The driftwood refused to cooperate.
Trafalgar Law stood at the center of a dome made of pale blue light, her spotted fur hat pulled low over her eyes, sweat rolling down her temples. The ROOM hummed around her, a sphere of ozone-scented air that warped space itself according to her will. Ten meters in diameter. Unstable at the edges, where the blue light flickered like a dying candle.
Inside, nothing moved unless she allowed it.
The piece of driftwood hovered at eye level, suspended by nothing but her intention. A simple target. A practice dummy for the most dangerous Devil Fruit in existence.
All she had to do was cut it.
Law raised her hand, fingers extended like a surgeon about to make the first incision. The air inside the ROOM responded, invisible blades forming where her will directed them. She could feel the wood's grain, its density, every imperfection in its surface. The Ope Ope no Mi gave her perfect awareness of everything within her territory.
Everything except control.
She brought her fingers together.
The driftwood split. Not cleanly. Not into the perfect cubes she'd been attempting for the past hour. It cracked down the middle like a broken bone, splinters jutting at ugly angles.
"Again," she muttered.
Another piece of driftwood floated up from the pile she'd collected. Another attempt. Another failure. The cuts were too rough, the divisions too uneven. A real surgeon would have been thrown out of medical school for work this sloppy.
A real surgeon didn't have to maintain a spatial anomaly while operating.
The ROOM flickered. Law gritted her teeth and forced more energy into it, feeling the strain pull at something deep in her chest. The dome stabilized, but her hands were shaking now. Fatigue was setting in. She'd been at this for three hours already.
Three hours, and she still couldn't manage a clean cut.
Her mind wandered. That was the problem. It always wandered.
The newspaper in her pocket felt heavier than it should. She didn't need to look at it. The headline had burned itself into her memory the moment she'd read it, two weeks ago, in a bar on the other side of Swallow Island.
DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO CROWNED KING OF DRESSROSA.
The bastard had done it. While she was here, carving driftwood like a child playing with toys, he was sitting on a throne. Building an empire. Surrounded by his family of monsters, untouchable by the World Government because he'd made himself useful to them.
And she was falling behind.
Always falling behind.
The driftwood cracked again. Wrong angle. Wrong force. Wrong everything.
Law stared at the ruined wood, her jaw so tight it hurt.
That grin. Those pink feathers. The way he'd laughed when Corazon fell, blood pooling beneath the man who had saved her life. The man who had died so she could live.
For this.
For a girl who couldn't even cut wood properly.
The ROOM collapsed.
The dome imploded with a sound like rushing water, blue light scattering into particles that dissolved before they hit the sand. The driftwood clattered to the ground, half-carved, a monument to her inadequacy.
Law stood alone on the beach, her chest heaving.
Then she screamed.
"USELESS!"
Her foot connected with the driftwood, sending it spinning across the water's surface. It skipped twice before sinking beneath the waves.
"Fucking useless piece of shit fruit! Can't even hold it for a goddamn minute!" She grabbed another piece of driftwood and hurled it at the horizon. "He's out there building an empire and I can't even give a piece of wood a proper fucking lobotomy!"
Her voice echoed off the cove's rocky walls. Seabirds scattered from the cliffs above, their cries mixing with her profanity.
Law kicked sand. Punched the air. Swore at the sky in combinations so creative they would have made a sailor blush. The words tumbled out of her, vulgar and violent, a pressure valve releasing years of compressed rage.
When she finally ran out of breath, she stood panting in the middle of the beach, her hands on her knees, her spotted hat askew.
The waves kept rolling in. The sun kept shining. The world didn't care about her tantrum.
It never did.
"I'm losing my mind," she muttered to herself. "Talking to driftwood. Screaming at clouds. Next I'll start naming the crabs."
She straightened up, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Her tank top was soaked through, clinging to her skin in ways that would have been embarrassing if anyone had been around to see. The tattoos on her arms stood out stark against her tan skin, the letters D-E-A-T-H a permanent declaration across her knuckles.
Law reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled newspaper. She didn't unfold it. Didn't need to. The headline was visible through the translucent paper, mocking her.
"Soon," she whispered. "I just need more time. More training. More..."
The sound of crashing through underbrush interrupted her.
Law's head snapped toward the treeline. Her hand went to Kikoku.
Two figures burst onto the beach.
Shachi arrived first, his blue beanie askew, arms windmilling as he tried to maintain balance on the sand. He was wheezing so hard he sounded like a dying accordion.
Penguin followed close behind, his red boiler suit already dark with sweat, his expression far more composed despite his obvious exhaustion.
"Cap... Cap... Captain...!" Shachi gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees.
Law released her grip on Kikoku. Just her idiots. Not a threat.
Still annoying as hell.
"WHAT?!" She spun on them, channeling all her residual frustration into the word.
"Sorry, Law! My apologies! It's just, there's a situation, and we thought you should know, and..."
"Breathe, Shachi." Penguin stepped forward, having recovered enough to speak without gasping. His voice was calm, his words clipped. "Bepo. Down by the docks. Two strangers have him cornered."
Law's irritation flickered. Bepo was many things. Loyal. Apologetic to a fault. The best navigator she'd ever met. But he was also a talking polar bear in a sea that didn't have many of those, and people weren't always kind to things they didn't understand.
"So? They probably just asked the big furball for directions." She crossed her arms over her chest. "He's probably apologizing for the island's poor signage as we speak."
Shachi shook his head so hard his beanie nearly flew off. "No, no, it's worse than that! One of them is a bounty hunter! A famous one! The guy with the guns!"
"Shachi, that describes half the bounty hunters in the North Blue."
"The one everyone's scared of! Quick... Quickdraw!"
Law went very still.
Her hand moved without conscious thought, pulling the crumpled newspaper from her pocket. She unfolded it this time, eyes scanning past the headline about Doflamingo to the smaller story in the corner. The one she'd almost missed, two weeks ago.
LEGENDARY HUNTER 'QUICKDRAW' CAPTURED BY MARINE COMMODORE WHITMORE.
She'd remembered the story because it seemed fitting. A hunter who'd spent his career chasing criminals, finally caught by the same system he'd served. Poetic justice.
He was supposed to be in a Marine cell. Probably on his way to Impel Down.
Not on her island.
Not anywhere near Bepo.
"Impossible," she said, her voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "He's supposed to be in a cage."
"Well, he's not!" Shachi grabbed her arm, then immediately released it when she glared at him. "Sorry! But he's there, Law! I saw the revolvers! The duster! Everything matches the posters!"
Penguin nodded. "The other one's a problem too."
Her feet started moving before she finished thinking.
"Stay here," she ordered over her shoulder.
"But, Law...!"
"I said stay!"
She didn't wait to see if they obeyed. The treeline swallowed her, branches whipping past as she ran. Her body moved on autopilot, following paths she'd memorized over years of living on this island. Through the forest. Over the ridge. Down the slope toward the docks.
Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. The training from earlier had drained more from her than she'd realized.
Didn't matter. Bepo was in trouble. Everything else could wait.
The docks came into view through a gap in the trees. Law skidded to a halt behind a stack of shipping crates, pressing herself flat against the wood as she assessed the situation.
There was Bepo.
Her gentle giant stood near the water's edge, his white fur gleaming in the afternoon sun. He was bowing. Repeatedly. His paws were pressed together in front of him, and his round black eyes were wide with distress.
"I'm so sorry! My apologies! I didn't mean to startle you! I was just looking for fish! My sincerest apologies for any inconvenience my presence may have caused!"
Opposite him stood two men.
The first matched the bounty posters she'd seen. Tall and lanky, with ash-blond hair that defied gravity and a tan duster coat that had seen better days. His hands rested near his hips, close to the twin revolvers holstered there. His grey eyes were watchful, alert, tracking every movement in his surroundings.
Quickdraw Duckworth. The North Blue's most feared bounty hunter.
The second man...
Law's eyes narrowed.
He stood a few paces ahead of Duckworth, his posture loose and relaxed, a red bandana tied around his head and a matching sash at his waist. His white shirt was unbuttoned to an almost obscene degree, revealing a chest that would have been distracting if Law wasn't so focused on the threat assessment. Wild dreadlocks hung past his shoulders, a mix of brown and black.
But it was his eyes that made her pause.
Purple. With rings of glowing red, like something that shouldn't exist in a human face.
And he was laughing.
Not nervously. Not threateningly. He was bent over at the waist, hands on his knees, cackling like Bepo's panicked apologies were the funniest thing he'd heard in years.
"I'm telling you, Duck, this guy's hilarious!" The stranger wheezed between laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. "Best welcome party ever! Where did he learn to apologize like that? Is there a school for it? Can I enroll?"
"We're supposed to be finding food and water," Duckworth said flatly. "Not terrorizing the locals."
"We're not terrorizing anyone! He bumped into us!" The stranger straightened up, still grinning like a lunatic. "And then he started apologizing! For existing! In public! It's beautiful!"
"I'm so sorry!" Bepo wailed, bowing even deeper. "My apologies for being beautiful!"
The stranger dissolved into fresh laughter.
Law had seen enough.
She closed her eyes. Drew a breath. Focused on the space between herself and Bepo.
Creating a ROOM was getting easier. Maintaining one was still a nightmare. But a single, instantaneous swap?
That, she could manage.
"Room."
The word left her lips as a whisper. Blue light bloomed around the dock, a dome that existed for less than a heartbeat. Inside that frozen instant, she reached for Bepo's position and swapped it with her own.
Shambles.
Reality blurred. There was a sound like a scalpel hitting a surgical tray. Blue particles swirled.
And then Law was standing where Bepo had been, Kikoku already resting on her shoulder, her spotted hat casting shadows over her eyes.
The swap had cost her. Her head spun. Her knees wanted to buckle. Sweat beaded on her brow, and her breathing came faster than it should.
But she was between the strangers and her crew.
That was what mattered.
Duckworth reacted first. His hand was on his revolver before her feet finished touching the ground, his body dropping into a combat stance, grey eyes narrowed to slits. A professional's response to a sudden, unexplained threat.
The other one...
The other one didn't move.
He just stood there, his laughter dying down, his grin transforming into something else entirely. Not fear. Not aggression.
Interest.
Law's grip on Kikoku tightened.
"Who the hell are you," she growled, "and what do you want on my island?"
The stranger's grin widened. He took a step forward, completely ignoring the murderous energy she was projecting, and gave her a once-over so thorough it should have required a consent form.
"Nice entrance," he said, his voice warm with genuine appreciation. "Love the whole 'vengeful angel of death' vibe. The hat's a nice touch too."
Law stared at him.
Was this idiot hitting on her? Now? With a sword pointed at his face?
"I asked you a question."
"You did! And it was a great question!" He nodded approvingly. "But here's the thing. My first mate and I have had a really long day. Escaped a Marine ship. Blew up a mast. Rowed for hours in the sun. You know how it is."
She did not, in fact, know how it was.
He took another step forward. Duckworth made a sound of warning, but the stranger ignored him too.
"So before we get into the whole 'mysterious strangers on your island' thing..." He spread his hands in a gesture of innocent appeal, that infuriating grin never wavering for a second.
"You got anywhere to eat? We're starving!"