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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #35
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 08:17:12 +0000 UTCThe two of them slowly dragged themselves up from the wet sand, moving like a pair of exhausted old men after a bad fishing trip. Their clothes clung to them in soggy layers, the fabric heavy with seawater and grit.
Gale grunted, patting at his jacket and pants with stiff slaps, trying to brush off the stubborn sand that refused to let go. Poqin was doing much the same, mumbling curses under his breath as clumps of wet sand splattered around his feet.
Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like they were stuck in molasses.
Out in the shallows, their improvised cavalry—the five giant sea beast dogs—were happily roughhousing, sending up great plumes of seawater as they wrestled and barked.
The golden retriever rolled over with a tremendous splash, paws batting at the mastiff’s face, while the pit bull chased the rottweiler in manic circles. The doberman stood nearby, chest puffed up proudly, barking at absolutely nothing.
For creatures that had just helped butcher a sea monster, they acted like oversized puppies at a beach picnic.
Poqin, dusting his sleeves, suddenly squinted at Gale. His head tilted slightly, one eyebrow creeping upward.
"Hey... you're, uh... glowing," he said, pointing vaguely at Gale’s chest.
Gale blinked, startled. His heart skipped a beat. Reflexively, he glanced down—and sure enough, there it was. A faint blue light pulsing beneath his shirt, seeping through the fabric like bioluminescence.
It looked just like it had that first terrifying time on the beach when he’d thought he was dying or mutating or... something worse.
For a split second, Gale panicked.
'Aw hell, no!'
But years of bluffing and dodging awkward questions had honed his instincts to a razor edge.
He quickly looked back up at Poqin with a blank expression, gave a lazy shrug, and said, "Dunno what you're talking about. I don't see anything."
Poqin frowned, scratching his bald head like maybe he'd missed a page in the manual of life. "Pretty sure that right there is—"
Gale cut him off with an easy, dismissive wave.
"Maybe you got salt in your eyes or something. Happens all the time. You should, uh... get that looked at when we get back. Real serious stuff. Dangerous, even." He nodded solemnly, as if he had a PhD in 'Weird Beach Medical Emergencies.'
In truth, Gale would sooner have volunteered to go back to his old life and then proudly unveil his entire internet search history at a family reunion packed with nosy aunts, judgmental uncles, and that one weird cousin who always smelled faintly of glue, than admit to having glowy birthmarks that reacted to seawater.
Even after a life-or-death bonding experience.
If there was one thing Gale knew for sure, it was that weirdness—real, undeniable weirdness—was a magnet for questions, suspicion, and the kind of attention he absolutely did not want.
Just imagining that kind of trouble was enough for Gale's soul to almost crawl out of his body and die of exhaustion.
And besides...
Trying to explain that he could swim just fine after eating a Devil Fruit sounded like the sort of conversation that ended with either a bounty poster or a very long, very painful conversation with the Marines. No thank you.
He'd take his chances gaslighting his way through it, one awkward excuse at a time.
Poqin gave him a squinty, suspicious look but eventually shrugged and turned away, too tired to press the issue.
Meanwhile, Gale discreetly patted his chest, feeling the faint hum of warmth under his palm.
'Still pulsing...'
He sighed inwardly.
'Yeah. Definitely gonna have to deal with this sooner or later. Preferably much, much later.'
Until that time came—whatever cursed cosmic moment where he’d have to explain why his chest lit up like a glowstick in seawater—Gale decided it was best not to think about it. Repressing weird things was a time-honored tradition where he came from.
Therapy? Never heard of it. Mysterious sea-related superpowers? Not his problem today.
He had a job to do.
Somewhere on this oversized patch of jungle was the ingredient Florencio needed—his fancy miracle medicine, which was apparently a flower with the drama levels of a soap opera villain. Rare. Elusive. Only bloomed at night. Probably smelled like secrets.
Gale looked around. From where he stood, the beach gave way to a thick, wall-like forest of tangled greenery. Trees bunched together like gossiping old ladies, and vines drooped lazily like they’d given up on verticality.
Not a black rose in sight.
He turned to Poqin, who was now plopped on the sand with all the enthusiasm of a man discovering chairs for the first time. “I’m gonna go look for the medicine,” Gale said, dusting his damp sleeves.
“Once I find it, I’ll hightail it back to town. You stay here and rest up.”
Poqin raised a thumb lazily. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he muttered, half asleep already and surrounded by their five giant dog companions, who were now snoring, dog-paddling, or chasing invisible enemies in the shallows.
With that, Gale turned and headed for the treeline, pushing aside low branches and stepping carefully around suspiciously large piles of something that was either mud or sea beast droppings.
He didn’t want to know.
The forest was humid and quiet, broken only by the occasional birdcall or the distant bark of a happy doberman. Surprisingly, the walk was peaceful.
No giant bugs. No surprise explosions. No ancient spirits trying to sell him NFTs. Just a straight thirty minutes of hiking through increasingly dense foliage.
Then he pushed past a particularly stubborn bush—and stopped dead.
A clearing opened up before him, wide and untouched. It was like stepping into another world.
The grass beneath his feet was soft and springy, and at the center of the field, stretching as far as he could see, were black roses. Hundreds of them.
Thousands, maybe. Rows upon rows of tightly shut buds, their petals a deep, glossy violet-black that hadn’t yet unfurled.
It looked like a field waiting to exhale.
Gale stood there, slack-jawed.
“Okay... definitely a lot more than I expected...” he muttered.
This was supposed to be rare. Like once-in-a-blue-moon, sell-your-spleen-on-the-black-market rare. He’d thought he’d find one. Maybe two if he got really lucky and the universe felt merciful for once.
But this? This was... well, this was an accidental goldmine. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, a slow grin tugging at his lips.
'If this flower is as valuable as Florencio says, then... wouldn’t bringing a whole bunch of them back make me rich? Like, filthy-rich? Like-buy-a-ship-and-name-it-something-dumb-rich?'
The mental image came fast and glorious: Gale standing atop a shiny new boat, sunglasses on, shouting something dramatic like “Call me Captain Petalstorm!” while money fluttered around him and Poqin looked disappointed in the background.
But first things first. The roses weren’t blooming yet. Florencio had said they would open only at night, some overly theatrical flourish probably linked to moonlight or starlight or their star sign or whatever.
Until then... well, he just had to wait.
With a sigh, Gale dropped into a cross-legged sit, brushing some leaves aside and pulling out a piece of dried fruit from his soggy pouch. It had the color and consistency of an old sock now, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He took a bite and winced.
“Alright,” he mumbled around the mushy, sea-salt-soaked thing, “now we munch and wait.”
He leaned back on his palms, staring up at the sky as the sun started dipping lower on the horizon. A field of magical flowers, glowing tattoos, and five oversized sea dogs. Just another Tuesday.
...
The late afternoon sun cast golden light across the tiled courtyard of the sala de armas, catching on the rusted edges of old training swords and the flaking paint of faded murals.
Bougainvillea vines swayed in the breeze, petals drifting lazily to the ground like nature’s confetti. The place should be echoing with the clash of steel and dramatic declarations of honor—now it mostly echoed with Florencio’s coughs and the occasional pigeon fight on the roof.
Claribel stepped into the courtyard, balancing a small tray with peeled fruit, a damp cloth, and the kind of motherly concern you’d usually reserve for sick uncles or emotionally unstable plants.
She spotted Florencio slouched on a bench near the fountain, his posture stiff, his skin pale enough to compete with the stone statues behind him. His matador-inspired clothes hung loose on his frame, like they belonged to someone who used to dance rather than someone who now just... sat and wheezed.
“You look like death warmed over,” Claribel said gently, kneeling beside him and setting the tray down.
“Death would be an improvement,” Florencio muttered with a raspy smirk. “At least I’d get some rest.”
Claribel rolled her eyes and offered him a piece of the peeled fruit. “Try not to be so dramatic. You’ll make the statues jealous.”
He accepted it with a shaky hand but didn’t eat it. His tired gaze flicked over her, and he raised an eyebrow. “Why are you doing this, girl?”
She paused, brushing a bit of windblown petal off his shoulder. “Because Gale made a deal with some woman to check on you while he was gone—some old lady with zero work ethic. But I convinced her to let me do it instead.”
Florencio squinted at her, unconvinced. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”
Claribel smiled, a quiet, bittersweet thing. “I want to be remembered.”
Florencio blinked at that. It was rare, in his long, weary life, to hear someone say something honest so plainly.
Claribel sat down beside him, smoothing her skirt. “I’m not an idiot. I know the kind of guy Gale is. He doesn’t settle. He never stays in one place for too long, not really. He’s always got one foot out the door and his head halfway to the next adventure.”
She sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Unfortunately, I realized that too late.”
Florencio reached up, fingers brushing the pendant that hung around his neck—a worn little rose carved from black stone.
He shook his head slowly, as though the weight of time had become a bit heavier on his shoulders. “You’re right. A man... only ever realizes he's in love once he's already lost it.” He smiled thinly. “That hasn’t changed in all my years.”
Claribel chuckled, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “That’s exactly why I’m doing this. So that even when he leaves—and he will leave—he won’t be able to forget me. I’ll haunt him in the little ways. An empty cup at a tavern. A warm morning without coffee. A song stuck in his head he can’t place. That’s how I’ll win.”
Florencio let out a soft laugh, low and dry like a creaky door, before it twisted into a cough that wracked his body. He nearly doubled over, clutching his side.
Claribel was on him in a heartbeat, slipping an arm behind his back to keep him upright, her expression shifting from playful to panicked.
“Easy! Easy—don’t fall over on me, old man. You’re not allowed to die while I’m holding peeled fruit.”
Florencio winced, waving her off weakly. “No dying today... I’ll wait until the roses bloom,” he rasped. “Gale will be back soon... the boy... yes, he’ll be back...”
His voice grew softer, a whisper carried off by the wind. “I need to make sure everything’s in order... before then…”
Claribel held him steady, eyes flicking toward the horizon, as if she could will Gale back sooner just by looking.
She didn’t know what Florencio meant exactly. But she had a feeling Gale’s return was going to come with a lot more than a bundle of weirdly dramatic roses.
