The Going Merry sailed through surprisingly calm waters, the towering presence of Reverse Mountain now far behind them. The crew had settled into a comfortable rhythm—Luffy at the bow shouting about adventure, Nami at the helm consulting her Log Pose, Sanji in the galley preparing lunch, and Zoro napping against the mast.
Gil stood near the stern, arms crossed, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon with practiced vigilance. The Grand Line had welcomed them with relative peace so far, but he knew better than to trust that. Peace in these waters was usually just the calm before the storm.
A faint sound caught his attention—a creak from below deck that didn't match the ship's natural rhythm. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he moved toward the cargo hold without a word.
Zoro's eye opened as Gil passed. "Trouble?"
"Possibly," Gil replied quietly. "Below deck. You coming?"
The swordsman rose smoothly, hand resting on Wado Ichimonji's hilt. Together, they descended into the dimly lit storage area.
It didn't take long to find them.
Behind a stack of supply barrels huddled two figures—a young man with an elaborate crown-shaped hairstyle and the number 9 tattooed on his cheek, and a young woman with long blue hair tied back with a white band. Both wore expressions of poorly concealed panic.
"Well," Gil said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Stowaways. How tedious."
The young man jumped to his feet with exaggerated bravado. "We've been discovered, Miss Wednesday! Prepare for—"
"Sit down," Zoro said flatly, his hand still on his sword. "Before I make you."
The man—Mr. 9, apparently—deflated slightly. The woman, Miss Wednesday, stood more carefully, her posture defensive but controlled. Gil noted the way she positioned herself, the calculating look in her eyes. She had training. Real training.
"Please," Miss Wednesday said, her voice measured. "We mean no harm. We only needed passage to the next island."
"So you sneak onto our ship like thieves," Gil observed. His crimson eyes fixed on her, reading her body language. "Tell me, Miss Wednesday—and that's clearly not your real name—why should I not throw you both overboard right now?"
Mr. 9 paled. "That's barbaric! We're just humble bounty hunters trying to—"
"Bounty hunters," Gil interrupted, "who fled from an old man and a whale. How impressive."
Before the stowaways could respond, footsteps echoed on the stairs. Luffy's head appeared, upside down, as he hung from the ceiling.
"What's going on? Sanji said lunch is ready!"
"Stowaways, Captain," Zoro reported.
Within moments, the entire crew had crowded into the cargo hold. Sanji immediately began fawning over Miss Wednesday, Nami looked annoyed at the unauthorized passengers, and Usopp hid behind Luffy while trying to look brave.
"You snuck on our ship?" Luffy asked, tilting his head.
"Yes," Miss Wednesday admitted. "We apologize, but—"
"That's okay!" Luffy grinned. "Where are you headed?"
"Whiskey Peak," Mr. 9 said quickly. "It's the next island on this route! We can guide you there, show you the best—"
"We don't need guides," Gil said coldly. He turned to Luffy. "Captain, they're going to the same island we are regardless. Whether we throw them overboard now or drop them off at Whiskey Peak makes little difference."
"Then we'll drop them off!" Luffy decided cheerfully. "But don't cause any trouble, okay?"
"We won't!" both stowaways said in unison, relief evident on their faces.
As the crew dispersed back to the main deck, Nami lingered beside Gil.
"You don't trust them," she observed quietly.
"I don't trust anyone who lies that poorly," Gil replied. "The woman especially. She carries herself like someone with military training, not a common bounty hunter." He glanced at Nami. "Watch your belongings. I suspect Whiskey Peak isn't the friendly port they're suggesting."
"You think it's a trap?"
"I think everything should be assumed a trap until proven otherwise."
---
Whiskey Peak rose from the sea like something from a fever dream—a town built into and around massive cacti, the buildings carved directly from the thick green flesh of the plants. Waterways wound between the structures, and the whole settlement had an oddly festive appearance.
As the Going Merry pulled into the harbor, the entire town seemed to erupt in celebration.
"WELCOME, PIRATES! WELCOME TO WHISKEY PEAK!"
Hundreds of townspeople lined the docks, cheering and waving. Musicians played lively tunes, dancers spun in colorful clothes, and at the front of the crowd stood a man with curly blonde hair styled like a crown.
"Welcome, brave sailors!" the man called out, his smile wide and seemingly genuine. "I am Igarappoi, mayor of this humble town! We are honored to receive such distinguished guests!"
Gil's eyes narrowed. The enthusiasm was too coordinated, too perfect. And that mayor's stance—he was hiding his true capabilities, but the way he balanced his weight betrayed combat training.
"FOOD!" Luffy shouted excitedly. "Do you have food?!"
"A feast!" Igarappoi declared. "We've prepared a magnificent banquet in your honor!"
As the crew disembarked, Gil hung back, observing. Miss Wednesday and Mr. 9 had already melted into the crowd, disappearing among the "townspeople." Convenient.
Nami slowed her pace to match his. "You're doing that thing where you analyze everything."
"Because everything here is wrong," Gil murmured. "Look at them. Too enthusiastic. Too synchronized. They were expecting us."
"Maybe they're just friendly?"
"Maybe." His hand rested casually near where his weapons could materialize. "But I doubt it."
The banquet hall was excessive—long tables overflowing with food and drink, musicians in every corner, and attractive women offering drinks and entertainment to the male crew members. Luffy attacked the food like a starving animal, Usopp was quickly drunk and boasting about imaginary adventures, and Sanji was surrounded by admirers.
Zoro sat in a corner with sake, seemingly relaxed, but his eye tracked the room constantly.
Gil accepted a glass of wine when offered. He took a sip—and immediately recognized the subtle bitterness beneath the alcohol. Sedatives. Clever, but not clever enough.
He continued to "drink" throughout the evening, occasionally pouring the wine into nearby plants when no one was watching. Around him, the crew began to succumb one by one. Luffy collapsed face-first into a plate of meat. Usopp passed out drunk—or drugged. Even Sanji eventually dozed off despite the beautiful women trying to keep his attention.
Zoro was still awake, Gil noted. The swordsman had clearly noticed the same thing he had and avoided the drugged drinks.
Gil allowed himself to slump in his chair, eyes closed, breathing deep and even. To all observers, he appeared as unconscious as the rest of the crew.
But he remained fully aware, his senses tracking every movement in the hall.
The atmosphere shifted.
The music stopped. Footsteps approached—many of them, no longer trying to be quiet.
"Well now," a voice said—Igarappoi, but his tone had changed completely. "It seems our guests have finally succumbed. Baroque Works agents—reveal yourselves!"
Through his barely-open eyes, Gil watched as the "townspeople" shed their disguises, producing weapons. Dozens of them, all bearing numbers or code names.
"One hundred million berries for the Straw Hat crew," Igarappoi continued. "Mr. 8 reporting. The trap is sprung."
"There's just one problem with your trap."
Zoro's voice cut through the hall. He stood from his corner, completely unaffected, his hand resting on his swords.
"This guy's still awake!" one agent shouted.
"Impossible! The sedatives should have—"
"Should have worked on someone who actually drank them," Zoro finished. His expression was cold. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
Gil remained still, watching. This would be educational—a chance to observe Zoro's true capabilities without the distraction of fighting alongside him.
"Kill him!" Mr. 8 ordered. "All agents—attack!"
What followed was a masterclass in swordsmanship—and a demonstration of Zoro's numerous flaws.
The swordsman moved through the first wave of agents like a hurricane, his three-sword style devastating. But Gil's analytical mind catalogued every mistake.
*Too much wasted motion on that strike. He's compensating for the third sword with brute force instead of proper technique.*
Zoro cut down five more agents.
*His footwork is atrocious. He's leaving himself open on the left side—his blind side from losing that eye.*
Ten agents fell.
*He's relying entirely on power. Against stronger opponents, that won't be enough.*
A massive woman—Miss Monday—tried to crush Zoro with her bare hands. He dodged and countered, but it was sloppy, inefficient.
*Wasted three seconds on that dodge when a proper sidestep would have been faster.*
Mr. 9 attacked with his bat-based techniques. Zoro deflected and struck back, but again, Gil saw the flaws.
*Predictable counter. Any opponent with real skill would have exploited that opening.*
More agents charged. Zoro's breathing was getting heavier—not from exhaustion, but from the inefficiency of his movements. He was expending three times the energy necessary for each technique.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of watching Zoro bulldoze through agents with raw power and minimal finesse, Gil decided he'd seen enough.
"Zoro," he said, his voice calm and cutting through the chaos.
The swordsman spun, eyes widening slightly to see Gil sitting up, perfectly conscious. "Gil? When did you—"
"I've been awake the entire time," Gil said, standing and brushing off his clothes. "Watching you butcher basic swordsmanship principles."
Around them, the few remaining conscious agents hesitated, realizing another threat had just revealed itself.
Zoro's eye narrowed. "Butcher? I just took down fifty guys!"
"You took down fifty weaklings while wasting enough energy to fight five hundred," Gil corrected. He walked forward casually, stepping over groaning bodies. "Your third sword technique is abysmal. You're holding Wado Ichimonji in your mouth like a dog with a bone, compensating with neck strength instead of proper jaw positioning."
"I don't need advice right now—" Zoro started.
"Your footwork leaves you vulnerable on your left side," Gil continued, ignoring the protest. "Every single attack from that direction takes you a half-second longer to respond to. Against these mongrels, it doesn't matter. Against a real swordsman, you'd be dead."
One of the remaining agents—a man with blades for fingers—tried to take advantage of the conversation, lunging at Gil from behind.
Without looking, Gil sidestepped. His hand shot out, grabbed the man's wrist, and redirected his momentum directly into a support pillar. The agent crumpled, unconscious.
"Case in point," Gil said, not even breaking his stride. "Awareness. You're so focused on what's in front of you that you're ignoring your periphery."
"I can't see my left periphery," Zoro growled. "In case you forgot, I'm missing an eye."
"Then adapt," Gil said simply. "Turn your head more. Adjust your stance to compensate. Stop treating your disability like an excuse and start treating it like a variable to account for."
Another agent attacked—a woman with a peculiar hairstyle. Zoro moved to intercept, but Gil's voice stopped him.
"Wait. Watch."
Gil didn't draw a weapon. He simply moved—a blur of motion that ended with his palm striking the woman's solar plexus. She collapsed, gasping for air.
"Economy of movement," Gil explained. "One strike. Minimal effort. Maximum effect. You're using your swords like clubs, relying on power to overcome your lack of refinement."
"My swords aren't clubs," Zoro said, his pride clearly stung.
"Then stop swinging them like they are." Gil's crimson eyes fixed on him. "Your Oni Giri—powerful, yes. But you telegraph it three seconds before execution. Your footwork is too wide. Your grip on the third sword is too tight, restricting your range of motion. And your recovery time after each technique leaves you vulnerable."
Mr. 8, who had been watching this exchange with growing alarm, finally decided to act. He raised his saxophone-gun, aiming at both of them.
"Baroque Works does not tolerate—"
Zoro moved. "Tatsu Maki!"
A whirlwind of slashes tore through the air, striking Mr. 8 and several other agents simultaneously. They fell, weapons clattering to the floor.
"Better," Gil observed. "Your execution speed improved. But you're still wasting motion on the follow-through."
"You want to do better?" Zoro challenged. "Show me."
Gil smiled slightly. "I could. But this is your fight. I'm merely here to observe and educate." He gestured to the remaining handful of agents, who looked torn between attacking and fleeing. "Finish them. But this time, think before you strike. Minimal motion. Maximum efficiency. Prove you're not just a brute with swords."
Zoro's jaw clenched, but he nodded. The next exchange was different—more controlled, more precise. He took down three agents with half the effort he'd used before.
"Better," Gil said. "Your stance is improving. But you're still—"
"Still what?" Zoro interrupted, breathing harder now.
"Still thinking of your swords as separate weapons instead of extensions of a single technique," Gil finished. "Three-sword style should flow like water, each blade supporting the others. Instead, you're fighting with three different styles simultaneously. It's inefficient."
The last few agents tried to rush them together. Zoro moved to meet them, but this time, his technique was noticeably more refined. His strikes were cleaner, his footwork tighter, his awareness broader.
Within seconds, the last agents fell.
The banquet hall was now filled with groaning, unconscious bodies. Zoro stood in the center, breathing heavily, his swords still drawn.
"Not bad," Gil said, though his tone suggested it was still far from good enough. "You actually listened. Improvement is possible, then."
"Your advice is annoying," Zoro muttered, sheathing his swords.
"My advice is correct," Gil corrected. "And if you want to survive the Grand Line—truly survive, not just scrape by—you'll need to learn to take criticism."
Before Zoro could respond, movement at the back of the hall caught their attention.
A woman stepped from the shadows—dark blue hair, yellow and orange striped shirt, white cowboy hat. She had a casual, confident posture, and unlike everyone else in the room, she didn't look remotely concerned.
"My, my," she said, her voice smooth and amused. "Quite the educational session. Though I suppose I should have expected as much from a crew with a thirty million berry bounty."
Gil's eyes narrowed. "And you are?"
"Miss All Sunday," she replied with a slight smile. "I'm not part of this particular operation. Just an observer." Her gaze traveled between Gil and Zoro with clinical interest. "Though the observation was quite educational. Especially your commentary, Gilgamesh."
She knew his name. That meant her boss had good intelligence.
"Your boss can be as intrigued as he wishes," Gil said coldly. "It changes nothing. These fools attacked us. Their organization is now marked."
"How frightening," Miss All Sunday said, sounding more amused than afraid. "I'll pass along your message."
She turned to leave, but paused near where Miss Wednesday and Mr. 8 (Igarappoi) were slowly regaining consciousness.
"You might want to run, princess," Miss All Sunday said casually. "Before these pirates figure out who you really are. Oh wait—" She glanced back at Gil with a knowing smile. "—I suppose he's already figured it out, hasn't he?"
With that cryptic comment, she vanished into the darkness.
Gil's attention shifted to Miss Wednesday, who had gone pale.
"Princess," he repeated thoughtfully. "Well. That explains the military bearing."
Miss Wednesday—no, Vivi, clearly—looked like she wanted to run. Mr. 8 struggled to his feet, positioning himself protectively in front of her.
"Leave her alone," he demanded, though he could barely stand. "Our mission is—"
"Your mission is irrelevant to me," Gil interrupted. "But I'm curious. A princess infiltrating a criminal organization. That suggests either remarkable bravery or remarkable desperation." His crimson eyes studied her. "Which is it?"
Vivi's composure crumbled. "My kingdom... Alabasta... it's being torn apart by civil war. Baroque Works is behind it, manipulating both sides. We infiltrated to find out who was responsible, to get proof..."
"And now the boss knows you know," Gil finished. "Which means assassins are coming."
"We're dead," Vivi whispered, tears streaming down her face. "We'll never make it back to warn my father, to save my people..."
The sound of snoring interrupted the moment. Everyone turned to see Luffy, still face-down in his food, completely oblivious to everything that had happened.
"Should we wake him?" Zoro asked.
"Let him sleep," Gil said. "He'll need his energy for what's coming next."
"What's coming next?" Vivi asked, fear and hope warring in her expression.
Gil looked at her, then at the unconscious crew members, then back at the princess who'd just had her cover blown.
"That," he said, "depends entirely on what you say when my captain wakes up and asks if you need help."
---
Just so you guys know the mc keeps getting more arrogant throughout the story. He also has a new c rank weapon which will be revealed in a bit.