Jack Sparrow swaggered.
It was not by any means a confident swagger. He followed vague directions shouted at him earlier—something about a square, a tower, and "you can't miss it"—and promptly missed it several times.
He turned left when he should have gone right. He went straight when there was very clearly a wall. At one point, he apologized to a lamppost.
The lamppost didn't even forgive him even after he apologized. That bastard.
Eventually, the crowd thinned.
The noise of Loguetown dulled into a distant roar, replaced by a quieter stretch of stone and shadow. Jack stumbled into a deserted corner near the edge of the execution grounds and promptly tripped over something large and metallic.
He hit the ground hard.
"Oof," Jack muttered, blinking.
He pushed himself up and stared at what had betrayed him.
A cannon.
Large. Black. Old. Positioned at an angle that pointed almost perfectly toward the execution tower rising in the distance.
Jack's eyes widened with wonder.
"Well," he said aloud, swaying slightly, "that's a big toy."
He circled it slowly, dragging a hand along the cold metal. There were no Marines nearby. No crew. No officer shouting orders. Just the cannon, abandoned and silent.
Jack frowned thoughtfully.
"Seems rude," he said, "to leave the celebration unattended."
He looked around again, squinting. No one.
Jack nodded to himself. "Right. I'll help."
He clambered onto the cannon with some difficulty, nearly slipping twice, and peered into the barrel. Darkness stared back.
"Very dramatic," Jack murmured.
He found the fuse. He found powder. How everything was already loaded did not occur to him. He struck a match with exaggerated care, holding it up like a torch.
"For the Marines!" he announced cheerfully, then hesitated. "Or the pirates. Or… someone."
He lit the fuse.
"For the new era!"
—
Moments earlier-
Pirates, civilians, merchants, Marines—people from every sea and every walk of life filled the execution grounds. Tension hung thick in the air, heavy enough to choke on. Eyes were fixed on the wooden platform at the center of it all.
Gold Roger sat cross-legged atop the stand, wrists bound, posture relaxed in a way that felt almost mocking. He was a tall, powerfully built man, thick-necked and broad-shouldered, with black hair pulled back and a presence that dominated the square without effort. His long, curved mustache framed a fierce grin that never quite left his face. His eyes were sharp, alive, and unafraid.
A red captain's coat with gold accents draped over his shoulders. Beneath it, a blue shirt, a yellow sash at his waist, dark blue trousers, black sea boots, and a white cravat tucked neatly at his throat.
Two executioners stood at his sides, hands tight around their swords.
A man pushed forward through the crowd and shouted the question that history would never forget.
"Where is your treasure?!"
Roger lifted his head slightly.
The square went silent.
"You want my treasure?" Roger said, voice carrying easily over the crowd. "You can have it!"
A murmur rippled outward.
"I left everything I gathered together in one place," he continued. "Now you just have to find it!"
His grin widened.
"Wahahaha!"
The laughter echoed, wild and unrestrained.
Whispers exploded through the crowd.
Treasure. Everything. One place.
The One Piece.
On the Marine platform, Sengoku stiffened. He saw it immediately—the shift in the crowd, the spark igniting in countless eyes.
"Execute him," Sengoku ordered sharply. "Now."
—
The cannon roared.
The sound ripped through Loguetown like a thunderclap, louder than any shout or scream. Heads snapped toward the source as a cannonball tore through the air, screeching toward the execution stand at terrifying speed.
Before it could strike—
A hand closed around it.
The impact cracked the air.
Standing at the edge of the platform, Monkey D. Garp held the cannonball in one massive fist. His face was uncharacteristically serious, eyes focused, jaw set.
Roger burst into laughter again.
Sengoku whirled. "Find whoever fired that shot!"
Garp moved.
He hurled the cannonball back the way it came.
—
Jack heard something whistle.
He turned just in time to see a large, very angry piece of metal rushing toward him.
"Ah," Jack said intelligently.
He yelped and dove sideways, arms flailing as the cannonball slammed into the stone behind him. The explosion rattled the alley, blasting debris outward and filling the air with smoke and dust.
Jack landed hard, rolling once before scrambling upright.
"That," he decided, "wasn't part of the celebration."
—
On the platform, Sengoku raised his arm.
"Do it!"
The executioners swung.
Steel flashed.
Roger's laughter did not stop.
The blades came down.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then Gold Roger's head fell, his face still frozen in a grin that defied death itself.
The Pirate King was dead.
Garp stared at the fallen head, shoulders heavy. He exhaled slowly.
"Goodbye," he muttered, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
—
Panic erupted.
The cannon blast, the execution, the laughter, the words—it all collided at once. People screamed. Pirates surged. Marines shouted orders that vanished into chaos.
"Capture everyone!" Sengoku roared. "Every criminal! Every pirate! Especially the one who fired that shot!"
Marines flooded the square.
Garp turned his head.
His eyes tracked the source of the explosion through the crowd, through smoke and panic. His observation sharpened, settling briefly on a young man fleeing with surprising agility for someone who looked like he had just lost an argument with gravity.
Brown pants. White shirt. Long hair tied back.
A kid.
Garp considered moving.
Then he stopped.
Too many people. Too much chaos. Too much damage if he intervened personally.
"Let the others handle it," he muttered.
Jack Sparrow vanished into the crowd, heart pounding, boots slipping on stone, unaware that the world behind him had just changed forever.
The Great Pirate Era had begun.
And he had fired the first cannon.