gojo tilted his head, expression equal parts amused and disgusted.
"Man, your attack method is just nasty," he said. "Of all the ways someone could fight, that is what you went with?"
He gave an exaggerated shudder.
"Ew. Flicking explosive boogers? Seriously? You couldn't come up with anything more dignified?"
Gojo rested his sword on his shoulder casually, as though he hadn't just removed a limb in a single motion.
"You know," he continued lightly, "I could've taken your head off just now. One clean strike."
He pointed the blade lazily toward the ground.
"But I'm letting you live.
Not because I care—no, no."
A small smirk found his lips.
"I want you to fully reflect—right before you die—on how disgusting and crude your attack style is."
Gojo continued casually, voice almost instructional:
"If I'm not wrong, you can turn any part of your body into an explosive, right? And yet this is the extent of your creativity?"
He sighed dramatically.
"You could be doing so much better. Like—take your blood, put it in a bullet or arrow, fire it at someone, then detonate it from a distance. Beautiful, clean, efficient."
He raised a finger as though lecturing a student.
"Or close combat! Imagine punching someone—boom. Kicking someone—boom. Anything your body touches becomes a landmine. You'd be unstoppable."
Gojo clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"But instead? You settle for flinging boogers at people."
He shook his head.
"Absolutely pathetic."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Mr. 5's expression twisted—humiliation, fury, and wounded pride all mixing together.
His eyes burned with rage.
"Pathetic?" he hissed between clenched teeth.
In a sudden, desperate move—spurred by both pain and pride—he grabbed his severed right arm with his remaining hand, lifted it, and hurled it toward Gojo.
If boogers weren't enough, then fine—how about a literal bomb of flesh and bone?
The detached limb flew through the air and reached in front of Gojo—
—and detonated instantly.
BOOOOM!!!
A powerful explosion shook the clearing, blasting dirt and wind outward in a violent wave.
A thick wall of smoke erupted, swallowing Gojo.
For a moment, nothing could be seen but swirling grey smoke and rolling debris…
When the thick cloud of black smoke finally thinned and drifted away, everyone held their breath.
And there he was.
Gojo Satoru—standing exactly where he had been.
Not a scorch mark on his clothes.
Not a speck of ash on his skin.
Untouched. Unbothered. Perfectly calm.
A chill ran through Mr. 5's body.
Gojo dusted his shoulder as if irritated by the inconvenience rather than the explosion.
"You know…" he began casually.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished.
And before anyone could process it, he was already in front of Mr. 5, who had turned just in time to see death staring him in the face.
The tip of Gojo's sword rested directly at the centre of Mr. 5's chest—right above his heart.
"You are weak," Gojo said softly, almost pitying.
"No matter how strong your explosions are, they'll never reach me. Got it?"
Before Mr. 5 could reply—or beg, or scream—
Shuunk!
Gojo thrust the blade straight through Mr. 5's heart, killing him instantly.
Mr. 5's body crumpled, lifeless, as Gojo pulled his sword free with one smooth motion.
He flicked the blade, sending a spray of blood to the ground, and sheathed it with effortless grace.
Miss Valentine had already fled limping away, her injured leg barely supporting her. Blood soaked the ground path as she stumbled, wild with fear. She didn't dare look back—didn't dare breathe too loudly—terrified that Gojo might decide to remove her limb, or her life entirely.
He didn't spare her a glance.
Instead, Gojo walked toward Vivi as though he had merely finished a mildly annoying chore.
"Well," he said, tone light and businesslike, "it's good to know you're a princess. I was honestly wondering how you were planning to pay me fifty million berries."
He smirked.
"But now that I know you're royalty, I'm relieved. You'll definitely be able to pay up. Right?"
Vivi straightened herself despite the chaos and answered firmly,
"Yes. I can definitely pay it."
Gojo nodded, satisfied.
Business concluded—at least for now.
----
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