NB: the story takes place in the One Piece universe. We follow Django, a Pirate/Criminal who poses as a gentleman.
The Gold watch
The yellow orb, at its peak, casts its harsh light upon the black hat—an ominous shadow falls over the brown hair of a mere emissary, a messenger for the smuggler king of North Blue. On his lap rests the briefcase, its contents precious beyond measure, entrusted by a father long dead, a man whose age would suggest he lived in a time now lost to the world, perhaps even before the era of the dinosaurs. It is the year 1621, one before the man’s position is stripped away by the iron hand of the Marines, led by a man named Toji. How did he end up here? What is the meaning of this moment? The answers lie in the past, only a few days earlier.
“Does the Boss look like a fool?” “What?”
These two phrases are all that matter. Everything that came before is irrelevant. What follows will be everything. The path ahead is not a winding road. It is as straight as a corridor. It is as clear as muddied water. You will understand it, and in understanding it, you will also understand why everything came before it. Do you follow? Then listen.
The man who spoke stands. The one who answered is seated on a rickety straw chair, one of its legs poorly constructed, a missing nail—a failure in craftsmanship that can only be understood through its tangible consequence. This chair, this insignificant object, will define the moments that follow. It is not by chance.
An explosion of sound tears through the room. A sudden shock, like a crackling fire, too close, too deafening. The others flinch, cry out, weep—everyone, except the one who caused it. The sound came from a fall. A fall that took a man from the heights of arrogance to the depths of despair. His response, “What?”—a simple word, unworthy of its question’s gravity. A question more important than the most pressing issues of the day—more important than the mystery of the cursed fruits, those grotesque things, whose taste has poisoned more than one soul.
A gunshot echoes. The man on the chair screams. The others follow suit. He presses his hand to the wound, blood staining his shirt, a sight that only frightens the untested, who have never seen blood in their life—except perhaps when they woke from a nightmare, their sheets soaked in sweat. His fall was long, a lifetime of poor choices, ending in a brutal collapse. His body smashes against the floor, cleanly swept, meticulously prepared for this moment. The Gentleman lowers his weapon, silent for a beat, then speaks again. This time, his words are not laced with impatience, but with a strange, icy calm.
“Does the Boss look like a fool?”
Now, wandering through the alleys, hunted by the Marines for the destruction of a building—an insignificant structure, housing only the refuse of society. But the true crime, the one that should be written in the history books, is the loss of the object that was once so valuable, the one thing that held meaning. The golden watch. The watch of the father.
It was never meant to be lost. Yet it is. A failure. A misstep. After all those years climbing the ranks, working alongside Okita Shinsen—the smuggler king of North Blue—he returns to his boss, empty-handed. The case, once so full of significance, is now devoid of its purpose. He recalls the night the watch was swallowed, hidden from their enemies, during the hours of torture. He remembers the pain of his father, the betrayal, the desperate choice to save it. And yet, it is lost. Gone.
What to do now? The question hovers, unanswered. To surrender? To run? To wait? The Gentleman chooses to wait. And when the Marines arrive, their steps heavy with authority, he surrenders. His hands cuffed, his belongings stripped away—he is nothing now but a prisoner. But the game is not over. It cannot be over. In his mind, possibilities form like wisps of smoke. The keys to his shackles are within reach—hidden in the pockets of the leader of this group. A thousand paths open before him. The question is not how, but when. The days stretch out. The solution eludes him. But there are still choices to be made. The thought gnaws at him. He could escape, he could hide—but to what end? To find the watch, to fulfill his duty. That is his only purpose.
And so, he digs.
Each strike is methodical, each movement calculated. The ground beneath him is dirt. The walls around him are stone. But his mind is clear. He digs for the truth. He digs for the one thing that still ties him to the world he knew.
The gunfire begins. It shatters the silence like glass, but the Gentleman does not stop. The pirates are here. They are his last chance, his final act of defiance. His future depends on them. He finds himself face to face with an enemy. His fingers twitch around the weapon in his hand. He cannot afford to lose. “Do you want him to live?” The pirate leader’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Then you stay in your cell. You stay.”
A silent agreement hangs in the air. The pirate leader’s decision is made. The price of freedom is steep, but it is one the Gentleman is willing to pay. Django walks into the heart of the storm. Each step is deliberate, each decision weighed. The island looms ahead. The watch is within his grasp. But the world around him is a cage—each step he takes, he feels the walls pressing closer.
And then, he is stopped.
A decision is made. The watch is not here. It is elsewhere, waiting for him. But he knows this now. He knows that, in the end, it will always be out of reach. His feet hit the sand. He walks into the unknown. And with each step, he is closer to the truth. He is closer to the thing that matters.
But is it too late?
The world turns. Time continues.
