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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #32
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 04:14:27 +0000 UTCA few hours into their journey, the terrain shifted from rolling hills and sunlit paths to something out of a really enthusiastic panda’s dream. A thick bamboo forest stretched before them, tall green stalks packed so tightly together it looked less like a forest and more like nature had rage-quit spacing and just copy-pasted the same tree a thousand times.
Gale came to a stop at the edge and winced like someone staring at a math test. “We’re supposed to wade through this?”
Beside him, Poqin just nodded with the calm confidence of someone about to ruin his day.
Gale narrowed his eyes. “How exactly?”
Poqin smirked. “Like this.”
Before Gale could ask for clarification—or stall—Poqin stepped forward and grabbed hold of a thick bamboo stalk with both hands. With the grace of a monkey and the smugness of someone who knows he’s about to show off, he climbed upward with practiced ease.
Then, just to rub it in, he jumped to the next stalk mid-sway, letting the bamboo bend under his weight like he’d been doing this since he was old enough to walk.
He didn’t just jump. No, he glided from stalk to stalk, feet shuffling in some weird pattern that probably had a poetic name like “Soaring Crane Footwork” or “Annoyingly Nimble Step.” It was oddly beautiful, stupidly efficient, and completely unfair.
Gale’s jaw slackened as he watched Poqin bounce farther into the forest like a drunken grasshopper who knew kung fu.
'There it is again,' Gale thought bitterly. 'That weird foot mojo thing.'
Everyone on Karate Island seemed to know some version of it. They probably taught it in kindergarten. Meanwhile, he’d come here specifically to learn martial arts, and somehow he’d learned everything except that.
Actual swordsmanship and how to properly swing a rapier? Check. How to fight with a literal cape? Weirdly, also check. Techniques to send flying slashes across the room like an anime protagonist? Triple check. But actual Karate Island-style footwork?
Nada.
His moping was interrupted by Poqin’s voice echoing through the forest.
“You think you can keep up, or are we taking the scenic route?”
Gale squinted up at him. The way he said it was suspiciously close to a challenge. And if there was one thing Gale couldn’t resist, it was a challenge. Especially from a guy who technically dressed like a monk but drank like a sailor on shore leave.
“Can I keep up?” Gale called back, scoffing. “Is that a rhetorical question or are you just insecure?”
Poqin only grinned, which made things worse. Now it was personal.
Gale rolled his shoulders and approached a nearby bamboo stalk. “Alright, buddy. You wanna play that game? Let’s play.”
He spat in his palms for dramatic effect—it did nothing, but it felt like part of the process—and gripped the stalk tight. Then, focusing his energy, he activated his Devil Fruit power. His body’s density dropped rapidly, becoming feather-light.
“Let’s see your foot mojo beat this,” he muttered, already halfway up the stalk.
Once he reached the top, the bamboo swayed under him like a boat on open sea. But Gale kept his balance, crouched low, and launched himself to the next stalk. He wasn’t as graceful as Poqin—more like an aggressive flying squirrel on a sugar high—but he was fast.
'Eat your heart out, bamboo boy.'
He grinned to himself as he kept hopping through the forest canopy, one bendy stalk at a time.
Poqin looked at him with wide eyes, too stunned to speak. He could tell with a single glance that Gale had zero technique, and yet...
Ultimately, the monk didn't have time to analyze the situation as Gale began to get further and further away from him.
“Wait! You're going the wrong way, you idiot!”
...
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the bamboo forest had finally decided to chill out. The dense wall of greenery had thinned into something much more walkable, no longer forcing them to leap through the canopy like caffeinated spider monkeys racing to a branch meeting.
Gale, for one, was relieved.
Sure, jumping from bamboo stalk to bamboo stalk sounded cool. And it was cool. For about the first two hours. After that, it lost its charm and started to feel like cardio with extra steps—literally. His legs were sore, his arms ached, and he was pretty sure one of his ribs had started humming a sea shanty out of protest.
But now, in a small clearing nestled among the gently swaying bamboo, the two of them had set up camp. A modest fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows on their tired faces as they gnawed on dried bread and jerky—the kind of meal that made you long for even the blandest prison cafeteria food.
Poqin took a bite of jerky, chewed with exaggerated misery, and then let out a long, dramatic sigh. “So... you really didn’t bring any booze?”
Gale’s eye twitched like it had been personally insulted. He slowly turned his head. “For the hundredth time,” he said through gritted teeth, “no, I didn’t.”
Poqin groaned and flopped onto his back like he’d just learned that bedtime stories were a lie. “Ugh. You’re no fun.”
Gale exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not here to have fun, I’m here to get medicine and not die. Two very important boxes on my to-do list.”
Poqin sat back up, looking deeply offended. “Still could’ve brought better food,” he muttered, inspecting his sad slab of jerky like it had just insulted his lineage. “I dunno, something spiced? Maybe some rice crackers? A nice miso—”
“You’re lucky I shared anything with you at all!” Gale snapped, waving his half-eaten bread like a weapon. “You invited yourself to this trip and now you’re complaining about the menu like this is a luxury cruise?!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize being your travel buddy came with such stingy rations,” Poqin shot back, gesturing wildly. “Next time I’ll pack my own five-star picnic and let you starve in peace!”
“Gladly!”
Their bickering bounced off the trees like birdsong. Loud, chaotic, deeply unappreciated birdsong.
Then came a thud.
A heavy one. Followed by another. And another.
The ground trembled faintly beneath them, and the air grew still—like even the breeze decided to nope out of this situation.
Both men froze, still holding their half-argued postures. Slowly, they turned their heads toward the noise.
Emerging from between the trees, snorting steam from flared nostrils and radiating pure “I pay the mortgage here” energy, was a bull. But not just any bull.
No, this one was the size of a house.
Its red eyes glowed in the firelight. Its hooves stamped the earth hard enough to make the fire crackle nervously. It gave a deep, threatening snort, like it had been personally offended by their cooking. Or possibly their vibes.
Gale blinked. “Okay... you seeing this too, or is this just the jerky giving me hallucinations?”
“Nope,” Poqin said, already brushing crumbs off his lap. “That’s real.”
The bull pawed at the ground, massive shoulders tense. It was ready to charge. Ready to trample. Ready to defend its turf like the world’s angriest HOA president.
Gale looked at Poqin.
Poqin looked at Gale.
They both smirked.
“Well,” Gale said, standing up and cracking his knuckles, “looks like we’re having fresh barbecue tonight.”
Poqin grinned, already reaching for his staff. “Finally, something worth chewing.”
...
After nearly a full day of crunching through bamboo stalks and dodging angry wildlife, Gale and Poqin finally broke through the last thinning line of trees—and there it was.
The Salt Lake.
Gale had been expecting a lake. You know, the usual sort: blue, round-ish, politely sized. This was not that. What lay before them stretched so far into the horizon that it might as well have been the damn ocean. The sunlight glittered off its surface like it was trying to flex, and the waves gently lapped the shore with the kind of smugness only massive bodies of water could pull off.
No islet in sight. Not even a dot on the horizon.
“Well,” Gale muttered, shading his eyes with one hand, “swimming that’s gonna be a pain in the ass.”
Sure, they could build a raft. Nice, rustic, bamboo-chic, maybe slap a leaf sail on it and call it the S.S. Poor Life Choices. But that would take time—time they didn’t have. And besides, swimming would technically be faster than rowing a barely-floating bundle of sticks held together by good intentions and prayer.
Poqin gave him a strange look, tilting his head like a dog hearing a harmonica for the first time. “Why would we swim when there’s a faster, more elegant way to get across?”
Gale raised a brow at him, deeply suspicious. The last time Poqin described something as ‘elegant,’ it involved cartwheeling through a tree and dropkicking a wasps’ nest.
“If this is another one of your humblebrags where you suddenly start running on water, don’t bother. I can do that too.”
Technically, he could. He’d done it before to reach the Jackdaw after leaving Torino Island. By decreasing his own density with his Devil Fruit powers, he could skim across the surface like some kind of extremely determined pebble.
But it wasn’t exactly a party trick. The longer he did it, the more his body protested—muscles burning, joints screaming, like his bones were filing complaints with HR. So yeah. Not ideal.
Poqin blinked. “What? Run on water? No, I was gonna say we should—”
He paused mid-sentence, then slowly turned to Gale, expression slack with disbelief. “Wait, you can run on water?”
Gale shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah. Why?”
Poqin stared at him. “What are you, some kind of character from a whacky martial arts novel or something?”
Gale stared at Poqin, his expression somewhere between You serious? and I’ve seen weirder, but still. The silence between them stretched a little too long.
Was running on water really that weird? Gale wondered. This guy literally bent bamboo stalks with his toes to vault through a jungle like a flying squirrel in monk cosplay.
He cleared his throat. “Never mind that… What’s this ‘elegant’ way of yours?”
Poqin shrugged like he was about to reveal a magic trick he came up with during a bathroom break. “Watch and be enlightened.”
He turned around and strutted back toward the bamboo grove behind them. After a moment of scanning, he chose one particularly thick shoot, the kind that looked like it could double as a battering ram.
With a sharp chop from his palm, he split it cleanly from the base and caught it before it hit the ground, hoisting it over his shoulder like a prize-winning fish.
Then, with far too much flair, he selected a thinner bamboo stalk and sliced it in half just as easily, holding it like a makeshift pole.
Gale squinted. 'Was this a demo or a performance? Should I be clapping right now?'
Poqin walked to the cliff’s edge, the lake stretching out before them like an endless mirror of blue smugness. With a grunt, he hurled the thick bamboo out onto the water. It landed with a splash, bobbing in place.
Then—of course—Poqin jumped.
He landed gracefully on top of the floating bamboo, feet perfectly spaced. He dug the thinner pole into the water on one side to steady himself, adjusting his stance like he was born to do this.
'Show-off.'
Grinning, he turned back to Gale. “See? We use the big ones as boats, and the small ones as oars. Speed’s no issue, as long as you can row hard and keep your balance.”
Then he chuckled, already knowing how this was gonna go. “If not… feel free to swim.”
Gale’s left eye twitched.
'Oh, it’s like that, huh?'
“Just wait,” Gale muttered. “You’re gonna eat those words.”
He marched back toward the bamboo grove, found a thick stalk of his own, and yanked it free like he was mad at it for something. Then he grabbed a thin one, paused… and deliberately walked back to the water’s edge.
He squinted at Poqin, still smugly perched on his floating ride.
Then, with casual malice, Gale hurled his bamboo log straight toward the monk’s general direction. Not close enough to actually hit him—probably—but definitely close enough to send a wave of water splashing over him.
“Hey!” Poqin barked, shielding himself as a wave smacked into his robes. “You trying to drown me, or just ruin my laundry?”
Gale smirked. Small victory? Sure. Petty? Definitely. Worth it? Absolutely.
With a deep breath, Gale squared his shoulders, stepped back, and leapt. For one glorious second, he soared through the air like the hero of a cheesy martial arts movie.
Then he landed.
Immediately, the bamboo wobbled beneath him like a drunk trying to stand on a barstool. Gale tried to adjust, waving the thin bamboo pole like a tightrope walker with stage fright.
“Nope nope nope—”
SPLASH.
Down he went, disappearing beneath the surface in a dramatic, full-body flop.
A second later, he popped back up, coughing and spitting out what felt like a gallon of salt water.
Above him, Poqin’s laughter echoed across the lake, loud and unrepentant.
Gale slicked his wet hair back, scowling. “Elegant way, huh?”
Poqin doubled over, nearly losing his own balance. “Elegant for me! You? That was more… interpretive swimming.”
Gale grumbled, grabbing his floating bamboo like a soggy life raft. “Next time you call something ‘elegant,’ I’m punching you in the knee.”
And with that, the two idiots floated slowly across the salt lake—one smug and relatively dry, the other wet, grumpy, and silently plotting a bamboo-related revenge.
Comments
Wicked_Fiction
I'll make a list and pin it as soon as I can.
Jimmeuht
Hi, any chance you would be able to make collections of all your stories. So, it is easier for me to bing read XD Or use tags?
