The streets of Loguetown were alive.
Pirates in weather-stained coats, merchants shouting prices, Marines on patrol, civilians carrying baskets — all intermingled in a chaotic harmony unique to the town where journeys began and ended.
KING walked through the crowd, deeply uncomfortable.
Since his physique had surged, his senses had sharpened to an almost unbearable degree.
Conversations layered over one another.
Bootsteps striking stone.
Heartbeats.
Cloth brushing against cloth.
Every sound pricked his ears like needles.
The air was worse.
Grilled meat smoke, perfume, sweat, cheap rum, salt, damp wood — all blended into an overwhelming assault.
"…Too noisy."
KING's frown deepened.
He wanted to buy clothes, fill his stomach, and return to the quiet underground cellar.
Nothing more.
He quickened his pace.
People instinctively stepped aside.
Pirates with knives.
Young women carrying baskets.
Dock workers with crates.
One look at KING's expression — and the three scars clawing across his left cheek — was enough.
No one wanted trouble.
KING paid no attention.
His thoughts revolved around food.
Roasted lamb.
Bone-in meat.
Mountains of sausages.
As he crossed an intersection toward a clothing shop, laughter echoed from a nearby alley.
Then came a faint whimper.
KING paused.
(So noisy…)
He didn't want to get involved.
Trouble was to be avoided.
He lifted his foot to continue.
"Throw it higher!"
"Haha! Look how ugly it is!"
"Again! I'll catch it!"
Something small and black flew out of the alley, arcing through the air before hitting the pavement at KING's feet with a dull thud.
It was a puppy.
Tiny.
Black fur matted with mud and blood.
Skin and bones.
Barely the size of his palm.
Its hind legs seemed broken. It struggled to stand, claws scraping stone, emitting weak whimpers.
Several boys peeked out of the alley.
Seeing where the puppy had landed, they burst into laughter.
"Hey! Big guy! There's a dirty rat at your feet!" shouted a chubby boy, emboldened by numbers.
KING looked down silently.
He felt something twist inside him.
What had the dog done wrong?
Just because it was ugly… it was treated like a toy?
A strange emotion surfaced.
Not pity.
Not anger.
Irritation.
He hated scenes like this.
Meaningless cruelty.
Bullying the powerless.
Memories surfaced — videos he used to scroll past quickly because they left a sour weight in his chest.
Now it was happening in front of him.
"Hey! Why aren't you talking? Are you mute?" the boy jeered, stepping forward.
Others laughed.
"He looks like a demon!"
"Ugly monster!"
Then—
thump.
A dull drumbeat echoed.
The alley fell silent.
"What was that?"
"An earthquake?"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The sound intensified.
Wind chimes rattled.
The ground trembled faintly.
A child pointed with shaking fingers.
"It… it's coming from him!"
All eyes turned.
KING stood unmoving, staring at the puppy.
But the pressure radiating from him made the air feel heavy and cold.
His blood sugar had crashed.
Rage and nausea churned together.
His breathing deepened.
His eyes, bloodshot and hollow with exhaustion, lifted toward the boys.
"Get lost."
The words came out hoarse and quiet.
The chubby boy collapsed first.
He screamed, stumbling backward.
"A ghost!!"
"I want to go home!!"
"He's going to kill us!!"
The children scattered in panic, disappearing into the alley.
Silence returned.
Only the fading echo of KING's heartbeat lingered.
KING blinked.
(Why did they run? I wasn't going to do anything… kids are troublesome.)
His breathing slowed.
The oppressive presence faded.
He looked down again.
The puppy trembled violently, curled tight, emitting faint whimpers.
KING crouched.
He reached out carefully.
His large hand cast a shadow.
The puppy froze instantly.
KING stopped mid-motion.
(Did it… die?)
His legs tingled from crouching.
He stared at the trembling scrap of fur, trapped in an uncomfortable dilemma.
Leaving felt wrong.
The dog had been terrified because of him.
Staying wasn't practical.
He had no money.
No idea where to find a veterinarian.
Take it home?
He could barely support himself.
Why adopt a dog?
KING remained crouched there, conflicted, while the tiny creature trembled at his feet.