The world trembled with Brogy's grief.
Tears the size of barrels crashed onto the scorched earth, each impact a miniature earthquake. The giant warrior cradled his fallen friend, his sobs raw and guttural, shaking the very bones of Little Garden.
"A century… a century of battle," Brogy roared to the heavens, his voice cracking. "And it ends like this? Not with glory, but with a cheap trick and my axe in your back, Dorry!"
Nami covered her mouth, her own eyes stinging. The sheer scale of their sorrow was overwhelming.
Then, a groan.
Dorry's massive hand twitched. One eye, swollen shut, cracked open. He let out a pained, rumbling sigh that stirred the dust around them.
"Brogy… you cry… like a hatchling," Dorry grumbled, his voice a low avalanche. He pushed himself up, wincing as he touched the massive bruise on his temple. "Your strikes have grown soft. A hundred years of dueling, and you think that love-tap could finish Elbaf's greatest warrior?"
Brogy's tears stopped. His jaw hung open. Then, a sun-bright smile split his bearded face. He lunged forward, wrapping Dorry in a crushing embrace that made the giant's bones creak.
"YOU OLD FOSSIL! You had me mourning like a fool!"
"Let go, you sentimental oaf! You're cracking my ribs!"
"They'll heal! For a hundred years, they'll heal!"
Nami watched, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. They're alive. They're both alive, and they're about to kill each other all over again. The emotional whiplash left her dizzy.
But her relief was short-lived. A cold, creeping dread slithered down her spine as she remembered the other drama unfolding miles away, in the belly of Mr. 3's wax fortress.
---
Inside the stifling heat of the wax hideout, the air was thick with a different kind of tension.
The Den Den Mushi's face had morphed into something cruel, hook-nosed, and scarred. The voice that came from it was dry as a desert grave, each syllable laced with casual, absolute authority.
"Report."
Sanji's blood ran cold. That voice. Vivi's desperate warnings echoed in his mind: A Shichibukai. The mastermind. Sir Crocodile.
He swallowed, his mind racing faster than his heart. Mr. 3 was sent for Vivi. This monster thinks I'm him.
Putting on a voice he hoped sounded suitably smug and reptilian, Sanji spoke into the receiver. "Mission accomplished, Mr. 0. The Straw Hats and the Alabastan princess… are no more."
There was a pause on the line, so heavy Sanji could feel it in his bones.
"Good." The word was a death sentence. "The Unluckies are en route to your position with a package. Inside, you will find an Eternal Pose directly to Alabasta. Bring Miss Goldenweek and come at once. The final stage of Operation Utopia begins now."
Eternal Pose. Alabasta. Final stage. The pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity. Whatever Crocodile was planning, it was entering its endgame.
Right on cue, the door shattered.
In flew the bizarre duo: Mr. 13, the grouchy-looking seal balancing a blade on its nose, and Miss Friday, the stern-faced vulture with a pistol gripped in her talons. Their eyes went from the bound, unconscious forms of the real Mr. 3 and Miss Goldenweek to Sanji, holding their boss's personal Den Den Mushi.
Understanding dawned in their animal eyes. Malice followed.
Crap.
"What is that noise?" Crocodile's voice sharpened over the line.
"Nothing!" Sanji yelped, diving sideways as Miss Friday's gun barked, splintering wax where his head had been. "Just… tidying up!"
Mr. 13 launched itself, a spinning blur of sharpened steel. Sanji pivoted on one foot, the heat of the blade whispering past his cheek. No time to play.
"Party's over, pests," he snarled.
His leg became a blur. A single, devastating kick caught Mr. 13 square in the belly. The seal's eyes bulged before it shot across the room like a cannonball, cratering the wall with a sickening thud and slumping, unconscious.
Miss Friday shrieked, firing wildly. Sanji moved like smoke, each step a precise dance between bullets. He leapt, spiraling through the air, and scissored his legs around the vulture's head.
"Table manners," he grunted, and slammed her beak-first into the stone floor. She went still.
Panting, Sanji snatched the dropped package from the vulture's clutch and lifted the Den Den Mushi receiver. "My apologies for the interruption, sir. One of the Straw Hats showed a surprising resilience. He's been dealt with."
The silence from Crocodile's end was absolute. Then, a soft, crinkling sound filtered through, like parchment turning to dust.
"So your initial report," Crocodile said, his voice now dangerously quiet, "was a lie."
Sanji's grip on the receiver grew slick with sweat. "An unforeseen aberration. It is resolved."
"See that it is." The words were final. "This is the last time we will speak on this line. Do not fail me again. Bring the Pose to Rainbase. The clock is ticking… Mr. 3."
The line went dead with a definitive click.
Sanji stared at the lifeless Den Den Mushi, the weight of the deception and the stolen Eternal Pose heavy in his hands. He'd bought them time. He'd learned the destination.
But as he looked at the unconscious Baroque Works agents around him, a chilling thought crystallized.
He believed me. But for how long?
The answer came not from his own mind, but from the small, black transponder snail still nestled in Mr. 13's coat. It began to ring, a shrill, insistent sound in the sudden quiet. Its face hadn't morphed. This wasn't a direct call. It was an alert—a broadcast to all agents.
Tentatively, Sanji picked it up and pressed receive.
A new, synthesized voice filled the room, cold and devoid of all humanity, echoing the order to every hidden ear in the organization.
"Priority One notice from Mr. 0. Confirmation of agent status required. All numbers, verify elimination of targets with immediate effect. Report any discrepancy on penalty of… termination."
The broadcast ended. The snail's eyes seemed to stare right through Sanji.
In the wax forest outside, a separate Den Den Mushi, hidden in the bag of a bound and gagged Usopp, began to ring with the same terrible, priority-one tone.
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