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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #64
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 00:50:10 +0000 UTCThe journey didn’t take long.
Kizaru’s battleship glided across the calm sea like it was out for a lazy Sunday cruise, trailed closely by the Alabasta royal vessel. The sun shone, the skies were clear, and despite the wreckage left behind from the earlier pirate scuffle, things were… eerily calm.
Too calm, Gale thought, leaning on the railing as the Red Port came into view.
The port was built right into the massive cliffside of the Red Line, nestled between two Yarukiman Mangroves—those same weird trees that exhaled bubbles like they were chewing gum and had no idea how lungs worked.
The ground here had that same odd, rubbery springiness as Sabaody Archipelago, and true to form, occasional bubbles lazily floated up from the trees like the whole place was permanently exhaling.
“Man,” Gale muttered under his breath, “this place looks like a Zen garden built by someone on bath salts.”
The port itself was a collection of sleek, low buildings with those round, cylindrical roofs that screamed “official business, but make it aesthetically pleasing.” One building even looked like a Chinese restaurant, complete with lanterns and red wood trim.
Gale briefly wondered if it was a restaurant or just government agents pretending to serve dim sum while watching for pirates. Knowing the World Government? Probably both.
And then there were the Bondolas.
Two of them, floating near the cliff’s edge, suspended by thick cables running all the way up to Mary Geoise—the infamous holy land perched atop the Red Line.
Each Bondola looked like a cross between a cable car and a soap bubble on steroids.
They were huge, semi-transparent, and Gale had heard rumors they could carry entire royal entourages, dragons, and whatever other oversized nonsense the Celestial Dragons felt like bringing to tea.
"Whoa," Gale said, pointing lazily. "Bubble gondolas. That's... that's adorable. Someone needs to tell the World Nobles they're not allowed to have cute things. It's messing with my worldview."
Poqin, nearby and still chewing something with intense focus, glanced up. “They're called Bondolas.”
“I know,” Gale replied. “I’m just not emotionally prepared for a word that sounds like a pasta dish to also be my ride up to the fucked in th-- I mean most holy of places.”
Kizaru strolled up next to them, arms crossed, looking just as unbothered as ever. “Ooooh, it’s the lawful route, you knooow~” he said, gazing lazily at the bubble lifts. “This is how law-abiding folks get from Paradise to the New World… or vice versa.”
Gale raised an eyebrow. “And pirates?”
Kizaru tilted his head with a small, amused smile. “Mmm... Fish-Man Island.”
“Right,” Gale muttered. “So if you’re evil and dramatic, you get to go underwater and deal with sea monsters. But if you’re rich and smug, you float up in a government-sanctioned soap bubble. Sounds about right.”
Kizaru gave a small shrug, as if to say that's the system, baby, and walked off, probably to go be dramatically unhelpful somewhere else.
The ships finally pulled into the main dock, the World Government symbol looming on a massive ship's bow structure embedded in the port like a giant billboard that read: We’re Watching You, Citizen. Smile. :)
Small patrol ships dotted the surrounding area, checking cargo, guiding traffic, and generally making sure nobody tried anything dumb.
Soldiers stood at attention as the ships docked, and the unmistakable buzz of bureaucratic fuss began in earnest—clipboards, questions, and way too many hats.
Gale exhaled slowly through his nose. He could already feel the red tape coiling around his ankles like a sea king ready to drag him down.
“Welp,” he said to himself, straightening his coat. “Time to meet the ruling class. Try not to get executed.”
The inside of the Bondola was… well, it was nicer than Gale expected for a glorified soap bubble strung up by wires.
He, Poqin, Kizaru, and about a dozen other Marines were posted near the back, standing at parade rest—or pretending to, in Gale’s case. Kizaru looked like he was leaning on gravity itself, and Poqin was snacking on something crunchy again, completely unbothered by the regal company they were now sharing air with.
On the far end stood King Cobra of Alabasta, looking dignified and weathered, flanked by his two loyal guards—Pell, arms crossed and eyes sharp, and Chaka, looking like he’d rather fight a hundred pirates than be stuck in this lift with the royal petty squad.
And oh boy, what a squad it was.
The Bondola was packed with other royals from across the seas, each standing with their retinues, side-eying one another like someone was about to stab someone else with a diamond-studded cane. The air was thick with tension—nobles glaring at nobles, diplomats sneering through fake smiles, a few clearly whispering insults through forced grins.
If someone had started playing elevator music right now, it might've caused an actual diplomatic incident.
Gale crossed his arms and leaned a bit closer to Poqin. “So uh… who let the circus in?”
Poqin shrugged, still chewing. “Royalty.”
“Yeah,” Gale muttered. “All this power and still not a shred of fashion sense.”
His eyes drifted across the crowd, just in time to catch a face he hadn't expected—and frankly didn’t want—to see.
Standing not far from Cobra, glistening with sweat and smugness, was a round, garishly dressed man with a tinplate jaw that looked like someone had slammed a cookie cutter into a toolbox.
His dark violet hair was slicked back in a style that screamed villain in a knock-off superhero cartoon, and he was flanked by a handful of obsequious yes-men with shiny buttons and nervous eyes.
Gale blinked. “No way... it's this guy...”
Poqin followed Gale’s gaze toward the tin-faced monarch waddling around like he was looking for a buffet. He raised an eyebrow.
“A friend of yours?”
Gale scoffed. “Pfft. No way.”
Poqin glanced again at the round, gleaming figure, his metal jaw catching the light like a cheap disco ball. “You look like you know him.”
“I do know of him…” Gale muttered, narrowing his eyes. “What was his name again? Hasbul? Smeagol? Oh—right. Wapol.”
Poqin blinked, expression flat. “You say that like the name is supposed to mean something to me.”
Gale shrugged. “It shouldn’t. He’s just a self-serving bastard who happened to be born into royalty. Tough luck for his people.”
He leaned against the Bondola’s curved wall and glanced out the translucent side. Bubbles floated lazily past, catching bits of sunlight like fat, drifting pearls. Scenic, sure—but it couldn’t distract him from the living joke standing across the lift.
Wapol. Even thinking the name made him grimace.
Gale scoffed inwardly. Not only was the guy a terrible king, he was one of the most disappointing, underwhelming, and bizarrely lame villains to ever grace the One Piece world.
And that’s saying something in a universe where “villain” can mean anything from “tyrannical warlord with a thousand-ship fleet” to “pirate clown with bombs-slinging for shoes.”
On one hand, Masterminds like Crocodile. Natural disasters like Enel. Brutal juggernauts like Doflamingo, and then there was Wapol. Heck, even Buggy, Don Krieg, and Captain Curo with his pussyfoot maneuver were cooler than Wapol...
The man’s signature finishing move was eating things and turning into a damned house.
Gale’s face twisted. He even looked like a discount villain from Shrek.
Like, no offense to DreamWorks or anything, but it takes talent to look both creepy and goofy at the same time. And Wapol had mastered that art with the grace of a drunk walrus rolling down a hill.
Tin jaw. That weird little hat. And the laugh? Oh god, the laugh.
Gale shook his head. “The bar is on the floor, and this guy still managed to trip over it.”
Meanwhile, Wapol was laughing loudly again, pointing at something one of his lackeys said, probably a joke he ordered them to tell. Gale half-expected him to choke on his own ego.
Poqin glanced at Gale. “He really got under your skin, huh?”
Before Gale could fire off another witty jab about Wapol’s furniture-based villainy, King Cobra turned to him, voice calm but clear enough to slice through the ambient tension like a hot knife through noblesse oblige.
“So, young man…” Cobra said, his tone polite but direct. “You mentioned you're yet to be assigned a rank… may I ask what that's about?”
Gale blinked. For a second, he thought the king was talking to someone else—maybe a different young man with a sharp fashion sense and a very handsome face.
But no. Cobra was looking right at him, and unfortunately, so was everyone else now.
Every royal, guard, Marine, and bubble-floatin' bystander turned their heads like they were waiting for the next scene in a soap opera. The Bondola might as well have turned into a talk show set.
Oh. Cool. Now I’m the center of attention.
Gale gave a small shrug, trying to seem casual and not at all like someone who’d been involuntarily drafted into “Explanations You Shouldn’t Lie About In Front Of A King.”
“That's right,” he said, voice steady. “I enlisted through a special recommendation. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll receive a proper rank in about a month.”
King Cobra gave a thoughtful nod, stroking his chin. “I see. But how come you’ve been assigned to guard duty at the Reverie? This… isn’t usually a task for inexperienced Marines.”
Oof. Right in the ego.
Gale barely stopped himself from wincing.
Yeah. That was fair.
If you looked up “bad optics” in the dictionary, you’d probably find a photo of him and Poqin trying to sneak out a few barrels of that special Elbaf Brew, followed by a shot of the monk absolutely folding a royal bodyguard like a lawn chair.
Details, though.
He opened his mouth, trying to formulate a lie that wasn’t obviously fake—
“Ahh, well, you see~,” Kizaru’s voice interrupted smoothly, like a slow river of molasses sliding over the tension. The Admiral didn’t even look up from where he was examining his fingernails.
“The top brass has high hopes for these youngsters,” he said in that maddeningly sleepy tone of his. “So they sent them along to get a sense of what they’re fighting for~.”
Cobra’s expression shifted. He frowned slightly, as if mulling the words over.
“What they’re fighting for…” he muttered under his breath, before letting his gaze wander across the other nobles in the Bondola.
And what a crowd it was.
Dour stares. Passive-aggressive coughing. Subtle jabs about lineage and policy disguised as small talk. One king was eyeing another like he was imagining all the ways his food might be poisoned at tonight’s dinner.
Even the decorative bubbles in the air felt like they were trying to escape.
Cobra’s eyes finally settled on Wapol, who was currently berating one of his personal doctors for forgetting to fluff his travel pillow.
The king of Alabasta let out a quiet sigh and shook his head.
'Yeah, buddy. This is what we’re fighting for.' Gale nearly rolled his eyes. 'The convenience of these bastards and pillow fluffing. Hope and dental plans.'
Meanwhile, several of the other royals who had been eavesdropping on the exchange puffed up slightly at Kizaru’s words. One Queen gave Gale a passing nod, like he was a promising horse she might consider betting on in the next war.
Another lord whispered something to his advisor while eyeing Gale like he might be up for adoption.
'Oh no. Don’t do that. I don’t want to get married into a minor kingdom. Or worse—get invited to a political dinner.'
Still, Gale kept his face calm. Smile faint. Posture good-but-not-too-good.
It was the secret to surviving nobility: act important enough to be respected, but not so important that someone tries to marry you off or stab you in the back over a sugar treaty.
And if someone did try anything?
Well, he’d just make their pants a little heavier and give them a severe case of wardrobe malfunction.
Hopefully, it doesn't come to that...
