One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #10

The Jackdaw rocked violently as cannon fire boomed across the ocean, the force of the blasts sending splinters of wood flying from the ship’s railing.

The once-peaceful merchant vessel was now in chaos, its crew scrambling to fight back or take cover as gun-wielding pirates swung down from the masts of their own ship, The Black Gullet.

Captain Jack was not having a good day.

"WHERE THE HELL IS GALE?!" he bellowed, his voice barely cutting through the sound of gunfire and the panicked shouts of his men.

His first mate, a burly man named Rory, ducked as a stray bullet whizzed past his ear, slamming his cutlass into the gut of an approaching pirate before spinning to face Jack.

“I DON’T KNOW, CAPTAIN!” Rory shouted. “I SENT ONE OF THE BOYS TO WAKE HIM UP, BUT—” He slashed another pirate across the chest, sending the man crashing to the deck with a groan. “—HE HASN’T COME BACK YET!”

Jack’s eye twitched.

Of course. Of course, the one time they needed Gale, the little bastard was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, on the deck of The Black Gullet, the attacking ship, a grinning figure loomed over the battle.

Captain Bruno "Bloodbeard" Malko.

The infamous pirate—though, if Jack was being honest, "infamous" was a bit of an overstatement—stood with his mismatched crew, watching the chaos unfold with his arms crossed.

His coat was a little too big, his beard was more patchy than full, and his bounty of 15 million beri wasn’t exactly impressive by Grand Line standards, but they weren't in the Grand Line, and the pirate made up for it with sheer bravado.

“AHOY THERE, MERCHANT BOYS!” Bruno roared, his grin full of yellowed teeth. “DON’T WORRY, I’LL BE TAKING ALL YER CARGO, AND MAYBE EVEN A FEW OF YER LIVES WHILE I’M AT IT!”

His men cheered, raising their weapons.

Jack gritted his teeth. He could handle some third-rate pirate playing tough guy, but this was bad. If they didn’t push back soon—

BOOM.

A cannonball slammed into the side of the Jackdaw, sending a shockwave through the ship. Jack grabbed onto a nearby rope to steady himself, shooting a desperate glare at Rory.

“GET THE LAD! NOW!”

Meanwhile, in Gale’s Room…

Gale was soundly asleep.

The ship could have been breaking apart around him, and he wouldn’t have noticed. He was too tired to notice.

His arms were sprawled out, one leg half-dangling off the side of the hammock, his face buried in a pillow. A faint line of drool trailed from the corner of his mouth.

In his dream, he was in the process of getting a pretty girl into his bed.

A very pretty girl.

He vaguely heard someone shouting his name.

“Gale! Wake up! We’re under attack!”

...Huh. That was weird. Why would anyone interrupt his good time?

Gale let out a muffled groan, turning over. Five more minutes.

The shouting stopped.

Perfect.

He was just about to reach for the juicy bits when—

BANG.

The door exploded open, kicked off its hinges as a pirate stomped into the room, cutlass in hand.

Gale didn’t move.

The pirate—a particularly ugly man with a scar running down his nose—glared at him.

“Oi! Wake up, ya lazy bastard!”

No response.

The pirate growled, stepping closer. “What kind of idiot sleeps through a raid?!”

Still nothing.

Annoyed, the pirate raised his foot and kicked Gale’s hammock.

Bad idea.

The hammock, already precariously holding Gale’s dead weight, flipped over.

And Gale fell.

Face-first.

Right onto the floor.

THUD.

A groggy, muffled voice came from the floorboards.

“...Did someone just kick me?”

The pirate blinked. “Yeah. What’re ya gonna do about it, ya scrawny bitch?”

Silence.

Then, very slowly, Gale propped himself up on his elbows. His sleepy eyes locked onto the pirate.

And then, in a very calm, very polite tone—

“I’m going to beat the ever-living shit out of you.”

...

The Jackdaw was silent—aside from the occasional groan of pain from a bruised sailor or the creaking of ropes as they struggled against their bonds. The merchant crew had fought valiantly, but they had been outnumbered and overwhelmed. Now, they were lined up on the deck, hands bound behind their backs as the pirates looted the ship.

Captain Bruno "Bloodbeard" Malko stretched his arms with a lazy grin, strolling across the deck like he already owned the place. His patched coat billowed dramatically in the sea breeze—an effect entirely ruined by the fact that it was way too big for him and kept slipping off his shoulders.

“Well, well, well,” he mused, pacing in front of Captain Jack and his crew. “You boys put up quite the fight.” He ran a hand through his patchy excuse for a beard, smirking.

“A real shame, though. Brave men like you… stupid, but brave. And you know what happens to brave, stupid men?”

Jack glared at him, jaw clenched. “They survive and kick your ass later?”

Bruno laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, no. See, brave, stupid men pay for their stupidity.”

One of his lackeys, a tall, gangly pirate with a broken nose, limped up to him.

“Cap’n,” he rasped, wiping blood from his lip. “We lost three men. These merchants fought hard.”

Bruno whistled. “Three? Damn. Guess I’ll have to recruit some replacements after this. Maybe some of these fine gentlemen want a career change?” He gestured toward the tied-up sailors, grinning. “No? No takers?”

Nobody responded.

“Shame.” He shrugged. “Alright, what about injuries?”

“Couple o’ cuts, some bruises,” another pirate reported, checking his wrapped arm. “Nothing serious.”

Bruno nodded approvingly. “Good, good. Hate to lose too many good men over something as boring as a merchant raid.” He stretched, then cracked his knuckles, turning back to Jack.

Just as he was about to continue his villain monologue, another pirate jogged up, scratching the back of his head.

“Uh, Cap’n, we ain’t heard from Lars.”

Bruno blinked. “Lars?”

“The guy you sent to clear the lower decks. He never came back.”

Bruno rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The fool probably stumbled onto a barrel of booze and is drinking himself into a stupor.”

He turned to another pirate, a short, stocky man with a missing ear. “Go find him.”

The pirate saluted before heading toward the hatch. He muttered under his breath about how Lars was probably too dumb to find his way back up, then placed a foot on the ladder—

THWACK.

Before he could even start climbing, something—no, someone—came flying out of the hatch at full speed, colliding directly with the poor pirate’s face.

The impact sent him soaring backward, crashing into a pile of crates like a sack of bricks. A loud, wet thud echoed across the deck, followed by an uncomfortable silence.

The “object” that had hit him rolled to a stop near the center of the deck.

It was humanoid in shape.

It was wearing pirate clothes.

But its face… oh god, its face.

Swollen, bloodied, and painted in every imaginable color—green, blue, red, some shades of purple that shouldn’t even exist—the pirate’s mangled features resembled something between modern art and a cautionary tale.

His eyes were completely swollen shut, overflowing with tears, his lips twice their usual size, and his nose was… well, it wasn’t exactly where a nose should be anymore.

Jack, Rory, and the rest of the captured crew stared in disbelief.

One of the pirates gulped. “Uh… is that Lars?”

“Holy shit,” another whispered.

Bruno’s jaw tightened. “What the hell happened to—”

THUD.

Footsteps.

Slow, lazy footsteps.

From below deck, a new figure emerged—one with messy, unkempt hair, a yawn escaping his lips, and an expression that couldn’t be more disinterested if he tried.

Gale.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped onto the deck.

“Man…” he grumbled, cracking his shoulder. “I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to wake me up, but that was a mistake.”

His eyes swept lazily across the deck, landing on the dozens of armed pirates staring at him.

He blinked.

Then he looked at Jack and his crew, tied up.

Then back at the pirates.

Then at Lars, who was still groaning in a heap.

Finally, Gale scratched his head, letting out another yawn.

“…Huh. So I guess we got boarded.”

Captain Bruno "Bloodbeard" Malko squinted at the newcomer, unease creeping up his spine. Something about the way this sleepy-looking bastard carried himself didn’t sit right with him.

The casual yawn, the half-lidded eyes, the complete and utter indifference to being surrounded by armed pirates—it all sent alarm bells screaming in Malko’s head.

Malko was not an idiot.

Unlike most small-time pirates who got one lucky raid and immediately started screaming about how they’d be the next King of the Pirates, Malko had something they lacked: survival instincts. He knew his limits, and more importantly, he knew when to walk away.

He was living good in his little corner of the sea—just big enough to be feared by merchants, but not big enough to draw the attention of the Marines or the Grand Line monsters. He had a steady income, a solid crew, and a reputation just dangerous enough to get what he wanted without too much trouble.

And right now, his instincts were screaming at him to cut his losses and leave.

Because the young man in front of him?

Yeah, he looked like trouble.

But the problem was, he couldn’t just leave outright. That would be cowardly. And he had an image to maintain.

Malko cleared his throat, rubbing his chin. “Well… uh…” He gestured vaguely at Lars, who was still unconscious on the deck, his face looking like an abstract painting. “Seems like we’ve done enough damage. No need to waste more energy here, boys.”

His crew blinked.

Jack, still tied up, raised an eyebrow. “Wait. What?”

Malko nodded sagely. “Yeah, yeah. I was just thinking, we’re running low on supplies. Can’t be picking unnecessary fights, you know? Gotta be practical about these things.”

One of his pirates stared. “But, Cap’n, we just—”

“Shut up, Jerry.” Malko elbowed him in the ribs before turning back to Gale with a forced smile. “Listen, lad, uh… I don’t know who you are, but I’m a reasonable man. I think we got off on the wrong foot here, yeah? Let’s just call it a misunderstanding and go our separate ways.”

But Gale… Gale wasn’t listening.

His eyelid twitched.

Malko had no idea, but this raid had interrupted what might’ve been the best dream of Gale’s life. And these idiots had ruined it.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gale drawled, rubbing his eyes. “You think you can just wake me up, ruin my dream, and then just walk away?” He cracked his knuckles. “Oh, hell no.”

Malko’s fake grin faltered. “Uh… listen, lad, no hard feelings, alright? I’m sure you’ll—”

“No, no, you’re right.” Gale cut him off, nodding. “Fighting is pointless. We should all just calm down and leave peacefully.”

Malko’s shoulders relaxed. “Exactly! That’s what I’m—”

“But.”

Malko stiffened.

Gale tilted his head. “Before you go, I just gotta ask—is your beard okay?”

Malko blinked. “Huh?”

Gale gestured vaguely at Malko’s patchy, uneven excuse for facial hair. “It kinda looks like someone halfheartedly shaved a dog’s ass and glued it to your face.”

Jack choked back a laugh. The pirates stared.

Malko’s eye twitched.

“…Excuse me?”

“Oh, no offense!” Gale held up his hands. “I just thought maybe you got attacked by a moth or something, ‘cause that thing’s hanging on for dear life.”

The pirates snickered.

Malko twitched harder.

“O-Or maybe,” Gale continued thoughtfully, “you’re actually a half-plucked chicken and just really self-conscious about it. If that’s the case, I totally get it.”

Malko’s eye twitched so hard his whole face spasmed.

Jack, tied up and unable to stop himself, burst out laughing.

The pirates, now barely holding it together, covered their mouths.

Malko’s patience snapped.

“THAT’S IT!” He pointed a dramatic finger at Gale. “I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS! BUT YOU’VE DONE IT NOW—A MAN CAN BE KILLED BUT NOT HUMILIATED!”

With a grand flourish, he spread his arms, the wind catching his oversized coat, making it billow dramatically (before it slipped off one shoulder again).

“WITNESS MY POWER! BLOODBEARD STYLE: SKY-SPLITTING STRIKE!”

With a battle cry, Malko launched himself forward, winding up a massive punch. His fist gleamed in the lantern light, his muscles tensed, and for a moment—just a moment—he actually looked kind of impressive.

Then Gale slapped him.

Not punched. Slapped.

It was one lazy, open-palmed, disrespectful slap.

SMACK.

Malko’s entire head snapped to the side. His eyes rolled back. His feet lifted off the ground.

For one glorious second, he hovered in the air, his whole body tilted at an impossible angle, before he came crashing down like a sack of bricks.

The deck shook.

Silence.

Nobody moved.

The pirates gawked at their unconscious captain, their brains struggling to process what just happened.

“…Huh,” Gale muttered, flexing his hand. “That was softer than I expected.”

Jack, still tied up, let out a long sigh. “Oh, thank god.”

The pirates just stared at Gale.

Jerry gulped. “Uh… new plan, guys.”

The other pirates nodded rapidly.

“RUN.”