A whole adventure would start with that hat.

Which, Shanks supposed, was fitting for a hat of its particularities. If anything at all, it was a hat a pirate could trust to stay right where it perched, and trusting anything on the seas was a treasure in itself. It was as much insurance as an inheritance. And even Luffy, still just a blubbering brat, could sense its worth.

As the ship pulled out the docks, crew scrambling to hoist sail, Shanks stood apart on the bow and kept his eyes to Luffy and Makino's fading figures. They waved and sobbed good-bye frantically, and Luffy could not let go of the last word: screaming, yelling, shrieking promises of reunion, swears of both fealty and eventual defeat, how Shanks would pay if he and his crew turned up dead, that the straw hat would return to him when it belonged to the new King of the Pirates.

How romantic, thought Shanks. That was why he liked the kid—a real dreamer, that one. No doubt in a decade or so the kid would make some other precious young things terrified. King of the Pirates? Why, he'd passed on the crown.

And so it stood: that hat. Not just any old straw hat, mind, oh no, no, no. No, this hat was the hat. The straw hat that discovered seemingly innocuous, yet fantastic beginnings. The straw hat that witnessed the beginning of two eras and a haunting legacy. The straw hat that had previously capped two ruggedly handsome scalps, and now the unwashed mess atop an ornery brat—not that Shanks was shaking his own behind and calling it a goosefeather pillow, not at all.

Only—and Shanks would never admit it to anyone—he was afraid Luffy's adventure would also end with a hat. It wouldn't be the first time.

Coby was afraid.

It was not an unfamiliar feeling, of course, but this time the source was his unimpressive height, grinning, and undoubtedly female.

Girls had always been a rare event for Coby. In fact, he hadn't spoken to one near his age since he was thirteen and had haplessly walked aboard a pirate ship. That had been the start of an endless line of tyrannical pirates and an abhorrent lady captain. And that was it for him: no women, no girls. The Lady Captain Alvida couldn't abide women prettier than herself, and considering her looks, an androgynous lobster was fierce competition. Woe betide the fools who snuck women aboard—there certainly were never survivors. Alvida knew how to swing a mace.

Coby had a good idea of Alvida's right hand not because of previous exploits—he was a terrible coward, and he knew no women who were attracted to his sort—but because he often had to clean up the messes, being the worthless cabin boy he was.

So after taking inventory in the ship's hold, imagine his surprise—and quickly recovered horror—when he found a girl sleeping inside what was supposed to be a barrel of salted meat.

He slammed the lid down and threw his head back, searching hastily for witnesses. He felt the onset of a panic attack rising in his chest and he squatted, resting his head between his knees, and counted to ten. Once he was at a manageable level of fear, and convinced it was a hallucination, peeled the lid off.

She was still there. Snoring.

What little control he had fell down the mast. He replaced the lid, sat on the floor, and then promptly curled into a ball, not bothering to stifle his whimpers.

Two years, he thought; two years! Two years I did my best to keep alive, kept my head down, groveled like a dog, and gave up all my dreams, all of them gone—two years of work, two years of my life! And now here's where it ends! He couldn't believe his heinous fortune. A god somewhere must have been feeling particularly wrathful that day.

He checked four more times just to confirm the worst, and the worst was definitely confirmed: neither fat nor ugly, the girl was without a doubt attractive, even downright cute. Her hair was short and shaggy, her face round, her ears endearingly large, and the rest of her—it was functioning perfectly well, as far as Coby dared to look. He was not that sort of boy, thank you very much.

He was doomed all right.

Back in his fetal position, he began to scheme.

He could let her go, possibly sneak her off the ship, put her on a lifeboat, and then stick to hold duty until things blew over. He could hide her aboard for however long it was until they reached land, bring food, water, hope no one would notice the disappeared rations. He could forgo responsibility and pass her off to another crew member and—and he stopped himself, he was not a monster. No, but he could simply leave her there and pretend nothing had happened, it was just another routine stock check—

And as though to remind him how much time he'd spent fretting, he heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs and a voice shouting his name. Making a split-second decision, he slapped the lid down for the last time and scrambled for the opposite end of the cargo hold.

The second mate appeared, looking very annoyed.

"Coby, how long does it take to count?" he growled. He towered over Coby by a foot and was at least twice his weight.

Coby gulped. He forced his eyes to the second mate's; if he looked away, he would no doubt stare at the barrel and give away the goat.

"I—I'm almost done," he stuttered. He felt his eyes water. "Just got backtracked—"

"You know the Lady Cap'n doesn't like to wait," he growled. He crossed his arms, his left hand lazily stroking the pommel of his sword. "And you know what happens when she's unhappy."

Everyone very well knew what happened. The evidence never stayed around long, but the over-saturated sick bay was a nasty hint.

"Y-yes, w-well—"

The second mate snatched the booklet out of Coby's hand. He flipped through the pages and skimmed the contents. When he finally looked up, satisfaction clear on his face, Coby was drenched in a monstrous sweat, marinated to a fine pink.

The second mate frowned. "You look sick, boy."

"I'm f-fine, sir." His whole body was trembling. "Just a...just a night sweat, sir."

"You're not sleeping, though," said the second mate suspiciously.

"O-oh, uh—" Coby swallowed nervously. "I-I mean—"

The second mate narrowed his eyes. "You weren't sleeping on the job, eh, Coby?" He leaned towards Coby's face; Coby couldn't breathe. "Because you know what the Lady Cap'n does to worthless, lazy cabin boys. You do know?"

Coby jerked his head up and down.

"Then you know she gives 'em the mace and throws the rest overboard." For a long moment he simply stared into Coby's eyes, smiling a horrible smile, and Coby remembered how well the man could give a beating. He'd suffered through enough to know they were all uniquely terrible experiences. "Now," he added, straightening, "I want you cleaning the heads. No more lazing below deck for you."

He grabbed Coby and dragged him by the back of his shirt. As they left the cargo hold, Coby couldn't help but give the barrel one last desperate glance before being hauled off.

Why me? he despaired.

The first punch was always the worst, since he could never predict where it would land. This time he got it in the gut and he doubled over; the back of his head exposed, the next blow had him lying on the ground, tongue bleeding from where his jaw connected with the wood. A kick to his side, another to his spine, and then his legs, and then he didn't bother to predict where the hurt would spring from. He curled into a tight ball and simply let the humiliation and the fear and the laughter wash over him.

When it was over the deckhand pulled him up and forced him to stand in front of the dozen other deckhands. One of them smashed a broom and mop against his chest. They all laughed as he wheezed from the strike.

"Why don't you be a buddy and do some of our chores for us?" said one of them, a big man shaped like a gorilla. "The captain won't mind it long as it's clean."

"All she does is heap work on our shoulders!" exclaimed another. He feigned a cramped hand. "We don't got the time or energy to get through the whole bunkhouse down there."

Coby nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I-I guess I have some free time—"

A shove and a throw later he was once again below deck. It had been a day and a half since he'd taken stock and what he found now horrified him.

Nearly every container had been upturned and sacked of its contents. The crates that contained various salted meats were brutally ripped and split apart; the rum and wine barrels were upended and strewn about the room, as if thrown; the boxes of biscuits, hard tack, and cheeses had completely vanished; and what were the cores and bones of dried fruits and seafood were scattered everywhere. The only thing that was unscathed were the crates containing cloth, gold, and other material valuables, all laying forgotten in a corner. Coby's eyes bulged out of their sockets when they saw the cause of it all: lying in a pile of splintered crates was the girl from the barrel.

Coby stood in shocked silence.

She was a skinny girl, he remembered, a tiny-waisted thing. Gorged as she was now, she appeared pregnant with a giant's child. Her stomach had blown up to ridiculous proportions, her stomach near touching the ceiling. Her buttoned vest was rolled down her front, barely keeping her decent. Coby wondered nervously if hiding her was even possible now, if he should simply run out the room, inevitable beatings be damned.

But as he watched her sleep, cursing his own stupidity, he noticed something quite strange: as though it were a balloon, her enormous bulge gradually shrank until, with a faint sucking noise, her waist fell back into place. When he inspected her stomach, he found it had not lost any of its muscle or form, as though nothing unusual had happened to it in the first place. Miraculously her vest and every one of its faded buttons was still intact.

"What are you?" he whispered. Despite himself he edged closer and peered into her face.

Her eyes sprang open. Before Coby could so much as scream, her right fist smacked cleanly into his cheek, sending him flying across the room.

The beatings the rest of the crew gave him compared nothing to the punch she threw. He didn't even curl up, the pain in his face was so consuming—all he could do was lie there, stunned, cupping his cheek, waiting for the fire to subside. Already he felt it bruise, and he didn't need to check to know it was turning purple. He could feel the capillaries burst open and rage war on his skin.

"O-ow."

From his place on the floor he heard a jaw-popping yawn, a deep sigh, and a series of cracks. He forced himself to stand, and he found the girl stretching her arms over her head. The blood that hadn't flown from his bruised skin rushed to the rest of his face. He looked away in embarrassment.

"Uh," he mumbled. "Um."

She didn't seem to hear him. From the corner of his eye, he saw her stand and stretch out her legs. He realized his first assessment had been correct: Alvida wouldn't let her live passed a minute.

"What a great nap!" she exclaimed. Her voice was impossibly merry and possibly sunnier than a summer day. It was also as loud and as noticeable as a squawking seagull. Far, far too loud.

Without thinking, Coby sprang at her and slapped a hand over her mouth. The momentum knocked them over in a messy heap, both grappling for purchase, Coby trying to convey how dangerous their situation was in a flurry of crazed whispers—but the girl wouldn't hear any of it. Despite her size she overpowered him and held him high above the ground by the collar of his shirt.

He kicked and clawed at her hands, shifting his weight back and forth, hoping to topple her, but she wouldn't budge, her grip like seastone. When he realized the futility of struggling, he settled for hanging limply in her grasp. He squinted at her through his skewed glasses and noticed the sewn-up scar under her eye. Sweat trickled down his body, and somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the fact he badly needed a bath, the way he'd been sweating the past few days.

For someone holding him by the neck, she didn't look terribly unfriendly; with that amiable doe face of hers, any anger she expressed would be marred by a trace of playfulness. Really, compared to his crewmates, she looked absolutely genial. If anything at all she seemed confused, her lips pursed, her eyebrows slanted; she stared everywhere but at him, as if she were considering her surroundings for the first time. He wondered if she had forgotten he was there.

"Hey," she finally said, eyeing him up and down. He straightened in her grip. "Where are we?"

He tensed. Her voice was still terribly loud.

"Um, well." He cleared his throat. "Well, miss, you see, we're on a pirate ship and you have to be quiet or else we'll be really badly mangled and maybe murdered if they catch us 'cuz they're really nasty pirates and our bodies will be thrown into the sea or they might hang us off the side, which is really kinda painful—"

"Wait," she interrupted, "we're on a pirate ship?" Her eyes lit up.

Finally, he thought, she's figured out the danger! His heart hammering madly in his chest, he persisted on.

"Yes!—yes, we're trapped on this ship and we have to hurry, they'll figure out soon, we have to sneak out 'cuz they'll look for me since of all that noise we made, there's really not much ti—"

She dropped him without warning onto his behind. When he managed to stand, he looked at her and gaped. The wall-to-wall grin she wore spoke volumes of her position on the matter.

"Great!" She said it without a hint of sarcasm. "This is perfect timing!"

The girl rolled her shoulders and swung her arms back and forth, testing the coil of her muscles. She fell into a fighting stance, legs bent and apart, fists level with her shoulders, and abruptedly she thrust her fist at the wall. She didn't stop in time, and before Coby could do more than raise his hands, her fist crashed through the wood, the impact releasing splinters and dust into the air.

His jaw dropped.

"Oh, sorry." She didn't sound apologetic at all. She shook the dirt off her hand. "Didn't mean to break your ship."

And so, Coby was afraid. He really didn't know what to say to something like that. He could only stare.

The straw hat covering her short hair was frayed and tattered from crown to visor, stray pieces of straw poking out from every which direction. The red bow ribbon seemed barely attached to the brim of the hat, and Coby puzzled over the longevity of something so battered. The rest of her clothes were no better: her vest, on closer inspection, was worn around the collar and a few holes peeked out the sides. Her denim shorts were threadbare and faded, and judging from the tight fit around her hips (the bruise stung like a warning), they'd been around long enough to see a young girl grow up. Her sandals were somewhat bigger than her feet—maybe a hand-me-down from an older sibling.

In fact all her clothing seemed the second-hand remains of an older brother. Her tan skin suggested a life spent outdoors; her calloused knuckles hinted at a rough life; her ruffled black hair was short, practical, and obviously cut by someone who was not a barber; and that scar nastily filled in the empty spaces he had left. Indeed, everything about her was simple and straight to the point, and it all unearthed something not-quite-earthly.

Something tugged in his stomach, a part of his gut demanding his attention; he felt it was one of those important feelings his crewmates said kept a sailor alive. There was just something about her that seemed familiar, though he knew he'd never met her before in his life. Why that was, he couldn't place; all he knew was that he trusted her implicitly, just by the sincerity in her face. The careless grin, the unapologetically happy black eyes—they reminded him strongly of something, or someone. The explosion of emotion she caused in him made a shiver roll down his spine.

Was this love at first sight? No, he doubted it. He was too pragmatic to buy into the idea. And just as well, the slightest trace of fear tinged his skin. Love hadn't struck him as a terror-run business.

The one thing he could decide on was that this girl, as his crewmates would say, was not a person to fuck with.

"I-I'm Coby!" he blurted out. He bowed his head in polite respect. "And I-I—this ship isn't—I'm not a pirate!"

He peeked up at her, and he watched as her impossibly wide grin somehow grew even wider. She grabbed his hand and shook it viciously in her steel grip.

"Monkey D. Luffy," she said with bright enthusiasm. "And I'm the future King of the Pirates!"

Well, he hadn't expected that. Thoughtlessly he asked her, "Wouldn't that make you the Queen instead of the King?"

She frowned, as if she hadn't thought of it before. "Nah. If I was called Queen, no one would know I'm really King."

"That—that doesn't make sense," said Coby. "You would have the same title, but because you're a girl you'd be the female version of it."

"But I want the real version."

"Well, it would be, but you would just have a different name for—" Coby threw up his hands. "Oh, what am I saying? We've gotta get you outta here! You're in serious danger!"

She tipped her head to the side. "Really?"

"I-I just said!" cried Coby, flustered. "If we don't hide you soon the captain's gonna find you and kill you!"

"Who's the captain?"

"Alvida!" And with that he hoped to make his point.

Unfortunately, he was learning Luffy didn't quite grasp concepts as well as she grasped food.

"Who's that?"

The sweat was back. Luffy had no idea what she was facing.

"Stay here for a second," he muttered, and ran to the cargo hold's doorway. He pressed his ear to the wood. He heard the usual muttered complaints about their dirt-hating, wash-crazy captain, but it seemed no one had heard Luffy's antics through the hectic energy. He held his breath and waited, but after a long pause he didn't hear the booming rumbles of Alvida moving above deck, or the impatient clip-clop of high heels digging into the wood, nor did he hear the bellowing laughter that came after she cracked in someone's skull. She must be sleeping in late, as she liked to do after a successful raid.

He rushed back to Luffy, who was eyeballing the destroyed cargo with a blank, bored expression. (She was also picking her nose, he noted with disapproval.)

"Okay," he said in a quiet, urgent voice. He glanced over his shoulder, then back to Luffy. She perked up considerably, even pulling her little finger from its comfortable nest.

"Yeah?" she asked. "What is it?"

"Her name's Iron Mace Alvida," Coby began in a rush, his face wrinkling from worry, "and she's captain of the Alvida Pirates." He felt paranoid, especially when compared to Luffy's apathetic demeanor, but Alvida had sharp ears when it came to her name. He continued: "She's got a five-million-beli bounty from raiding ships. She's got the whole south-end of the East Blue scared stiff! The Marines've been trying for months to get rid of her but she even raids their warships!"

He paused for breath and to study Luffy's reaction. Whatever he expected to find was not there; she didn't seem fazed at all, nor did she react beyond sticking her pinky back up her nose.

Coby stared. She stared back. He cleared his throat.

"Oh," she finally said. She didn't bother to sound afraid, nor even a little impressed. "Okay."

"I—she—she's famous around these parts," Coby finished lamely. He felt rather put off. How was he supposed to protect her if she couldn't grasp the desperation of their situation?

"I've been trapped here for two years," he tried. "She's—she's scary! I've seen her beat a dozen Marines! All together! At once! Full-grown men!"

"Right." Her eyes crossed and she blew a wad of dust off her nose.

"She's a menace to society! She loots villages and burns towns and, and she beats down everyone who doesn't follow her orders! I-If she wasn't so scary, do you think I'd stick around, watch her do all those bad things?"

She focused her eyes on him, frowning. "Then how'd you get here?"

He turned away, for he couldn't bear to look at her as he said, "I sort of...I got confused and walked on the wrong ship." The memory taunted him in his dreams: one minute carrying his bucket of fish onto his friend's boate, the next a circle of guns and swords pointed at his head. How he mistook a pirate's rowboat for a young boy's dingy he couldn't still understand. Maybe fate had decided he was a fun punching bag. Certainly he made for good sport, the way the last two days had gone. "They tied me up and made me the cabin boy."

"Seriously?" She stared. "Wow, you're kinda dumb."

His stomach plummeted and he sighed. "That's what everyone says."

"So you don't like anyone here." She sounded bemused. "Not even the captain?"

His head snapped up. "Yes!" he cried. "I-I mean, no, no, I don't like her! They hit me and call me names and make me do all the work they don't wanna do and—I don't wanna be here, I'm not a pirate, I-I've never wanted to be—"

"Then whaddya wanna be?" He couldn't interpret the look she gave him. Intense seemed the right adjective. It cut through his bones to the fluttering, nervous pulse of his chest, and he again mused over the power in her eyes. It was so familiar, yet he couldn't recall where he'd last seen it.

He straightened and his voice steadied until it was calm and unwavering. He met her eyes and did not back down from the challenge they raised.

"I wanna be a Marine," he said, tall and proud, mimicking the officer's stance. "I wanna stop injustice and help people who can't help themselves. I want—I wanna stop pirates like her. I w-wanna—" he inhaled "—I wanna be strong."

A grin split open Luffy's face until near all of her gumline was visible and her eyes were bright crinkled pinpoints under dark curly eyelashes. Coby realized then he'd worked himself into a shaking mess, knees wobbling underneath his pudgy stomach. The two years of terror and frustration and self-hatred had come to the forefront of his mind, and as he glanced at his fists, he saw red marks where his nails had dug into the palms.

"That's what I've always wished for," he added softly. "It's my dream."

Luffy surprised him with a hand on his shoulder. He followed her arm to her face and saw again that intense look.

"I'll take care of her," she said.

He paled. "W-wait, you don't really mean—"

She removed her hand and adjusted her straw hat until the visor was tilted high from her face. She was smiling.

No! he screamed at himself, stupid, pathetic! You were supposed to make her hide!

"C'mon, Coby," she said in that loud happy voice of hers. "Don't you wanna pummel her?"

"N-no, I-I—wait, please, where're—"

But it was too late. With quick long strides she wrenched the door open, and without a trace of fear or hesitation she stepped out into the sunshine.

And with the door open, Coby recognized the dreadful words:

"Tell me, worm," a thunderous voice bellowed, "who is the most gorgeous woman in all the seas?"

A tiny male voice screamed, "You are, Lady Alvida!" The man, whoever that poor soul was, shrieked for mercy. "You are the most beautiful, the most pretty—the prettiest—"

"Not good enough!"

Coby heard the swish of the mace, the force of the thrust as it cut through air, and then—then the wet crack, the thick thump of a body dropping onto the wooden deck...

He rushed to Luffy; she stood and stared blankly ahead, expression unclear under the shadow of her hat. Gingerly he followed her sight to where a man lay spreadeagle on the deck, eyes crossed and bleeding, head surrounded by a pool of blood. Propped up in front of her fallen crew member, leaning against a mace the size of a ladder, was Captain Alvida.

Alvida was tall for a woman, even taller for a man, and quite tall for a woman standing on top of a man. Her body was shaped like a waterlogged pear; her arms and legs, as disproportionally small as the fins on a fish, were noodles attached only by the sheer adhesive force of her layers of fat. Among the crew, the mysterious absence of sea monsters was attributed to their captain's face; it was well-known Sea Kings never attacked their own kind, even the ship-dwelling variety. During his two-year stay, Coby had heard a number of whispered conversations among her crew: about her fish eyes; her rough, spotted complexion reminiscent of rancid bananas; her bulbous fat nose; her seagull-beaked mouth. What Coby hated the most, however, was her laugh: It was a deep wheezing noise filled with contempt and meanness. And it always followed her mace.

The laughter came then, bursting with cruelty. Lifting her giant mace with ease she hefted it onto her shoulder, glaring down at her crew.

"Well?" she said. Her eyes scoured the crowd. "What are you lowlives waiting for? Clean up this mess!"

The crew sprang into action. Two men grabbed their fallen comrade and hauled him off to the infirmary. Another two were already on-hand with buckets and mops, hurriedly swabbing the floor before it stained.

"And who is the most beautiful woman in the entire world?" she roared.

Jerking in their motions, the rest of the crew cried in unison, "You are, Lady Alvida!"

Coby mouthed the words along with them and regretted it as soon as they formed.

"That's right!" she cackled. "Now get back to work! And clean the ship an extra five times for your friend's insubordination. You know how such dust dulls my skin."

"Yes, Lady Alvida!"

The crew turned away from the scene, studiously averting their eyes from the direction of the infirmary. They scrubbed furiously at imaginary dirt in hidden crooks and crannies, and the newfound quiet went undisturbed save for the batter of brushes on plank. Alvida herself had turned to the bow, her eyes to the clear blue horizon. Her back was to Luffy and Coby. Both were silent.

Part of Coby felt validated by the whole debacle. Here was his proof, and it was proven plain straight. Another part felt more than a little guilty for exposing Luffy to this wickedness, who, underneath her careless attitude, seemed perfectly sweet and innocent, the sort of damsel Coby had always imagined rescuing from pirates—scars, strength, and being a self-proclaimed pirate herself notwithstanding. A much more urgent, insistent part of his mind, however, was squealing for the two to return below deck and hide until things were quieter, and Coby thought it the most compelling of the three.

He hesitantly patted Luffy's arm. Worried when she didn't move, he shook her shoulder. To his surprise, he sensed and then saw her body begin to tremble.

"Luffy," he breathed, choking up. "I didn't mean to show you this—"

Suddenly a small sound escaped her throat, a noise similar to the shishing of the scrub brushes. At first he wondered if she was, like her stomach before her, deflating like a balloon. But as the sound grew louder and her hat's shadow vanished under the sunshine, he saw the smile, a small one to start with, and watched it grow into its natural ear-to-ear, jaw-stretching variation—and as he listened, with mounting trepidation he heard what he soon knew were suppressed sniggers transform into enormous gales of laughter.

She did nothing to hide her laughter, and, really, she reveled in its rowdy showiness. Like her grins, she put the full force of her personality into her hysterics: She doubled over, then fell over, and began pounding her fists and legs against the deck, howling like a dog in heat. She turned over and rolled sideways, to and fro, clutching her stomach as her hat fought to stay fastened to her head. When Coby bent down to grab her, shake her, simply make her stop, he found tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes glowing such a jolly warmth he wanted to run far, far away.

"Luffy!" he shouted, forgetting to be quiet, because honestly, she was just so frustrating. "Stop it! Right now!"

But she wouldn't until a few agonizing moments later. All the while Coby felt the dozens of stares directed at the pair of them.

When she was calm enough to stand, she wiped the tears from her eyes and asked, quite seriously, "Who's the ugly hag, Coby?" And without shame or self-restraint, she pointed at Alvida.

Every member of the crew, including Alvida and Coby, dropped their jaws. Their flurry of activity stopped dead. The wind ceased. The sea waves calmed. The world, for that long eerie pause, seemed to have forgotten what to do, so shocked was it by her words and the easy way she said them.

Luffy took full advantage.

"Man, Coby," she said, looking for the first time impressed, "you never mentioned she looks like a Sea King! Shishi, or a potato with an afro!" She had the audacity to slap her knee, cracking up at her own joke. "She's—" a snort "—she's like a manatee wearing lipstick! O-or—" she couldn't speak for a moment "—shishishi, or a really stupid-looking baby whale!" She choked on her laughter. When she recovered, she couldn't help but add, "You said she was real scary, Coby, and you were right!"

Coby didn't know for how long he blacked out, or for how long he stayed in a blissful fog; but when he returned to himself he found Alvida, features mangled and twisted beyond fury, behind Luffy's bent form, her mace already finishing the fatal arc towards Luffy's head.

"Luffy!" he screamed.

But she never saw the mace until it bashed into her skull; and the mace, propelled by such incredible might, drove Luffy's body through the floor of the deck, wood cracking, breaking, and Luffy disappeared through the shattered planks, vanished into the massive hole. Dust flew up in a violent updraft, and the deafening cacophony of wood smashing against wood made Coby shield his ears from the terrible ache.

When the dust settled and the din subsided, Coby found Alvida looming overhead, mascara-blotched eyes bulging from their sockets, an outrageous red coloring her face, her thin lips pursed to an imperceptible smeared-red line. In that moment she was inhuman, a conglomeration of all the sea monsters her crew and Luffy had accused her of being.

"Coby," she snarled, hefting her mace onto her shoulder, "who is the most beautiful woman in the world?"

The words held every threat imaginable. And yet Coby knew they also held a promise: answer correctly, and you'll only end up a bit maimed. Of course it would hurt, but he'd still be alive. What an unsatisfactory answer earned she'd already demonstrated: the only friendly person he'd met in years, struck dead.

I can live through this, he thought. He always had before. He could afford the injuries, get patched up like the rest, and then he could go back to serving her like the good little cabin boy he was. Sure, she would never allow the small trust she'd awarded him previously, and of course he'd never have the chance to escape again. The raft he'd painstakingly made over the years from driftwood on Alvida's base island would rot away—Alvida would never allow him the privacy to so much as think about it—and checking in would mean his last earthly possession and hope would be crushed without mercy; and sure, undoubtedly he would never become a Marine, never live his dream, forever Alvida's slavish idiot...

But he would be alive. Four little words, and he could live. It wouldn't be his life anymore, yes, but better to be a living coward than a dead mutineer, right?

Right? he asked himself.

"Y-you...are," he began, voice hushed, eyes watering. He couldn't look at her, his nerve had shrunk in on itself. The only place he could was his feet; the dusty hole and gaping crew flanking his vision were only reminders of his failure, what he'd lost and was yet to lose.

Alvida leaned closer to his face, cupping her ear. "I'm what?" she purred in a husky voice. No doubt she thought it her most persuasive. It sounded like talons clawing at metal, the way he stiffened. Revulsion swept over his body.

"You—you..." He swallowed.

"Hmm?" She leaned in even closer, jowls vibrating.

He glanced to the rubble and the shifting dust clouds. From the corner of his eye he watched his crewmates stare agog at the two, their incredulous faces blurred by dirt and restrained tears. He could understand their confusion: among them all, he had never been the one to cause trouble, had never started a fight, had always groveled properly, no dignity left to feel insulted by their taunts. He was weak, unexciting Coby, with nothing but a ridiculous dream and his useless booksmarts. He wasn't the type for these situations, had always followed the rules like a proper citizen—or he did, until in a hustle-and-bustle rush, he experienced an hour left alone with a girl who owned a wonderful smile and an even more ridiculous dream...

I can live through this, he reminded himself. He took in a deep breath.

"I'm waiting, Coby."

I can live through this. I can live through this. I can—

"YOU ARE THE UGLIEST, MOST DISGUSTING SEA WITCH THAT HAS EVER LIVED!"

He slapped his hands over his mouth, horrified with himself. He hadn't meant to say that aloud, let alone screech it in such an ear-splitting, piercing way that everyone in a ten-mile radius could hear it. The tears were flowing freely, and he looked up and the sight of her let loose a babbled river of apologies, spoken at a breakneck speed, but already the damage had been done and no amount of cowering would save him now.

A vein burst in her forehead and she shrieked, a tremendous explosion that dwarfed even his screech—her voice was like a lightning clap, an oncoming storm—and Coby, still not believing the words had fallen from his lips, fell onto his back and screamed, his pulse racing, and he had never wanted to die like this, the abused cabin boy—and he saw the flash of the mace, closed his eyes and writhed wildly backwards, groping for a weapon, a hand, an escape path, anything—and goodness, he was still screaming, and he threw his arms over his head and coiled into himself, a weakling to the end, and he waited, thinking the mace his last sight on earth—

He'd been screaming for a long time, he noticed. He'd seen enough of Alvida's mace to know how quick the noise ended. Morbidly curious, he peeked through his arms, and what he found amazed him.

The mace, a mere inch from his face, was shaking. Or rather, Alvida's arm was trembling from the effort of swinging it towards his head—for a familiar calloused hand was wrapped around the base of it, pulling it from Alvida's grip.

What surprised him most, however, was the arm connected to the hand: as though it were a long, taut string, the arm stretched bonelessly down into the depth of the hole, where it joined to the shoulder of a familiar figure.

"Luffy," he gasped. "You're alive!"

She grinned up at him. "Of course I am!"

And like a slingshot she bulleted through the air, flying passed Coby, Alvida, the ship, and rocketed into the sky, a black pinprick in a sea of blue. Alvida stood dumbfounded, her murderous intent apparently forgotten, and someone in the crew shouted, "Watch it, the girl's ate a Devil Fruit!" and with no other words necessary the ship descended into chaos.

The crew fled to the bunks, the galley, the infirmary, some falling into the gaping hole in the middle of the deck, so great was their panic. Luffy, earthbound, landed heavily against the foremast; and skittering across the rigging and spars, she seemed a true monkey—yet gravity abruptly took effect. With groaning protest the mast split in two, and like a felled tree, the foremast—sails, Jolly Roger and all—slammed into the deck, expanding the hole. Luffy grappeled down the ropeline and landed effortlessly on her feet next to Coby.

"Oops," she said. She held her straw hat tight to her head. "Didn't mean to do that."

Coby gawked at her.

As the foremast plunged deeper into the deck, crew members scurried like rats, searching desperately for sanctuary, screaming for salvation. The officers attempted some show of order, but even their captain slipped into the chaotic furor, wailing, "My ship!" as she tried to shove the foremast back into place with her lone considerable strength.

Luffy and Coby simply observed the upheaval as it ran its disastrous course.

"I didn't know you ate a Devil Fruit," said Coby quietly. He roughly wiped the tears from his face, struggled to appear a little more presentable, a little less the weeping coward he'd been minutes ago.

Luffy pulled her cheek an arm-length from her face, exposing an array of molars and her inner gumline, and then let it snap back into place. "Ate the Gum Gum Fruit," she said, shrugging. "I'm made outta rubber."

"Oh," Coby managed. It certainly explained a few things. "So you're impervious to—"

"Blunt things don't hurt," she finished without pomp. She cracked her knuckles and dropped into a crouch.

"The mace," he muttered.

"Yep!" And with that she stretched her arm forward, grabbed the main mast, and shot off towards Alvida at an alarming rate. Her feet crashed into Alvida and knocked her completely off-balance. Cat-like Luffy flipped backwards onto her feet; slug-like Alvida toppled forward onto her stomach, grunting in surprise. The foremast Alvida held fell back into the crater.

"Fight me, pig-face!" yelled Luffy.

Struggling to her legs, Alvida grabbed her mace and roared back.

The battle was short and decisive. Although she had a weapon and could easily kill men twice Luffy's size with one strike, Alvida was slow and—now that Coby could watch without fear coloring his view—very, very clumsy. Luffy avoided every hit, weaving between the mace as though she were avoiding low-hanging branches in a forest, and indeed, she seemed to know where a swing would center before Alvida even moved her arm.

Alvida had some strategy, though, and used Luffy's apparent passivity to lure her against a wall where there was no room to maneuver. Crowing in triumph, Alvida swung towards Luffy's mid-section, and Coby held his breath for the inevitable blow; and muscles coiled, still grinning, Luffy vaulted over the mace, knees bent in the air, one hand on her hat.

"She's not even sweating," he whispered. Alvida, the feared Lady Captain of the East Blue, raider of Marine ships, the five-million-bounty villainness of his nightmares, was barely a threat for Luffy. Hell, Luffy seemed to be treating it like a warm-up exercise, if anything serious at all. Just how much power did a Devil Fruit hold? He'd heard stories, of course, everyone had, but to see legends come to life was another thing entirely.

Luffy took to the offensive then and threw a gamut of swift jabs in every which direction: the chest, the groin, an uppercut, a left hook on the cheek, a swing to the ribs. They landed cleanly, Alvida's defense non-existent, and leaving no time for her to recover, Luffy charged on, slamming her fists at a single spot, pushing Alvida backwards through plain strength alone. What was left of Alvida collapsed to her knees, clutching her mace, huffing from exhaustion.

"Damn you!" she hissed.

But Alvida's words changed to cries of panic as Luffy, running head-on, arm stretched far behind her, miles behind her, screamed, "This is for Coby!"

Luffy's arm retracted into itself, the motion like a wave in water, and just as the force snapped into her shoulder, Luffy thrust her fist forward—and the kinetic energy propelled her arm straight towards Alvida's dumbstruck face.

Alvida went flying straight to the clouds. She flew so high that she disappeared into the distance, flew so fast her screams were swallowed up in less than a minute. Coby wasn't surprised if she landed on an island somewhere in the North Blue.

"She's gone," he whispered. He tasted the words and smiled, let out a little hiccup of a laugh. "She's gone," he said louder. His laughter grew with his voice. "She's gone!"

Luffy shaded her eyes, squinting at the horizon. "She's a lot lighter than she looks."

"She's gone! She's gone!"

The remnants of her crew slowly emerged from the wreckage. All their eyes fell to the mace laying abandoned in the middle of the deck. They glanced to each other, then back to the mace, and then watched as Luffy carelessly kicked it through a wall to the captain's quarters, tearing a mace-shaped hole through a thick wall, a large mural mirror, and a pink canopied bed.

"Huh," she said. "That thing's pretty strong."

It was with unanimous agreement that they scrambled out of their hiding places and fell to their knees, lined in uniform rows as they prostrated themselves before her, their eyes reverent and fearful. Luffy didn't notice at first, she was so absorbed in picking her nose; Coby tugged her around and pointed, feeling both immense joy and immense nervousness now the battle was over. He'd been wondering when the rest of the crew would act up, but he had never expected something quite like this.

"You!" their self-appointed ambassador said, pointing to Luffy. He was the only member of the crew standing, and Coby recognized him as the first mate. "Straw-hat girl!"

Luffy frowned. "What do you guys want? Wanna fight me, too?"

Some of the men whimpered. The first mate cleared his throat. He stood with his head bowed and his arms behind his back. It reminded Coby of a Marine at attention.

"Please, we don't want to fight you," said the first mate. He gulped. "We will give in to all of your demands. We officially surrender, on my post as first mate of this ship."

Coby and Luffy looked at each other. Coby gestured for her to say something.

"Yeah, sure," said Luffy, turning back to him. "Good to hear, I guess."

A moment passed. The crew did not budge an inch from their place on the floor.

"What's with them?" she asked Coby. "They dead?"

The first mate coughed. "We will give in to all your demands," he repeated.

"That's nice?" She scratched her head.

Coby nudged her. "I think he means they'll give us whatever we ask for."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh!" In a louder voice, she said, "Give me all the meat you got on here, got it?" Her eyes roved the crowd. Those she made eye contact with gasped and hid their faces. "Yeah, gimme all the good food you have around here, and some gold, and a boat for me and Coby."

Coby looked at her in surprise. "Wait, are we—"

"Me and Coby here are gonna leave real soon, so you guys better get it done quick, or I'll pummel all of you!" She cracked her knuckles. She added, looking very menacing, "And apologize to Coby!"

The men shivered at her words, but they all stood quickly and bowed their heads to Coby, muttering as one voice, "Sorry, Coby," and ran off to procure her winnings.

The tears were becoming a constant threat, Coby thought, the way they always seemed to destroy his self-control. He wiped at his eyes, sniffling, and mumbled to Luffy, "Th-thank you. That was very nice of you."

Her grin was the most welcome sight he'd ever seen, and this time the tears fell freely and he sobbed from happiness, from overwhelming joy, and from the warmth she seemed to glow with. For several embarrassing minutes he cried as the crew bustled with renewed activity, and positively weeped as Luffy patted his shoulder, telling him to cheer up, they didn't take crybabies in the Marines, and he couldn't help it, he kept thanking her over and over again and promising if there was anything she needed, he would do his best to help her. And when he looked up, bleary-eyed and incredibly happy, he saw her devastating grin and knew just then why it was so familiar: Gold Roger, the King of the Pirates, had died with that same exact grin, when he'd proclaimed that his most precious treasure was left in one piece somewhere on the seas, ripe for any pirate who had the desire to become his successor.

"I-I don't know how I'll ever repay you," he said, his throat raw.

Her grin didn't fade. "You'll get around to it someday when you're less of a wuss."

Any possible trace of hero worship Coby developed for Luffy faded after two days of sailing.

Luffy was more a middle-aged man trapped in an attractive package than the delicate, well-mannered waif Coby thought of when he pictured a young woman. She belched and picked her nose without an ounce of self-consciousness; she whined about their small food supply despite being the the reason they'd run so low in the first place ("They were supposed to last us a week," he'd shouted, "and you ate them all in one day!"); she poked and prodded his face when she was bored and announced such when the waves were the only interesting thing look at, as she always did when no terrible monsters tried to eat them; and above all, she had no shame, no manners, and no decency. In fact, those seven words summed up Monkey D. Luffy perfectly.

During one of the hotter afternoons at sea, three days out from Alvida's ship, Luffy was half-way through pulling her shirt off when Coby gasped and pulled it back down.

"It's hot!" she said, her tongue hanging out like a dog.

"And you're a woman!" Coby shot back.

"I got on underwear." And to prove this she pulled down the collar of her vest to where a hint of white peeked out.

"No!" He threw up his arms. "Luffy, there're social convention we have to follow—"

"Who cares about those?"

"You're impossible!" he snapped.

"No, I'm standing right here!"

So it went. He never won an argument when it came to things like that—and not because Luffy actively resisted his ideas, but because she didn't seem to know why things like manners or polite behavior were observed to begin with. It was like she'd been raised in the wild, the way she acted.

To make matters worse, for a future King (Queen, rather) of the Pirates Luffy had next-to-no experience properly running a ship. She knew how to hoist sails, yes, but the essentials of navigating and plotting a course escaped her. And so Coby took the helm and used what relatively little he knew of mapping to take them to the nearest island. For her part, Luffy paid close attention to how he ran things, watching closely with such focus it made Coby twitchy and nervous. (He found, despite himself, and despite her careless personality, Luffy was the first girl he'd talked to in over two years, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop the tingled thrill in his chest when she was near.)

Unsurprisingly Luffy had a knack for the practical: tying specialty knots, navigating directions by sun and stars, determining windspeed by the flutter of her straw hat. Problems arose when it came time to put pen to paper; she was easily confused by anything involving more than simple addition, or a set of letters longer than three words. Her attention fled to the closest non-paper object it found when she was supposed to study East Blue travel guides, and Coby learned fast that any calculations Luffy made were always off by eighteen, no matter the equation.

Of course, Luffy's real niche was fighting menacing sea monsters. While Coby did his best to avoid waters his travel guides warned against traversing, Luffy's strange compulsion for "adventure"—apparently an inexplicable need to find something deadly and beat it to death—led them across nests of razor-toothed sharks, murderous seahorses over ten-feet-tall, and one bizarre sentient cactus. At the very least their food stores were replenished by the one-hit kills Luffy provided.

Luffy seemed perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, what with the consistent stream of enemies and meat—yet Coby knew better than to consider their current companionship anything but temporary. Above all else, although their paths were parallel at the moment, they were bound to intersect in the future—and was there any other outcome than the inevitable when it came to pirates and Marines? It wouldn't matter that they'd once shared a tiny boat as friends once upon a time, or that they'd taught each other lifelong lessons over the happy course of a week. Luffy might be the right sort of pirate, but that didn't mean she wouldn't change in their time apart, or the countless bloodthirsty pirates that roamed the seas would change for the better. Marines didn't differentiate: a pirate was a pirate, and all pirates needed to be locked up.

At least, that was what Coby kept telling himself for days on end. But on their last night together, as he watched Luffy tear another meat chunk off the bone, laughing as Coby struggled to chew his much smaller portion, the merry air about them, the day's rum rations warm in his blood, the night sky twinkling above, he couldn't imagine a more peaceful future, or a more enduring friendship.

"Luffy," said Coby. His face felt warm. "Luffy, we're almost there. Close to landing soon."

She didn't bother to swallow. "Yup!"

"There's a Marine base where we're landing," he said quietly. "It's on the port, and, well..." He didn't look at her. "I want to make up for lost time."

She kept on chewing. "Oh, okay."

Coby stared. "Are—are you sure you're okay?—w-with this? I-I mean, you're a pirate, and I'll be—I'm gonna try to be a Marine. And you know what Marines—pirates and Marines aren't usually...you know."

At this Luffy raised her eyebrows. She put her meat down next to her and settled herself comfortably against the mast, snaking her arms around the back of her head.

"Coby," she said, staring straight into his eyes. He found he couldn't look away. "We're friends. No matter what."

"But—"

"No matter what," she repeated.

"But—but you don't get it!" he wailed. "When I'm a Marine I'll have no choice! Y-you—I'll have to hunt you down! Hurt you! I might have to kill you—"

She stretched her arm and covered his mouth. Her face held an uncharacteristically stern expression.

"If that happen, then it happens," she said firmly. "No matter how often we fight or stand on opposite sides, we'll always be friends. Besides," she added brightly, "you can't kill me."

The way she said it, as though it were an ordinary truth that didn't bear repeating, calmed him enough that he stopped struggling against her hand. She retracted her arm and grinned.

"Now finish eating, 'cause we're landing early tomorrow."

The relief he experienced was palpable. He lowered himself to floor and breathed in, breathed out, felt the sea breeze tickle his rosy cheeks. Overhead the stars twinkled and Luffy surprised him by pointing out every constellation she knew, showed him how to tell each figure from each other, and he surprised himself by listening attentively, fascinated with her knowledge. They continued their meal and Coby told her raunchy sea jokes his former crewmates had liked to tell each other, and their laughter echoed off the vast blue that surrounded them on all sides, the only witness to a Marine and pirate getting along quite happily; and eventually the rocking of the waves underneath lulled them to sleep, the only thought on their minds the futures that awaited them on land.