"New plan—we hit it hard and fast!" Gale shouted, sprinting across the water like a caffeinated ninja.
Poqin didn't bother responding—he just dove beneath the waves, carving a clean line straight at their new, unfortunately bulletproof-looking enemy.
The mantis shrimp sea king watched them come with all the enthusiasm of a cat watching two mice stroll voluntarily into its mouth.
It let out a shriek that was half scream, half whale song, and all nightmare fuel.
Gale barely had time to react before it reeled back one massive claw and punched the surface of the lake.
BOOM.
It wasn't just a punch—it was an event. A shockwave of blinding light and boiling water exploded outward like a miniature supernova.
Gale felt it hit him an instant later, a wall of oh-no that picked him up and flung him through the air like a very stupid, very screaming kite.
His shoulder gave a sickening pop, and stars filled his vision.
In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Poqin ragdolling through the air, clutching his ribs with an expression that screamed I regret everything.
By the time Gale belly-flopped back onto the water's surface (graceful as a sack of wet laundry), the conclusion was obvious:
Head-on wasn't going to cut it.
Pain lanced down his arm, but he forced himself upright, jogging unevenly across the waves. Somewhere behind him, Poqin surfaced with a splutter, groaning and waving one arm weakly.
Gale, breathing hard, reached into his jacket and yanked out his last-ditch weapon:
The battered revolver he had looted off Bruno Malko back during their little scuffle.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't new. But at this point, Gale would've fired a potato cannon if it promised results.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, cocking the hammer back. "Let's see if devil fruit powers and good ol' human gunpowder get along."
Unfortunately, he didn't have the chance to time to test it properly. He'd have to play it by ear.
He focused, increasing the density of the entire gun—frame, barrel, bullet—everything. It felt heavier in his hand, reassuring in a way.
Alright, this better work—
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
Absolutely. Frigging. Nothing.
Gale stared down at the uncooperative weapon.
From a few meters away, Poqin coughed, watching him blankly. "Aren't you a bit young to be having… y'know, release issues?"
"SHUT UP," Gale barked, frantically scanning the mantis shrimp, which was already winding up for another water-boiling megaton punch. "Just—shut up and let me think!"
Running across the water in a wildly zig-zagging pattern (barely avoiding columns of steaming death), Gale racked his brain.
'Okay. Increased density equals more mass... but also less air… and maybe… gunpowder needs oxygen to ignite?'
He was not a chemist, but even he could guess that a bullet wasn't gonna fire if the gunpowder was practically solid rock.
Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his focus, excluding the gunpowder inside the bullet from his density increase.
"Alright, you beautiful disaster, let's try this again," he muttered, realigning his aim.
He squeezed the trigger—
BOOM!
A thunderous gunshot ripped through the air, and the bullet streaked out like a meteor, spectacularly missing the sea king by about a mile and obliterating a massive boulder on the distant shoreline.
The boulder exploded into a fine mist of gravel.
Poqin blinked. "...Good news, you don't have release issues anymore."
Gale growled through gritted teeth, still running in wild, desperate zig-zags.
"But," Poqin continued, dodging another scalding water explosion, "your aim's absolute dogshit."
Gale screamed internally.
'This day just keeps getting better.'
As he zipped across the water's surface, his mind raced almost as fast as his feet. Regret was hitting him harder than the mantis shrimp's shockwaves.
'I should've studied how my Devil Fruit works with guns,' he thought bitterly. 'I should've brought more weapons. I should've hacked a few more bamboos and used them as javelins like a goddamn caveman!'
Instead, here he was, sprinting like a lunatic while trying to outmaneuver a shrimp the size of a galleon that could turn liquid into soup with a punch.
As if to rub salt into the already gaping wound of his pride, a column of steaming water erupted right next to him.
The blast seared the skin on his arm, making him hiss in pain and stumble.
The burning sensation wiped his mind clean of all his regrets.
No time for whining, no time for wishing.
The revolver was a lost cause. Between the crappy aim, limited ammo, and the minor detail that he was sprinting across boiling water like a headless chicken, it was nothing but a shiny paperweight at this point.
Four bullets left.
'Fat lot of good they'll do if I can't even hit a target the size of a mansion,' Gale thought, gritting his teeth.
Maintaining his body's reduced density took focus—way more focus than he liked to admit. No wonder he couldn't aim for shit.
He frantically searched for another idea, something, anything—
And then, like a lightbulb flickering to life during a blackout, inspiration struck.
He jammed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of Beri coins.
A grin spread across his face. Turns out, carrying loose change just because he liked the jingle sound it made when he walked around like a one-man maraca wasn't such a dumb habit after all.
'People thought I was an idiot,' he thought gleefully. 'But who's laughing now?!'
Okay, probably still the mantis shrimp.
But if Gale had his way, he'd wipe that smug alien-bug look right off its creepy stalk-eyed face.
He tightened his grip on the coins, feeling them clink together, light now—but soon to be dense enough to punch holes through stone.
"Alright, you overgrown stir-fry ingredient," he muttered under his breath, his heart hammering. "Let's see how you like making change."
(And somewhere deep down, even Gale admitted that was a terrible line. But hey—he was stressed.)
Seeing Gale suddenly clench two handfuls of coins like some deranged toll booth operator, Poqin could only shake his head in dismay.
"People often cling to what they hold dearest in their final moments..." he sighed, dramatically covering his heart. "To think you liked money that much..."
Gale shot him a flat glare. "I do like money," he said, very clearly offended. "But not that much. And I ain't dying either, smartass."
He turned back toward the massive mantis shrimp, its freaky bug-eyes gleaming menacingly above the steaming water.
"I'm gonna beat the living shit outta that oversized whatever-it-is," Gale growled, a coin glinting between his fingers like a miniature throwing star.
Poqin just stared at him like he'd announced he was about to duel a volcano with a water pistol. "And... how exactly do you plan to do that?"
Gale's lips curled into a wicked grin. "Simple," he said, tightening his grip on the jingling horde of coins. "With the power of capitalism."
Without another word, he flicked a coin with his thumb— At the moment of release, Gale supercharged its density, and simultaneously reinforced the muscles in his thumb to maximize the force.
CRACK!
The coin shot forward like a bullet, slicing the air.
His fingers moved smoothly, almost mechanically—one coin flicked, another slipped into place.
In mere seconds, Gale had turned into a living, breathing, coin-operated machine gun.
Was the accuracy good?
Hell no.
Coins were zipping everywhere—some skipped uselessly across the water, some whizzed into the sky, probably on a direct course to emotionally scar some poor seagull.
But some coins did hit the target—sinking into the mantis shrimp's armored shell with loud, satisfying thwacks.
Progress, Gale thought, grinning wildly as he kept firing, coins raining down like divine (and very painful) retribution.
He still had no idea if this would actually hurt the damn thing... but he had a lot of coins.
And if even a quarter of them landed solid hits, well—maybe money really could solve all problems after all.
...
Two minutes later, Gale was still technically running on the water, but it looked a hell of a lot more like frantic, half-dead power-walking.
He was panting like a dog in summer, his boots barely slapping against the steaming surface.
His precious stash of coins? Gone. Every last jingling, shiny one.
And the result of his heroic capitalist barrage?
The mantis shrimp Sea King was now:
Full of holes
Missing an eyeball (courtesy of an actual lucky coin toss)
And somehow looking even meaner and angrier than before.
Poqin, floating alongside him with infuriating calmness, scratched his head.
"Any more brilliant ideas? Maybe you'd like to use the Faschism this time?"
Gale shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel, his eyes twitching from exhaustion and rage.
"As a matter of fact, yes," he wheezed. "I do have an idea."
He jabbed a finger toward the hulking, furious mantis shrimp. "You're gonna go hold it down... so I can finish it."
This was pure agony for Gale. If he could just get close enough—just a little closer—he could fillet the damned shrimp with a flying slash from his sword.
He didn't even need point-blank range!
Just enough to let loose a proper air blade, one packed with enough force to bisect this oversized underwater roach.
But no.
The overgrown bug knew—he could tell it knew—what he was trying to do.
Every time he or Poqin so much as thought about closing the distance, it would fire off another explosive punch or a geyser of boiling water.
It was like fighting a psychic, radioactive housefly from hell.
Poqin scoffed, looking as thrilled about this plan as a cow headed for the slaughterhouse."And how exactly do you expect me to do that?"
"You're the wise monk here!" Gale shot back. "You're supposed to have all the wisdom and crap. Improvise!"
Poqin crossed his arms. "I'm only as wise as the books I've read... but a single step away from home is worth a thousand books, you know. Since you," he jabbed a finger at Gale, "come from a different island, you should be infinitely wiser than me!"
"Oh, come on!" Gale barked. "I sailed to Karate Island! It barely counts! It's like—what—two steps and a nap? You, on the other hand, wander around like some hobo philosopher! You're way more worldly than me! You hold the damn shrimp!"
They kept bickering like two drunk uncles at a family reunion—
Meanwhile, the mantis shrimp, forgotten but not forgiving, was rapidly closing the gap.
Its massive claws cocked back, gathering terrifying amounts of energy—
ready to unleash another blinding, bone-vaporizing punch.
Gale, noticing the growing shadow on the water, risked a quick glance back.
"...Poqin," he said slowly.
"Yeah?"
"We are arguing ourselves into a seafood smoothie."
Poqin sighed like an old man being dragged out of bed. "Fine. Since you want an idea so bad..." he said, waving lazily. "Let's split up. One of us runs like hell and plays decoy, and the other doubles back to the islet to grab the Black Rose. We can meet up again back at town."
Gale winced so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet. 'Ugh. Yeah'... he had thought about that option already.
He hated it.
Running away from a fight left a sour taste in his mouth. Especially after how much blood, sweat, and coins he'd already thrown at this overgrown seafood platter.
But, realistically speaking... what choice did they even have left? Gale clenched his teeth, about to force himself to make the call—when the sea itself exploded.
A geyser of frothing water shot up next to the mantis shrimp— and from the depths emerged— a giant golden retriever's head.
The adorable sea beast let out a massive, echoing BARK and clamped its jaws down hard on the shrimp's side.
Before Gale, Poqin, or the mantis shrimp could even process what the hell was happening— Four more giant dog heads burst from the sea.
A muscled mastiff latched onto the shrimp's arm.
A grinning, scar-faced pitbull gnawed on its tail.
A snarling rottweiler and a mad-eyed doberman each tore into a leg.
The mantis shrimp thrashed, flailing wildly as it tried to pry them off—but it was too late. The sea puppies had arrived and Gale recognized the leader instantly.
"BAHAHA! GOOD BOY'S BACK!" Gale whooped, his heart soaring.
Without hesitation, he launched himself into the air, legs coiling and springing like a cannon.
Poqin, chuckling breathlessly, followed right behind him. "And he brought friends!"
Gale grinned like a madman as the ocean winds rushed past his face. This was it! Their luck had finally flipped!
Or maybe karma was apologizing for the whole "get punched into the stratosphere by a shrimp" thing. Either way, he was taking it.
Sword in hand, he focused, pulling his Devil Fruit's power inward, tightening the density of his blade until it practically hummed with pressure.
Below, Poqin was already diving like a torpedo, hands folded together, a spiraling trail of bubbles chasing him down through the water.
The mantis shrimp barely had time to look up.
Poqin struck first—
BANG!
The impact hit like a thunderclap underwater, stunning the beast, leaving it dazed, jaws agape.
Gale descended in that same instant, sword cocked back. He roared, "SPLIT THE CHECK!"
(He'd meant it to sound cool. He'd work on it later.)
The moment his blade came down, a massive, gleaming arc of compressed air followed— a flying slash so dense it cracked the air itself.
It slammed into the mantis shrimp's skull— and without a sound, the Sea King split cleanly down the middle, from head to tail, like a giant, ugly banana peel.
The pieces fell with a splat into the roiling water below, the sea dogs releasing their grips with happy barks and tail wags that sent tidal waves in every direction.
Gale landed hard on one of the floating halves, panting, sword dripping seawater and shrimp guts.
Poqin surfaced nearby, wiping his mouth and shaking his head. "I can't believe that actually worked," he said, laughing.
Gale grinned, flopping backward onto the shrimp meat like it was a bed.
"Good boy... five good boys..." he muttered, chest heaving with exhaustion.
"Someone deserves belly rubs."
Poqin floated lazily by, arms crossed behind his head. "You or the dogs?"
"...Both." Gale said without missing a beat.
As the sun set behind them, painting the sky in blood-orange and gold, the two idiots and their new canine cavalry drifted peacefully toward shore, victorious— covered in bruises, shrimp guts, and the faint, lingering smell of wet dog.
...
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