Wicked_Fiction
patreon
One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #119
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 00:04:28 +0000 UTCAll eyes in the chamber snapped toward Kizaru. For a heartbeat, the room was frozen in disbelief. Mihawk’s golden eye narrowed ever so sligh
All eyes in the chamber snapped toward Kizaru.
For a heartbeat, the room was frozen in disbelief. Mihawk’s golden eye narrowed ever so slightly. Jinbe’s brows furrowed. Crocodile’s cigar hung limp between his teeth, smoke curling in silence.
Even Hancock tilted her head, lips parting faintly, her usual disdain breaking into something closer to shock.
But beyond shock, there was horror. Horror at what Kizaru had just said. Horror at how casually he’d said it.
Only Sengoku sat unbothered, stone-faced as ever, like a monk at prayer.
As for Doflamingo—
The Joker went utterly still. His hand twitched, then rose slowly to his temple, fingers pressing hard enough to turn the skin white. His shades dipped, hiding his eyes, but the vein bulging in his forehead screamed loud enough for everyone.
For one dangerous moment, it looked like he’d explode. Strings, blood, chaos—the works.
But instead—
“FUFFUFFUFFUFFU!!!”
The laugh ripped out of him like a gunshot. He reared his head back, shoulders shaking, that manic chorus filling the chamber. The warlord’s grin stretched too wide, teeth bared like fangs.
“Well played…” His laughter rose, almost hysterical. “Well played indeed.”
Already, the truth was obvious: there was nothing left for him here. Nothing to win, nothing to salvage. This wasn’t a trial, it was a crucifixion dressed as a meeting. And he was the one nailed to the post.
So he stood. Slow. Deliberate. His coat of feathers rustled as he rose from his seat, still laughing, laughter that echoed off the walls like broken glass.
Trebol twitched in place behind him, mucus bubbling in anxious spurts. His eyes darted between Doffy and the gathered Marines and Warlords. Finally, he followed, waddling behind his captain. But not before he cast Gale a filthy glare, thick with venom and mucus alike.
Gale, of course, grinned right back at him, leaning a little to the side like he was posing for a wanted poster.
At the door, Doflamingo stopped. His shadow stretched long across the floor.
“You all better remember this…” His voice was low now, the manic laugh stripped away, leaving something rawer, sharper. His head turned just enough that the light caught the glint of his glasses. “…Because I sure as fuck will.”
And with that, he turned, feathers swaying, and started walking away.
Trebol scurried after him, hunched and twitching, leaving behind the sour stench of mucus and defeat.
The chamber exhaled. For the first time in what felt like hours, the tension loosened.
But then—
“Sure thing,” Gale’s voice rang out casually from behind Sengoku, like he was calling out to a neighbor. “Just don’t let the door ruffle your feathers on your way out, pal.”
The Warlords blinked. Even Kizaru’s lips twitched, like he was suppressing a smirk.
Doflamingo’s stride froze mid-step. His head tilted slightly, shoulders rising.
And then he laughed again. Not his usual airy laugh—this one was darker, jagged. He pivoted on his heel just enough to slam his fist into the wall beside him.
CRACK.
The stone shattered under the blow, chunks crumbling to the floor. Dust filled the hall as the Joker straightened, still laughing, and continued walking. His echoing footsteps trailed off, Trebol squelching behind him like a shadow of slime.
The silence that followed was heavy… until Sengoku turned. His gaze fell squarely on Gale, expression as flat and cold as a winter ocean.
“…That’s coming out of your salary.”
...
One day later, Sengoku’s office smelled faintly of ink, parchment, and whatever faintly floral incense the clerks down the hall insisted on burning.
Gale sat sprawled on the couch, newspaper in hand, his boots crossed on the low table in front of him. Right next to him, Kizaru was eating a sandwich with the kind of leisure that suggested nothing in the world could possibly hurry him.
Behind his desk, Sengoku was buried in paperwork, the scratching of his pen the only constant sound in the room.
Gale let out a long, suffering sigh as his eyes trailed down the front page.
“‘Warlord of the Sea Donquixote Doflamingo Exonerated, But Still Faces Punishment.’” He read the words flatly, like they were a bad joke.
Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, “The Fleet Admiral sure is ruthless… probably had this printed before the meeting even started.”
He leaned back, paper rustling in his hands, though his grin tugged despite himself. The irony was too rich.
Because unlike the last article—where he was painted as a ‘Hero of Sabaody’ who bravely saved a gaggle of world nobles from a rampaging warlord’s lackey—this one didn’t mention him at all. Not even a footnote.
Which was hysterical, considering the truth.
‘Hero? Yeah, right.' The only people actually in danger that night had been Vlancio (now six feet under) and Diamante (now rotting in Impel Down).
Everyone else had been props in the show Gale himself had scripted. The other celestials? Untouched. The “incident”? All carefully staged chaos with a touch of improvisation.
And now the papers had made sure he got the best of both worlds: he wasn’t going to get dragged over the coals for “failing to protect” a Celestial Dragon, and all the fury had been dumped squarely on Doflamingo and Diamante.
Convenient. Too convenient.
A part of him wondered if Sengoku had puppeteered the whole thing. The Buddha seemed like the type to tighten the noose with one hand while patting your head with the other. But… eh. Whether it was Sengoku’s doing or just dumb luck, Gale wasn’t complaining.
He kept his face calm, unreadable, as he turned the page.
That’s when Kizaru’s voice cut through, slow and lazy as ever, “Oooh… missing spotlight already, Captain Gale~?”
Gale lowered the paper just enough to give him a deadpan look.
“I’m positively devastated, sir,” he said flatly. “Now that my glory days are behind me, I’m thinking of retiring. Maybe move to East Blue, buy a little farm, and raise chickens.”
Kizaru’s lips quirked, just a fraction, before he took another bite of his sandwich. “Mm… raising chickens does sound much safer than provoking warlords in front of an audience…”
“Safer,” Gale parroted, the word rolling off his tongue like it was a bad joke. He flicked the paper back up with a smirk.
“That’s an understatement. I swear, I lost a couple years off my lifespan every time I breathed too loudly in front of those lunatics...”
Kizaru chewed his sandwich slowly, nodding in agreement. “Oooh, it sure was scary even for me…” His tone was casual, but then he tilted his head, giving Gale a look that lingered a little longer than usual. “But even then… you did a lot more than breathe loudly, hmm~?”
Gale chuckled, not looking up from the paper. “Eh. Safe isn’t really my thing. Besides—let’s be honest—I’m not nearly responsible enough to raise even one chicken, let alone run a whole farm.”
Kizaru gave a light chuckle through his nose and returned to his sandwich.
The quiet was broken by Sengoku clearing his throat—loudly, the kind of throat-clearing that made it clear he’d been listening this entire time and was about this close to tossing both of them out the nearest window.
Both Gale and Kizaru turned toward the desk. Sengoku didn’t waste a second.
“It’s been hectic since your return from Sabaody, Captain Gale,” he began, voice booming with that old drill-sergeant edge that made the office walls practically vibrate. “But it’s finally time to discuss the results of your most recent deployment.”
Gale folded the paper neatly and set it down, schooling his expression into something closer to respectful—even if his smirk lingered faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Figured that’s why I’m here, sir.”
Sengoku tugged open one of his desk’s drawers, pulling out a report thicker than a dictionary. He scanned the top sheet with narrowed eyes.
“According to this,” Sengoku said, his voice slow, deliberate, “public order in the archipelago is on the rise. There hasn’t been a single kidnapping attempt reported in more than a month.”
He paused, lifting his gaze to pin Gale with it. “And yet…”
His eyes dropped back to the paper. “All the same gangs are still running the same territories. No shift in leadership. No internal wars. No sudden disappearances.”
The report hit the desk with a solid thunk.
“Can you explain why—and how—that is, Captain?”
Gale could feel the weight of Sengoku’s stare boring into him like the Buddha was trying to nail him to the wall with sheer eye power. Great, he thought grimly.
'Here it comes—the part where the old man insinuates I’ve been running Sabaody like some kind of mob boss.'
Which, to be fair, he kinda was. But still.
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, playing it casual. “It’s not all that complicated, sir. I just used a process I like to call… selective justice.”
The corner of Sengoku’s eye twitched. That was already not a phrase he liked hearing. His frown deepened. “Elaborate.”
“Well,” Gale said, scratching his cheek as if it was nothing serious, “I just did my homework. Puzzled out the inner workings of the gangs, figured which ones would be best left in charge.”
He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, mimicking a mock-serious Marine officer tone. “The way I see it, sir, there’ll always be organized crime in Sabaody. No matter how many gangs we crush, others will crawl out of the gutters to take their place. So I decided to mold the existing ones into more… uh… civilized existences.”
Kizaru hummed lazily around his sandwich, looking like this was the most entertaining lecture he’d had in months.
Sengoku, meanwhile, was drumming his massive fingers against the desk—tok, tok, tok—like a countdown to his temper detonating. “And how,” he said slowly, dangerously, “did you do that exactly? Walk me through your process, Captain.”
Gale rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to grin too wide. “Well, I started small. I lurked around hotspots—y’know, the places with the most frequent kidnapping reports. Then I’d wait for a fish to bite. Once they did…” He mimed reeling something in with his hand. “…I’d catch.”
Sengoku’s frown deepened.
“And then?” he pressed.
Gale cleared his throat. “Then I’d, uh… apply some creative interrogation methods on said fish.”
Kizaru choked down a laugh and coughed into his hand.
Sengoku’s brows shot up. “‘Creative?’”
“Yup.” Gale nodded solemnly. “Like asking them questions in funny voices, depriving them of their favorite shoes, forcing them to listen to me sing sea shanties off-key, punchingtheminthefaceandbreakingtheirbones—”
Kizaru made a noise like he’d nearly inhaled his sandwich.
“—aaand, occasionally,” Gale added with a smirk, “figuring out which members of their gang actually needed to be behind bars for the rest to behave a little more… civilized.”
Sengoku stared at him long and hard, lips pressed into a flat line. He looked, in that moment, like he was trying to decide whether to strangle Gale where he sat… or pin a medal on him.
Finally, the old man exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. “Let’s leave it at that, then. If I hear any more of your… methods, I feel like I’ll have to demote you all the way to private.”
Kizaru let out a little hum, biting into his sandwich. “Ooh, I’d pay to see that. Captain to private in one afternoon… fastest demotion on record.”
“Not helping,” Sengoku snapped without looking at him.
He turned his attention back to Gale. “In any case, you’ve done well. So well, in fact, that under normal circumstances you’d be in line for a promotion. Maybe even a recommendation to a special task force.”
Gale raised a brow at that, though inwardly he groaned. 'Great. More paperwork, more headaches, and a pay bump barely enough to cover my bar tab. Good thing there's a but coming...'
Still, he kept his face straight and nodded. “Just doing my duty, sir.”
Sengoku leaned forward, elbows pressing against the desk. His gaze was sharp, like he was cutting the words out of steel. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you any of those. For all intents and purposes, a Celestial Dragon died on your watch.”
“We’ve done everything possible to shift the blame away from you… but any action that even resembles rewarding you could backfire spectacularly.”
'Or an unfortunately.' Gale mused.
Hale let out a breath, not quite a sigh, and shrugged. “I understand, sir.”
'Promotion, demotion, execution—same difference if the Nobles are looking for a scapegoat. At least this way, I keep my head attached.'
“I’m glad you understand,” Sengoku said, voice softening just a fraction. He let the moment hang, then added, “We also need to send you somewhere far, until things quiet down.”
His tone darkened, heavy with decision.
“So… for your next assignment—”
