The island had not calmed down after the second round.
If anything, Racket Ring Island had only grown louder.
Pirates stomped on ruined stands, gamblers screamed at one another over lost bets, and fresh boards were already being painted with new odds before Bonk Punch had even fully crossed over to the Red-Haired side.
Monster, meanwhile, clung furiously to the Marauder Claw side of the field, screeching in outrage every time Bonk Punch looked back.
Giovanni pointed dramatically.
"Don't worry, little guy! We're coming for you next!"
Monster screeched louder.
Lucky Roo took another bite of meat and nodded solemnly. "That sounded supportive."
Limejuice folded his arms. "That sounded like a threat."
Bonk Punch stood with the Red-Haired Pirates now, arms folded, heavy face unreadable. But his eyes kept drifting back toward Monster.
Shanks noticed.
And smiled.
"Told you we'd get him."
Bonk Punch grunted. "You better."
The announcer leapt back onto the central platform, now somehow wearing a different coat than earlier. No one knew where he had gotten it. No one particularly cared.
What mattered was his voice.
And right now, it was unbearable.
"PIRATES OF RACKET RING ISLAND!" he screamed into the shell speaker. "ARE YOU READY FOR ROUND THREE?!"
The crowd exploded.
He pointed dramatically toward the sea beyond the crescent bay.
Then the curtains hiding the next arena were pulled aside.
And for the first time that day, even the more relaxed members of the Red-Haired Pirates stopped smiling.
Because the third round wasn't on land.
It was out there.
In the sea.
A long, jagged route stretched from the bay through a maze of dangerous waters beyond the island's outer ring. Colored marker posts and tattered pirate flags had been hammered into rocks, spires, and floating buoys to outline the route, but even from a distance it looked murderous.
Whirlpools turned lazily in some sections.
Needle-like rock spires rose from the sea like broken teeth.
Steam hissed from geyser vents hidden beneath the waterline.
Banks of dense fog rolled through narrow channels like wandering ghosts.
And even farther out, glittering debris fields floated in slow clusters, drifting with hidden currents that didn't look stable at all.
Giovanni stared.
"…That looks dangerous."
Beckman gave him a flat look. "This entire island is dangerous."
The announcer spread both arms wide.
"ROUND THREE!"
He nearly tripped over his own feet in excitement.
"DEVIL'S CURRENT DEAD RUN!"
The crowd answered with a furious roar.
He pointed out toward the race route.
"This is an ocean race through a trap-filled course!"
He raised one finger.
"Whirlpools!"
A second finger.
"Rock spires!"
A third.
"Sudden geysers!"
Then he started waving both hands wildly.
"Fog banks! Current shifts! Floating debris fields! Betrayal! Bad steering! Public humiliation! EVERYTHING A PIRATE LOVES!"
The audience screamed as if they had just been promised treasure itself.
Giovanni slowly turned to Shanks.
"I hate how much I'm enjoying this."
Shanks grinned. "That's growth."
The announcer continued.
"Each crew will field a race team and navigate the marked route around the Devil's Current course!"
He pointed toward two sleek race boats dragged up near the bay entrance.
They were long, narrow, and built for speed rather than durability. Light hulls, reinforced sides, sharp bows, twin oar banks, a central tiller, and enough rigging to make one fatal mistake especially memorable.
"First team back through the final marker and across the finish line wins!"
He paused.
Then, lowering his voice dramatically, he added:
"And remember… the sea itself does not care who deserves victory."
Giovanni frowned slightly at that.
Beckman noticed.
"You caught that too?"
Giovanni nodded once.
The old man didn't say more, but the message was clear.
This round would not be simple.
Dorga stepped forward first, boots heavy against the planks of the staging platform.
"This round is ours," he declared.
The Marauder Claw Pirates cheered.
He began pointing.
"Murrik at the oars. Skall on steering. Vera Hook as route caller. Dren and Fitz as side support. And Mule Heel back in."
Giovanni blinked. "Back in?"
Limejuice shrugged. "Guess ring-outs don't kill."
The selected Marauder Claw team came forward.
Their navigator. Vera Hook was the same braid-haired woman from the Iron Jackals support crew earlier, carrying rolled charts at her waist and wearing the expression of someone already halfway through winning.
Their helmsman, Skall, was a wiry man with sea-burned skin and a jagged grin, the type who looked like he would enjoy steering through storms on purpose.
The two side support men, Dren and Fitz, carried hooked poles and short blades useful for clearing debris or cheating in a way that could later be explained as "boatwork."
And Mule Heel, still bruised from Round Two, looked furious enough to row through the sea itself if needed.
Dorga crossed his arms smugly.
"You'll be seeing their backs the whole race."
Shanks grinned and scratched his cheek.
"Maybe."
Then he looked at his own crew.
"Alright. Our turn."
Beckman stepped forward first. "If this is a sea course, Snake has to be on it."
Building Snake nodded immediately. "Obviously."
Shanks pointed. "Snake's in."
Lucky Roo raised one hand. "If someone gets hit by flying debris, you'll want me there."
"That's true," Shanks said. "Roo's in."
Beckman looked at the boats and then at the route again.
"We need steering, route reading, strength at the oars, and someone who can react quickly if the course gets ugly."
Giovanni folded his arms. "So basically me."
"No," Beckman said instantly. "Basically me."
Giovanni's face twisted. "You're rude man."
Bonk Punch, still watching Monster from the corner of his eye, rumbled, "I can row."
Shanks looked at him.
Then at Roo.
Then at the massive race boat.
Then back at Bonk Punch.
"…Actually, yes. Bonk Punch is in."
Lucky Roo gave a firm nod. "Good choice."
That gave them four.
Shanks tapped his chin.
The fifth pick was obvious.
But that didn't stop him from making it dramatic.
He placed a hand over his chest.
"And of course…"
He pointed at himself.
"Me."
Giovanni raised a hand instantly.
"Wait, why not me?"
Shanks looked at him. "Because you get distracted."
"I do not."
"You flirted with a Vice Admiral mid-fight."
"That was battlefield psychology."
Limejuice barked a laugh.
Beckman exhaled smoke. "No, that was you being you."
Giovanni pointed toward the ocean route. "I'd be excellent in this."
Building Snake looked at the course and said, with total honesty, "You would absolutely jump onto the wrong thing if someone shouted at you."
Giovanni opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then pointed accusingly at everyone one by one.
"This crew does not respect talent."
Shanks clapped his shoulder.
"You can cheer for us."
"That's not enough."
"It'll have to be."
So the Red-Haired race team stood as:
Shanks, Benn Beckman, Building Snake, Lucky Roo and Bonk Punch
Giovanni looked betrayed.
Limejuice leaned over slightly and said, "For what it's worth, I also think you'd be a disaster on a race course."
Giovanni turned slowly.
"You are dead to me."
"Get in line."
The teams moved down to the bay where the race craft waited.
From up close, the boats looked even more dangerous.
They were built low in the water, narrow enough to cut fast, but unstable enough that one bad turn could put everyone into the sea. The oars were lighter than standard ship oars but long enough to demand timing, and the tiller mechanisms had been rigged through a central steering rope system that looked slightly too fragile for comfort.
Building Snake crouched near their assigned boat and ran a hand along the hull.
"Fast," he murmured.
Beckman stepped in beside him. "But not durable."
"Exactly."
Lucky Roo glanced at the route again. "You think they built this course to be survivable?"
"No," Beckman said. "I think they built it to be entertaining."
Shanks, meanwhile, looked thrilled.
"This is great."
Bonk Punch grunted, climbed into place without complaint, and tested one of the oars with a short pull.
Then Building Snake's hand stopped.
His expression changed.
"Captain."
Shanks leaned over. "Hm?"
Snake held up a cut length of braided rope.
The steering line.
Or rather, what was left of it.
Someone had sliced through one of the secondary steering ropes almost all the way. Just enough that it would hold under light use and then snap under strain.
Beckman's eyes narrowed.
"They cut it."
Shanks' grin didn't disappear, but it sharpened.
"Well. That's annoying."
Snake immediately began retying and reinforcing the line. "If we'd started like that, the tiller would've gone dead on the first hard turn."
Bonk Punch looked over his shoulder once. "Cowards."
Lucky Roo sniffed one of the oar handles.
Then frowned.
"…There's something on these."
Beckman took the oar, rubbed the grip, then smelled his thumb.
"Numbing oil."
Shanks leaned in.
"What's that do?"
"Deadens the fingers," Beckman said. "Makes the rower lose grip slowly without realizing it until it's too late."
Lucky Roo's eyes narrowed. "Dirty."
Beckman wiped every oar grip down with cloth and seawater.
Shanks straightened and looked over at the Marauder Claw side.
Their crew didn't even bother pretending innocence. Dorga was openly smiling.
Giovanni, from the shore, shouted, "Can't win a race without cheating?"
Dorga laughed back. "You're pirates! Stop crying!"
The crowd ate it up.
Shakky, if she had been there, would have called it predictable.
The boats were pushed into the water.
The crews climbed aboard.
Building Snake took the rear steering position immediately.
Beckman and Bonk Punch took the heavy oars.
Lucky Roo positioned for support and balance shifts.
Shanks stood at the front, one hand on the hull and the other resting near his saber, ready to react if the course itself tried something stupid.
The Marauder Claw boat launched beside them, smoother, almost too smooth.
Their crew moved like they knew this exact dance.
Their navigator Vera Hook wasn't even looking at the route markers much anymore. She was looking at the water between them.
That bothered Beckman.
The announcer stood high above on a signal tower and raised a giant painted flag.
The crowd held its breath.
Then the flag dropped.
"BEGIN!"
Both boats surged forward.
The first stretch was clean water.
Fast water.
Beckman and Bonk Punch pulled hard, their strokes heavy and efficient. The Red-Haired boat jumped ahead half a length instantly, cutting through the bay in a narrow spray.
The crowd reacted.
"THE RED-HAIREDS GET THE BETTER START!"
Giovanni shouted from shore, "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!"
Shanks grinned over his shoulder. "Keep yelling! It makes me faster!"
Then the course bent.
And everything changed.
A cluster of rock spires rose just under the surface ahead, narrow enough to force tight steering. Building Snake moved the tiller smoothly, angling the boat toward what looked like the cleanest gap—
"Left!" Beckman suddenly barked.
Snake obeyed instinctively.
A heartbeat later, the "clean gap" surged backward.
A reverse current.
The water there had looked safe because it was calmer.
Their boat missed it by inches.
The Marauder Claw boat didn't even hesitate. It swung through a completely different line and gained ground.
Building Snake's eyes narrowed.
"They've raced this before."
Beckman nodded once. "And they know where the course lies."
Ahead, a fog bank rolled in suddenly across the second stretch of the route.
Shanks frowned. "That fast?"
Lucky Roo muttered, "Too fast."
The Marauder Claw navigator raised two fingers, then pointed. Their boat angled into the fog without slowing, while the Red-Haired boat had to reduce speed just enough not to drive blind into a reef line.
Then, through the fog, a signal flag appeared.
Red stripe. White cross. Two quick waves from a hidden outcropping.
Building Snake's eyes flicked toward it.
"What is that?"
Beckman looked too.
"A marker?"
The boat almost turned toward it—
Then Shanks said, "No."
Snake looked at him.
"That's not official," Shanks said. "Too deliberate."
And he was right.
The moment they ignored the flag, the water just beyond it exploded upward in a geyser blast that would have hit them broadside if they had followed the signal.
From far off, Dorga's laughter echoed through the fog.
Giovanni, still watching from the shore through the crowd, slammed both hands on the railing.
"THEY HAVE A HIDDEN SIGNAL MAN!"
Limejuice, beside him, nodded grimly. "And the referee is pretending he doesn't see it."
Indeed, the referee on the watch post did absolutely nothing.
Not a call.
Not a warning.
Nothing.
Beckman clicked his tongue. "Bribed."
Shanks smiled.
"Then we just win harder."
They burst out of the fog, but not cleanly.
The Marauder Claw boat was now ahead by nearly a full length.
Their navigator had called every drift perfectly. Their helmsman had hugged invisible "safe" lines that the Red-Haired crew had no way of knowing. And every false path the Red-Haired boat almost took would have sent them into a reef, a reverse current, or a geyser burst.
Building Snake's jaw tightened.
"This route is completely rigged in their favor."
Beckman didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
---
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