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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #137
🕑 Added 2025-09-18 04:02:14 +0000 UTCFists met flesh. Over and over.
Each time the elder’s son swung, it was like getting hit by a battering ram wrapped in steel. The first punch cracked against Gale’s ribs and made his vision blur white.
The second blow rattled his jaw so hard he was pretty sure one of his teeth was now loose, maybe orbiting somewhere in the back of his throat. The third slammed into his arm, and he felt it—an audible snap in his radius or ulna or whichever bone decided to tap out first.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Gale thought bitterly, grinding his teeth. “Just fantastic. First blood, first break, and it ain’t even me hitting the guy yet.”
He staggered back a half-step, shook his head, and swung back with his own fist. His knuckles collided with the elder’s son’s abs—hard enough that in any other fight, the man would’ve doubled over. Here? The guy barely grunted.
And then—BAM!—a counterpunch buried itself in Gale’s stomach. His knees buckled, his lungs squeezed, and he spat a string of saliva onto the dirt, gasping for air.
“Awesome,” he wheezed. “Love this village. Love these traditions. Love the part where I’m dying for your entertainment.”
The villagers roared approval. They loved it. Every punch Gale ate just made them cheer louder, clap harder, jeer with insults that landed as sharp as the fists.
“Skinny outsider!”
“Go home, twig arms!”
“Even my grandma punches harder than that!”
That last one especially stung. He almost turned to the crowd to shout back, “Well, where’s your grandma then? I’ll fight her too!” But another punch caught his cheek, snapping his head sideways before he could get the words out.
The world swam. His legs trembled. His bones screamed.
He actually considered it, right there—just lying down. Just falling flat and calling it quits. He’d done enough, right?
Who cared about the stupid map, the stupid tradition, the stupid treasure? He could go back to the ship, and go through with his original plan. Heck, the bruises he's got would help with that...
Then the jeering hit harder.
“Pathetic!”
“Outsider trash!”
“Can’t even take a punch!”
“Stick-boy’s about to fold!”
That last one made a vein bulge in Gale’s forehead.
“…Stick-boy?” he muttered, trembling with rage. His fist curled so hard his knuckles popped. “STICK-BOY?!”
Something inside him snapped—not from determination, not from resolve, not from some heartfelt vow to protect the innocent. No, Gale’s awakening came from one place and one place only: pure, unfiltered spite, rage, and pettiness.
The jeering blurred into one ugly noise, and his fury boiled over.
His fist, black as midnight, shot forward before he even realized it, Armament Haki coating it in a sheen that gleamed under the sun.
The punch connected with the elder’s son’s jaw.
CRACK!
The sound was deafening. So sharp, so brutal, so final that it silenced the entire village in an instant. Even the dogs stopped barking.
The elder’s son’s body twisted with the impact, staggered… then keeled backward, falling flat into the dirt with a heavy thud.
Gale, panting, glaring, holding his shaking, blackened fist in front of him, stood there for one glorious second of silence. His bones throbbed, his lungs burned, his skin was drenched in sweat.
Then, without ceremony, without drama, he muttered, “…Yeah, that’s what I thought,” and dropped flat on his back beside his opponent.
The last thing he saw before the sky spun above him was the crowd—mouths agape, wide-eyed, completely silent—like someone had just slapped every last one of them in unison.
“The power of spite...” Gale thought as his eyes fluttered closed. “Better than friendship. Trademark pending.”
And then he was out.
...
A groan rattled out of Gale’s throat as his eyelids fluttered open. The ceiling of the hut swam into focus above him, its wooden beams tilting slightly in his vision like the world itself couldn’t decide whether to stay upright or topple over.
“Ugh… morning again? Or did I just dream dying?” he muttered, rubbing his face.
Before he could even sit up fully, Risa’s face popped into his vision, her expression caught somewhere between relief and exasperation.
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, rushing closer to press a hand against his shoulder. “Take it easy, you idiot—you’re hurt bad.”
Gale raised an eyebrow, lips quirking faintly. “Am I?”
Ignoring her protest, he reached for his arm, prodding along the muscle with his fingers like a doctor giving himself a check-up. He frowned.
“Got a contusion here…” he muttered, pressing the bruise until it stung. “Internal bleeding stopped, and the bruise is already starting to heal. Hairline fracture… and that’s about it.”
He switched to his ribs, wincing when his fingers traced over the tender spots. “…One fractured rib. Maybe two. And that’s about it.”
His hand drifted up to his jaw, moving it side to side with little clicks. “…Mm. Jaw’s still intact. No loose teeth. That’s a win.”
Risa’s eye twitched as she stared at him, wide-eyed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Examining myself,” Gale replied matter-of-factly, still poking at his ribs.
Her voice went flat. “Is that what the Marines call touching themselves?”
Gale froze. His eyebrow twitched. Then, without hesitation, he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles lightly against the top of her head.
“Shut up, you little pervert.”
“OW!” Risa yelped, clutching her head with both hands. “That hurt, you bastard!” She muttered curses under her breath, glaring daggers at him while he ignored her completely.
Gale swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up with a grunt. Despite the pain, his voice was calm, almost casual. “Not too bad. I should be as good as new in a day or two.”
Risa stared at him like he’d just claimed he could regrow limbs. “Are you some kind of monster, or just stupidly optimistic?”
“Both,” Gale said flatly, leaning forward to rub his temples. He sighed, too drained to keep the banter going. “…Anyway. Enough about me. Is the elder keeping his end of the bargain or not?”
Risa blinked, then crossed her arms. “He told me to call him over once you woke up.”
“Great,” Gale muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Then hurry up and do that. I’m not in the mood to sit around waiting on another half-hour ‘tradition.’”
She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like asshole, before pushing herself out of the chair and heading toward the door.
As soon as Risa stepped out, Gale’s eyes drifted down to his hands. They trembled faintly as he flexed them into fists, the knuckles aching, skin bruised and split. For a moment he just stared. Then, with a long exhale, he unclenched, letting his hands drop into his lap.
“…This is not how I thought things would go,” he muttered under his breath, his voice more tired than annoyed.
He shook his head, jaw tightening. He could lie to himself, pretend he was fine, but the truth was obvious. He’d underestimated this world… and overestimated himself. Badly.
Sure, the beating he’d just taken from the elder’s son and those two hulking grandsons stung like hell, but the pain wasn’t the worst part. No—what gnawed at him was the reality check.
That fight wasn’t just a wake-up call for his haki. It was a slap across the face for his ego.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. I’ve been riding too high since Sabaody…
The thought left a bitter taste. Back then, he’d survived something he had no business surviving. Then he’d taken out that pirate crew on Raijin Island fresh off Fishman Island, and his confidence only swelled.
His chest puffed, his smirk sharpened, and somewhere along the way, he started thinking he was untouchable.
And yet here he was—laid up on a bed after almost getting beaten into paste by a couple of villagers. Villagers, for crying out loud. On an island that wasn’t even a destination, just a pit stop for pirates sailing through the New World.
Sure, he hadn’t been allowed to dodge. Or use his sword. Or touch his devil fruit tricks. But that didn’t change the fact: strip him down to nothing but fists and grit, and he wasn’t as solid as he liked to think.
Gale let out a humorless chuckle, wincing as his ribs protested. “Heh. Some Marine Captain I am.”
His smirk faded almost immediately. His mind drifted somewhere darker. 'And to think I actually considered fighting Vergo…'
The very idea felt laughable now. Vergo wasn’t some village strongman. He was a monster who could fold steel with a twitch and snap bones like toothpicks. Even exposing him as a mole—which had seemed like a bold play not long ago—wasn’t exactly a get-out-of-jail-free card.
'Assuming the old coot at G-5 hasn’t already been silenced, transferred, or ‘accidentally fallen off a ship’ by now,' Gale thought grimly.
And even if word got out, that wouldn’t make Gale safe. If anything, Vergo would probably make a point of finding him just to vent his frustration before the World Government decided whether to throw him into Impel Down or chop his head off for treason.
The image of Vergo calmly walking toward him, bamboo stick in hand, sent an involuntary shiver down Gale’s spine. He rubbed his face and sighed.
“…Yeah. Definitely overestimated myself.”
For a second, he considered laughing at his own stupidity. But his ribs hurt too much, and he figured breaking into hysterics wouldn’t exactly help his case when the elder came knocking.
Coincidentally, the door creaked open just as Gale was finishing his downward spiral of existential self-assessment. He barely had time to look up before the elder stepped into the hut—slow, deliberate, the rhythmic tap of his cane against the wooden floor giving the impression that something important was about to happen.
Risa followed behind him with a look that said, 'Don’t say anything stupid, please for the love of all things sacred don’t say anything stup—'
The elder didn’t even wait for pleasantries. Without a word, he reached behind his back to retrieve a sylendrical object, which he tossed at Gale.
Gale caught it reflexively—a thin bamboo tube sealed with twine. He blinked at it, turned it over in his hand, then looked at the elder. “W–”
“That’s the map,” the elder cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Take it and leave.”
Gale stared. Then chuckled. “I was actually about to ask where it just came from, but…” He gave the elder a slow once-over.
Shirtless. Sagging skin like leather. Nothing on him but some ceremonial fur wrapped around his midsection.
Gale's face went blank. “Yeah. Never mind. I really, really don’t want to know.”
The elder grinned, showing teeth far too white for someone who definitely did not brush. “That’s for the better.”
Gale turned to Risa with a haunted look. “Remind me to burn this tube and sterilize the map later.”
Risa just snorted and stared with disgust.
Gale set the bamboo tube on the nearby table, still keeping a cautious eye on it like it might spring open and slap him with a trauma flashback.
Then he turned back to the elder. “What about the pirates?” he asked, tone sobering. “I thought we agreed that I'd help you with—”
The elder waved his cane. “As you saw yourself, our tribe is not weak. The Redfangs may have fallen, but Stormhowl still stands. We will continue to stand, even without your help....”
Gale nodded slowly. That wasn’t just pride talking. They really weren’t weak. The bruises still screaming across his body were proof enough of that.
Still…
His eyes drifted to Risa for a brief second. She didn’t say anything, but there was something there. Worry, maybe. Bitterness. Or maybe just that residual anxiety of someone who’s seen their home burn once and can’t quite believe it won’t happen again.
Gale sighed and pushed himself off the bed. His ribs protested. His spine joined the mutiny.
“But even so,” he muttered, “I’d still like to help.”
The elder cocked a brow. “Why? You have what you came for.”
Gale gave him a crooked grin. “Because I’ve got some business with the pirates myself.”
The old man’s gaze sharpened. “What kind of business?”
Gale cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck until it popped. His grin widened into something more mischievous. “The kind that makes sure no other pirate ever comes sniffing around here for that map again.”
