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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #103
🕑 Added 2025-07-23 17:03:26 +0000 UTCOne month later…
In the crushing depths of the ocean, where sunlight was a forgotten myth and pressure bowed even steel, Harlow Gale kicked through the abyss like a blind man trapped in an endless void.
His breath came in slow, practiced rhythms through the air bubble Rayleigh had coated around his body—one of the many strange pirate tricks the old bastard knew—but that was the only mercy granted to him.
Everything else was stripped away.
No light. No sound. No surface. No sense of direction.
Just pitch-black water and the thundering silence of the deep.
And somewhere out there in that inky darkness… was a beast. Big. Fast. Hungry.
Gale whipped around as something massive displaced the water behind him. He struck with his sword, but hit nothing. Just bubbles and pressure.
A flash of movement. He turned again.
Too slow.
A whip of a tail slammed into his side. The coating rippled from the impact, and Gale spiraled through the void, choking down panic. He righted himself with a grimace, ribs aching. His vision was useless. His ears told him nothing.
And even his instincts—usually so sharp—were dulled to the point of uselessness down here.
High above, in the coated hull of a repurposed pirate ship, Silvers Rayleigh stood calmly with his arms crossed. His eyes were closed. Watching, in a manner of speaking.
To call it “supervision” might’ve been generous.
Rayleigh hadn’t moved in nearly an hour. Just stood there, feeling the shifts in pressure and intention that only advanced Observation Haki could detect.
“Hmm,” he muttered, as Gale was rammed by the sea beast.
“Still can’t see it coming?”
Below, Gale slashed wildly through the dark. Again—nothing.
The sea beast swam in slow, silent circles around him. Its presence a ghost. No bubbles. No light. It was hunting him with ease.
Gale clenched his teeth and shut his eyes.
This was impossible. How the hell was he supposed to fight something he couldn’t see or hear? Even up on Torino Island, he had some kind of footing—something to react to.
Here?
Nothing.
Only pressure.
Only instinct.
Only the dread weight of something just beyond his reach—
There!
Something pricked the edge of his awareness. A ripple. A twitch in the water, not against his skin, but somewhere deeper. Behind his thoughts.
He turned. Raised his sword—not out of logic, not out of reflex, but because something told him now.
The beast lunged from the black.
Gale slashed.
There was resistance.
A howl of bubbles. A screech of wounded muscle. The sea beast reeled back, twisting in pain, blood drifting like ink into the dark.
Gale stared, wide-eyed, heart pounding. He hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t heard it.
He’d felt it.
Not through skin or senses.
Through will.
Through presence.
From above, Rayleigh opened one eye, a smile tugging at the edge of his weathered face.
“Well, well,” he muttered. “Took you long enough.”
Down below, Gale floated motionless in the dark, panting softly as realization dawned.
Something inside him had opened.
Something new.
And for the first time since he started this underwater madness, he wasn’t blind anymore.
...
The coated pirate ship creaked as it slowly ascended toward the surface, groaning like an old man getting out of bed. Inside, the air was damp and quiet—except for the occasional murmur from the terrified pirate crew manning it.
They kept glancing at Silvers Rayleigh like he was a wild animal that might suddenly decide to get bored and kill someone for fun.
Which, in fairness, wasn’t entirely off base as far as they were concerned.
Meanwhile, Gale lay spread-eagle on the deck like a piece of laundry someone had forgotten to take inside during a storm.
He was soaked, shivering slightly, and absolutely wiped—but there was a wild grin plastered on his face, one that refused to die even as his muscles begged for mercy.
“Observation Haki…” he muttered under his breath, almost disbelieving. “I actually did it…”
He let out a weak laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze. His limbs felt like noodles. Not the good kind, either—the overcooked, sad kind that stick to the bottom of the pot.
Footsteps approached. Heavy, confident, and barefoot.
Rayleigh loomed over him, casting a long shadow from the soft glow of the ship’s coated lanterns.
The old man’s grin was infuriatingly smug.
“Well?” he asked. “How’re you feeling, sea monster slayer?”
Gale raised a thumb without lifting his head. “Like someone took a hammer to every part of my body that can move. And then to a few parts that shouldn't move.”
Rayleigh chuckled, folding his arms. “So, the usual.”
“Yep,” Gale said with a tired grin. “But like... the good kind of pain. The kind that says, ‘hey buddy, congrats, your muscles are growing and also your bones might be cracked.’ You know?”
Rayleigh’s grin widened. “Not bad for someone who kept calling me a senile demon three days into training.”
“In my defense,” Gale said, sitting up with a groan, “you did throw me into a trench full of sea kings and looked dman pleased about yourself...”
“And look how far you’ve come.” Rayleigh nodded toward him. “You awakened Observation Haki, didn’t you?”
Gale paused, and then his grin came back, big and dumb and proud. “Yeah… Yeah, I did. I actually felt it, old man. That thing in the dark—I couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it—but something clicked. Like a sixth sense. I just knew it was coming. And I moved. And I hit it.”
He let out a whoop that startled one of the nearby pirates so hard he dropped a wrench.
Rayleigh laughed again, deep and warm.
Gale leaned back on his elbows, staring at the ceiling of the coated hull. “Y’know, I’ve been complaining non-stop about this underwater torture training—”
Rayleigh raised a brow. “‘Training.’ That’s what we’re calling it now?”
“Let me have this,” Gale muttered, then continued. “Point is… you were right. I hate to admit it, but training this deep down, surrounded by nothing but pressure and darkness—it’s worked. My body feels stronger. Denser. Like I could hit kaiju mode again without needing a two-week nap and coughing half my blood.”
He flexed his arm half-heartedly, but winced. “Okay, maybe give it a day or two.”
Rayleigh smirked.
Gale sighed and tapped the deck. “Even my senses feel sharper. I swear I can kinda feel the water now, like it buzzes around me. Not just what I see or hear—more like… vibrations. Movement. Pressure shifts.”
“That’s called paying attention,” Rayleigh said dryly. “Most people don’t bother.”
“Yeah, well, most people weren’t trained by a mad scientist and a rose-sniffing, poetry-reciting fencing ghost with a death wish,” Gale muttered. “This is just stage three of my ongoing trauma arc.”
Rayleigh gave a thoughtful hum. “And yet you’re still smiling.”
“Damn right I am,” Gale said, looking him dead in the eye. “Because this? This is progress. Real, solid, pirate-hunting, world-rocking progress.”
He flopped back down with a satisfied sigh. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lie here and reconsider every life choice that led to me trying to karate-chop a sea monster in a pitch-black pressure cooker.”
One of the pirates dared to mutter, “Did he say kaiju mode?”
Rayleigh just chuckled, walking off toward the helm. “Get some rest, Gale. We’re not done yet.”
Gale gave him a thumbs-up without opening his eyes.
He was exhausted.
He was aching.
And yet…
He couldn’t wait for the next session.
...
The familiar ding of the bell over the door echoed softly through Shakky’s bar as Gale pushed it open, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The place was quiet—too quiet for this time of day.
Usually there’d be a couple of shady types nursing rum in the corner, maybe some rookie pirate group trying to act tough before Rayleigh showed up and made them cry. But now? Empty.
Except for her.
Shakky sat behind the bar, glasses off, reading through a stack of papers with an unlit cigarette bouncing between her lips. Her brow was furrowed in thought, which was rare—Shakky wasn’t the kind to let things crease her.
You could probably set off a bomb under her chair and she’d just dust off the ash.
“Yo,” Gale called out, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. “I’ve been getting all kinds of weird reports on my desk. Pirates showing up that I’ve never even seen around Sabaody before. Gangs I thought were extinct crawling out the sewers. Someone throwing a party or something?”
Shakky looked up and smiled, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray. “Funny you ask, sweetheart. I was just about to call you about that.”
That gave Gale pause. Shakky wasn’t the type to call you unless it was important—or unless you owed her money. And he made sure to settle that last bar tab, thank you very much.
He walked over and slid into his usual stool. “Sounds serious.”
“It is,” she said, exhaling slowly. “It’s the Auctioning House.”
Gale blinked. “The human one?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He leaned back, arms crossed. “Lemme guess—business is bad since Ren and I stomped out or scared off most of the scumbags bringing them people?”
Shakky gave a tired little laugh. “You could say that. Most of their old ‘suppliers’ are either in pieces, in hiding, or under new management. Yours, apparently.”
“Hey,” Gale said with a shrug, “I never said I was against hostile takeovers.”
“But you upset the flow,” Shakky continued. “They’ve been bleeding coin for months now. Reputation took a hit. The last auction barely broke even.”
“Good,” Gale muttered.
She didn’t disagree. But then her eyes hardened a little, and she slid one of the papers across the bar toward him.
“Well, they’re finally doing something about it.”
Gale picked it up and gave it a look. It wasn’t anything obvious—just a shipment manifest, some strange names, weird notations… but something about it made his stomach do a little somersault. The same kind he got before things exploded. Usually literally.
“So,” he said carefully, “they planning to strike back? Round up what’s left of the gangs and try to get them back on a leash?”
Shakky shook her head, slowly. “No. It’s worse than that.”
He stared. “Define ‘worse,’ because my scale ends at ‘Celestial Dragon shows up wearing a scarf made of orphans.’”
She lit her cigarette this time and took a long drag. “They’re rebranding.”
“…Like, with a new logo? Posters? Slogan? ‘Now with extra suffering?’”
She smirked, but it faded fast. “No more mermaids. No more fishmen. No more basic humans unless they’ve got something flashy. The house is shifting focus. They’re going after slaves with rare skills. Unique bloodlines. Special abilities. Exotic races from outside the archipelago.”
Gale’s smile dropped.
“That’s what all these newcomers are about,” she said, motioning vaguely to the street outside. “Some are contractors—new suppliers. Others are opportunists. Scavengers, basically. They know something big is about to hit, and they want a piece of what's to come...”
Gale was already starting to feel the need to punch someone. Not for justice. Not for vengeance. Just… therapeutic reasons. The way some people hit stress balls, or meditate, or scream into the void—he threw fists. Preferably at skulls. But for now, he reined it in.
“So,” he said, voice calm but with that dangerous undertone, “what exactly is this ‘thing to come’?”
Shakky exhaled smoke and tapped her fingers against the pile of papers on the counter, her brow furrowed just slightly—enough to signal this wasn’t some neighborhood turf squabble.
“You know how the auction house’s best customers are the Celestial Dragons?”
Gale snorted. “Yeah. You can track any world-sized misery back to those walking STD collections.”
“Mm.” She nodded, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Well, the Human Auctioning House is planning to start their rebranding campaign by showcasing something especially marketable to those bastards. Something they know the Celestials are desperate for right now.”
Gale scratched the back of his head, brows knitting. “What, like a three-titted mythical creature that sings opera and shits glitter?”
“Worse,” Shakky said, deadpan. “A surgeon.”
That got him.
He blinked. “A surgeon?”
“There's been an attempt on a Celestial Dragon’s life,” she said, voice dropping to that familiar no-nonsense tone that usually meant brace yourself.
“You know how it is—they live in a bubble, literally and metaphorically. They thought no one would ever dare try to hurt them, so they never had any real emergency response ready. No trauma teams, no experienced field doctors. And this particular Celestial Dragon?” She tapped the page closest to her. “He almost died.”
Gale nodded slowly. “Yeah, I was at the Reverie. I remember that mess.”
“What you don’t know,” Shakky went on, “is how close it was. If the medics had been even five minutes later, or if they didn’t have the exact kind of blood… he’d have croaked. Now the families are panicking. They've been hunting down every skilled surgeon they can find—some legally, most not.”
“So what?” Gale asked. “The auctioneers found some master surgeon or something?”
Shakky gave a slow nod. “Exactly. Word is, they got a real prize—a so-called miracle surgeon from the North Blue. Used to be a rookie pirate, actually. But now? He’s their centerpiece. Celestial Dragon families are gonna be fighting each other to get him.”
And just like that, time seemed to stutter.
North Blue.
Miracle Surgeon.
Roockie pirate.
Those three words clanged in Gale’s skull like a trio of alarm bells all going off at once. Somewhere in his mind, something was trying to click together—some memory, some face, something he hadn’t yet placed—
The door flew open with a bang, nearly flying off its hinges.
“WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE AUCTION HOUSE,” Ren shouted as he stomped in like he was about to declare war on the furniture.
Gale blinked, his line of thought cut in half.
Shakky calmly poured herself another drink.
And just like that, things were in motion again.
Comments
Vante
Wtf they got law?
