Shells Town. A modest naval base, with clean white walls and narrow streets, flanked by watchtowers that cast long shadows across the stone paths. The Navy's presence here was strong—but the spirit of the town had shifted. Ever since Gol D. Roger's execution, the people whispered of seas beyond maps and destinies beyond fear.
And in that quiet hum of revolution, the Cloudchaser arrived, sails half-patched and deck stained with the signs of recent battle.
Toma leaned against the railing, the bruises on his side flaring each time the ship creaked. "So this is Shells Town…" he muttered.
Selka nodded beside him, arms folded. "Clean, boring, and crawling with Marines. Feels like home."
Toma winced, chuckling. "You got weird taste in nostalgia."
As they docked, the harbor master barely looked at them. Dozens of ships were coming in and out—rookie pirates, traders, and a few ships that had no business being near the Grand Line at all. Most were turned away by Marines… but the Cloudchaser, despite its ragged condition, went unnoticed.
"Where's your guy?" Toma asked, slinging a bag over his shoulder.
Selka gave a sly grin. "He lives outside of town, down a deep alley."
Outside the town center, near a cluttered repair shop surrounded by scavenged parts and the whispers of homeless wanderers, a metallic clang rang out, followed by an explosion of smoke and a string of curses so creative even the rats paused in admiration.
"That'd be him," Selka said calmly.
They turned the corner to see a young man, around their age, standing shirtless and soot-covered in the middle of a smoking workshop. Tools were scattered everywhere, a half-repaired engine coughed beside him like a dying beast. He wore thick goggles pushed up into messy blonde-brown hair and was currently smacking a wrench against a cooling tank with murderous intent.
"Stupid rust-clogged regulator valve!" he yelled, throwing the wrench over his shoulder.
It landed with a metallic thunk beside Toma.
Selka cleared her throat loudly. "Nice to see you haven't changed, Rigg."
The boy froze. Slowly, he turned—and then his face broke into a tired but warm grin.
"Selka?" he said, stepping forward. "You actually came back?"
"I said I would, didn't I?" she replied, and the two shared a nod that said more than words.
Then Rigg looked at Toma.
"New guy?" he asked, eyeing him up.
"Toma," Selka said. "He can fight like hell, steer a ship, and is stupid enough to throw hands with pirates twice his size. He's with us."
Rigg snorted. "Sounds like you, actually."
Toma stepped forward and extended a hand. "Arman D. Toma. I don't know everything yet, but I'm chasing a promise… and I'm not turning back."
Rigg eyed him again—this time more seriously. Then he took the hand and shook it, firm. "Rigg Vellor. I fix what breaks, patch up who bleeds, and cook just well enough that you won't die."
Selka smirked. "He's also got the worst luck imaginable."
"Yeah," Rigg said, tapping the side of his head with a wrench. "But I've also survived explosions, pirates, and my own cooking. So that's something."
Just then, a loud explosion rocked the distance. All three turned their heads.
"Marine base," Rigg muttered. "There's been some drama recently. A rookie pirate crew tried to rob their armory last night and got caught."
"Pirates?" Toma asked.
"Yeah. A few are still running around town, hiding. The Navy's hunting them like rats." Rigg's eyes narrowed. "And they're dragging innocent people into it too."
Selka frowned. "That's why you want to leave?"
Rigg nodded. "There's nothing left for me here. And if I stay too long, I'll end up fixing broken bones instead of ships."
They all turned to look at the town square, where a crowd was gathering. A group of Marines were dragging a young boy—barely twelve—into the center. "Suspected pirate contact," they were saying. "Trial in the square."
Toma's fists clenched.
Selka looked at him. "You're thinking it, aren't you?"
"We can't let that stand," he said.
Rigg gave a crooked grin. "You're gonna get me arrested on my first day out, aren't you?"
"No," Toma said. "Just helping you leave in style."
The sun dipped low over Shells Town, casting long shadows across the town square where a small crowd had begun to form. Tension crackled in the air.
A young boy, no older than twelve, stood trembling with his arms bound behind his back. Dirt smudged his cheeks, and blood trickled from a cut over his brow. Two Marines flanked him, rifles in hand, uniforms stiff with self-righteous authority.
"He's been harboring pirates!" barked the officer on the platform. "Attempted theft, subversion, and possible collaboration with rogue elements!"
"He's a kid," Selka hissed from the alley where she, Toma, and Rigg watched. "This is disgusting."
Toma's jaw clenched. "They're using him as a scapegoat."
Rigg adjusted the strap on his satchel and muttered, "We can't just barge in. Those Marines aren't rookies. The lieutenant's here."
Sure enough, Lieutenant Hume stood at the edge of the platform—tall, clean-shaven, coat fluttering in the wind. He watched with cold eyes and a hand resting on the hilt of his saber. His presence alone silenced the crowd.
"We'll do this smart," Toma whispered. "Selka, you create the distraction. Rigg, you stay close to the kid and get him out the moment there's an opening."
Selka smirked. "On it."
She vanished into the crowd.
Rigg eyed Toma nervously. "And you?"
"I'll keep Hume busy."
Seconds later, smoke exploded near the east wall of the square. Screams erupted as civilians ducked, coughing through the thick gray clouds. From within the smoke, a voice rang out:
"FREE THE BOY! DOWN WITH TYRANNY!" Selka and Rigg shouted from within the crowd.
Marines scrambled to form a perimeter.
Toma sprinted through the chaos, sliding beneath a rifle swing and launching himself onto the platform. Before Hume could fully draw his saber, Toma's boot slammed into his chest, sending the lieutenant staggering back.
Hume recovered quickly, drawing his blade with practiced fury. "You pirates!"
"Now you must remember me," Toma grinned. "I must've left an impression."
Their swords clashed in a flurry of sparks.