In the vast expanse of yellow sand, an extraordinary, verdant city stood unyielding against the desert.
"Hahahaha, a toast to the great hero!"
"Thanks to Crocodile sama, the Rebel Army wouldn't dare set foot here!"
The bar echoed with laughter and clinking glasses.
Rainbase, the jewel of the Alabasta Kingdom, pulsed with life. Water flowed freely through the streets, a miracle in a land plagued by drought. Unlike other cities under siege or ruin, Rainbase thrived.
And at its heart was the Seven Warlords of the Sea—Crocodile, also known as the "Desert King." The owner of Rain Dinners, the largest casino in the kingdom, and the hidden mastermind behind Baroque Works, Mr. 0.
Beneath the opulent structure of Rain Dinners lay a subrged secret chamber—encased in thick, reinforced glass, surrounded by seawater teeming with ferocious Banana Gators, each up to thirty ters long. These beasts were nad for the banana-shaped protrusions atop their heads and were known to even prey on Sea Kings.
"Grrrgh… grrrgh…"
At the mont, the king of the Banana Gators lay obediently under the palm of a man's hand, letting out contented, dog-like growls. The man, who stroked the giant beast with ease, wore a long black fur coat. His slicked-back hair and the sharp horizontal scar beneath his eye gave him an intimidating aura. His left hand was a gleaming golden hook that radiated nace.
Crocodile sat confidently on his boss's chair, a cigar burning between his lips. Across from him stood Robin—Miss All Sunday—his most trusted subordinate.
He spoke with calm authority, "The final stage of the operation begins at noon, two days from now. Is everything in place?"
Robin nodded, her voice steady. "Yes, Crocodile sama. Everything's arranged. Yuba has 150 million-Berries-worth of agents on standby. I've recalled Mr. 2 Bon Clay, but Mr. 3... he's disappeared from our radar. He must've gone rogue. The remaining officers will gather tonight at the Spider Cafe—8 p.m."
Crocodile narrowed his eyes with satisfaction. "Good. Well done."
He glanced up at the clock.
"It's past five now. So of them should already be gathering."
---
anwhile, in the desert...
The wind howled across the barren landscape.
A lonely establishnt stood in the middle of the wasteland—a quaint little cafe.
Outside the door, a pink sign shaped like a fish with a spider logo flapped violently in the wind.
Creak… creak…
Inside, all was calm.
A warm tune flowed from an old record player, filling the room with soothing charm.
Everything within the shop was spotless. The tables and chairs sparkled, and delicate tableware stood neatly inside a glass cabinet. A kettle boiled behind the counter, releasing gentle clouds of steam.
Behind the bar sat Paula, the owner of the Spider Cafe. She read a book leisurely, her purple square-frad glasses resting just above the bridge of her nose. Her curly blue hair was tied with a scarf, save for one rebellious strand framing her cheek. The camisole she wore revealed a deep, teasing neckline. Her allure was subtle but impossible to ignore.
Crash! Ding-a-ling!
The door slamd open as desert wind burst inside, catching Paula off guard.
"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here, Miss rry Christmas! Miss rry Christmas! Miss rry Christmas!"
In strutted a sharp-tongued, elderly woman with red wavy hair, her gait lively despite her small fra.
"It's your fault, Mr. 4! You walk like a whale with a limp! My back's killing !"
Behind her trudged a burly man in a green cross-patterned shirt, a heavy cannon strapped to his back.
"Sor...ry…"
Before he could finish, the woman cut in again, voice shrill and impatient:
"Alright, alright! We're already late! Paula, how's business? Looks like no custors?"
Paula smiled gently. "Long ti no see, Miss rry Christmas."
The stout man finally made it to the bar, and Paula greeted him too, "Mr. 4, welco."
"Hel… lo…"
"You have the cafe to yourselves tonight," Paula said kindly. "Drinks were ordered in advance. Orange red tea for Miss rry Christmas, apple tea for Mr. 4. Will that do?"
"I hate hot drinks! I want cold! Cold! Cold! Now!"
She slamd her palm on the table, prompting a light chuckle from Paula, who remained unbothered.
"You're as energetic as ever. How's work been?"
"It's cutthroat out there! One mistake and you're done for. But I'm still alive, so obviously, I'm doing great! Idiot! Idiot!"
"You're right," Paula said politely, "I apologize."
Outside, a voice rang out theatrically:
"One, two, ah ha! One, two, ah ha!"
Then ca a flamboyant song:
"In this world, oh there are only n and won~
But an okama~ is both a man~ and a woman~ oh~
The Okama Way, oh~ the strongest way~
The Okama~ Way~ Hurrah, oh!"
A spinning figure burst into the room with dramatic flair, landing in a perfectly executed bow.
"Hello everyone, oh~!"
Paula sighed. "You idiot…"
"I'm not an idiot, Paula! I'm a dancer, oh! Bring
an octopus parfait~"
"Octopus parfait?"
"It's a classic! My favorite, oh! Octopus parfait, please~! You guys go back to the ship! No slacking on dance practice, oh~!"
After dismissing his crew, Mr. 2 Bon Clay turned to the others.
"Oh, Fat Bear! Old Fat Lady! You're here too, oh~?"
Miss rry Christmas groaned, "Ugh, shut up, you noisy okama! My back's killing !"
Crash!
The door slamd open again.
"Who's there?!"
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
A man entered—tall, wearing a long trench coat and sunglasses, his afro barely moving in the wind. Hands in pockets, he swaggered inside as the wind slamd the door shut behind him.
Paula blinked. "Mr. 5? Didn't know you were coming. No one ordered anything for you?"
Mr. 5 nodded calmly. "Last-minute change. Not surprising you didn't hear."
In that instant, a system notification echoed in his mind:
[Host observed: User of the Thorn-Thorn Fruit. Comprehended: The ability to grow and extend thorns across the body.]
[Host observed: Master of advanced assassination techniques. Comprehended: Perfect-level assassination skills.]
[Host observed: User of the Mole-Mole Fruit. Comprehended: Ability to beco a mole, tunnel underground, and ambush enemies.]
[Host observed: Master of advanced baseball techniques. Comprehended: Perfect-level baseball mastery.]
[Host observed: User of the Dog-Dog Fruit, Model: Dachshund. Comprehended: Full transformation into a dachshund.]
Three Devil Fruit powers, instantly absorbed.
---
Be a good boy/girl, and send Powerstones ??
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