One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #134

The elder’s grandsons bristled again, muscles taut, hands already shifting toward their weapons. For a moment, Gale was sure they were about to spring at him like a pair of oversized wolves.

But once more, the elder raised a trembling hand. Just one gesture—calm, slow, and absolute. And the younger men froze in place.

His weathered gaze returned to Gale, heavy with disbelief. “What in the world would drive you to say something so reckless?”

Gale tilted his head, expression maddeningly casual, as if the elder had asked him why the sky was blue. He gave a loose shrug.

“What’s wrong with telling the truth?” he asked. His grin faded into something more tired, almost bored. “At first, yeah… my plan was just to help you out with the pirate attack and then slip off with the map once the dust settled.”

That alone was enough to make Weylan’s vein bulge in his forehead, but Gale wasn’t done. He exhaled through his nose, his voice dropping just a notch.

“…But I changed my mind.”

The elder’s eyes sharpened. “And what, pray tell, drove you to such a change?”

Gale’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He leaned forward in his chair, meeting the old man’s gaze.

“This village,” he said simply. “Your people. From what I’ve seen, they’re content. Happy enough. Not a single one of them gives a damn about Captain John’s treasure. Why would they?”

Risa blinked beside him, caught off guard by the edge of sincerity in his tone. For once, he didn’t sound like he was spinning some half-baked scheme or making a joke at the worst possible time.

The elder made a low sound, a humph that was equal parts amusement and warning. “We do not care for treasure, that is true… but we care for tradition. And tradition dictates we protect the map.”

“Ah, there it is,” Gale muttered, snapping his fingers like he’d solved a puzzle. He leaned back again, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Tradition. The eternal excuse.”

The grandsons stiffened, but Gale only raised an eyebrow at the elder, grin tugging at the corners of his lips again.

“Thing is, tradition’s inflexible. People? Not so much.” He chuckled, though it lacked real humor. “Tell me, how long’s it been since Captain John bit the dust? A decade? Maybe a little more? A little less?”

He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “Protecting the map for that long can hardly be called tradition. It's more like hoarding.”

Risa pinched the bridge of her nose so hard she thought she might leave a dent. 'Why—why does he keep talking like this? He was so close to sounding reasonable for once in his life, and then he—ugh!'

The elder’s expression didn’t so much as twitch, but his grip on the cane tightened until the old wood gave a faint creak.

“Nevertheless,” he said slowly, “we made a promise to protect the map.”

Gale leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with deliberate laziness. His voice dripped with dry amusement.

“To who? Captain John?” He tilted his head like he’d just asked if the old man had promised it to the tooth fairy. “The guy’s dead. Long gone. And from everything I’ve ever heard, he was an asshole with a capital A. Like, grade-A bastard. If you’re making promises to people like that, you might as well start promising your kids’ allowance to Kaido while you’re at it.”

The grandsons bristled, but Gale only shook his head, clicking his tongue like he pitied them.

“Like I said, protecting this map can hardly be called tradition.” He leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, grin fading into something more pointed. “And you don’t want it to be. Not anymore.”

His gaze shifted across the hut—lingering on the elder, his son, and finally the two grandsons. “Because the cat’s already out of the bag. If one pirate scumbag managed to sniff out that the map’s here, then guess what?”

He spread his hands, mock cheer dripping from his tone. “So will others. And they won’t be the kind of idiots I strung up in the woods.”

The room went still. Even Risa blinked at him, unsure of where he was going with this.

Then Gale turned back to the elder, his eyes sharpening, all the lazy humor gone in an instant. “So tell me, old man. Can you honestly say you’ll keep protecting that map forever? Even if it costs the lives of your people?”

The weight of his words hung thick in the air. For the first time, the elder’s lips pressed tight, silence stretching as if he were chewing on something bitter.

The grandsons, so quick to bristle before, looked less certain now. One of them even shifted his stance, the fire in his eyes dimming into unease.

The only one who seemed completely unmoved was the elder’s son, who hadn’t so much as blinked since the conversation started. His arms were folded, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

Gale cut him a side-eye. 'Yep. Checked out. Lights are on, but nobody’s home. Man looks like he’s daydreaming about dinner while we’re arguing over the fate of his entire village.'

It was almost impressive, in a way.

Still, Gale quickly shook away his wandering thoughts about the elder’s son—seriously, does that guy ever blink? Or breathe? Someone check for a pulse—and pressed on with his pitch.

“The way I see it,” Gale said, spreading his arms like a merchant unveiling a shiny scam, “this is the perfect opportunity for you lot to ditch a hot potato before it burns your fingers clean off.”

He leaned back, grin stretching wide. “Here’s the deal: I’ll help you deal with the pirates. I’ll even take that pesky map off your hands. Then, next time more cutthroats come sniffing around, you just point in my direction and say, ‘Yeah, some guy named Gale took it, go harass him instead.’ Problem solved. Everybody wins.”

The elder’s eyes crinkled as his lips pulled into the faintest frown. “And what,” he asked slowly, “if we were to turn down this… generous offer of yours?”

Gale didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grin spreading ear to ear like he’d been waiting for that exact question.

“Then I’ll fuck right off,” he said cheerfully. “And wait for the pirates to show up. Once the battle’s over, I’ll stroll in, nice and casual, and take the map off whichever poor bastard’s left standing. Saves me the trouble of getting my boots dirty.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that could smother a room.

The grandsons stood stiff as boards, jaws slack, too stunned to even spit out an insult. The father, who had previously looked about as engaged as a brick, was now glaring daggers at Gale with enough heat to grill meat.

Risa… poor Risa… had gone completely still, her hand twitching like she was seriously debating smacking her forehead against the hut wall until her skull cracked. And honestly? If the wall looked a little sturdier, she might have done it.

But the elder? The elder just sat there, staring at Gale for one long beat. Then another.

Then, suddenly, his chest shook.

And then it happened—he burst into booming laughter, the sound so loud it nearly knocked the dust from the ceiling beams.

“Bwahahaha! Oh, you’re bold, boy!” the old man wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “In all my years, I’ve met all sorts of audacious youngsters, but none so brazen as you!”

Gale blinked at him, then at Risa, then back again, his grin faltering into mild confusion.

“…Wait. That worked?”

...

Standing barefoot in a fenced-off ring of packed dirt, Gale felt the weight of a hundred eyes drilling into him. His shirt was off, tattoos exposed, his lean, wiry frame on full display. And judging by the way the villagers were looking at him, you’d think someone had just unveiled a particularly disappointing festival prize.

On the other side of the ring, the elder’s youngest grandson—the youngest, but somehow the biggest—flexed like a peacock.

The guy’s body looked like it had been carved out of boulders, each muscle bulging as he rolled his shoulders and struck a pose that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

The bastard was even oiled up. Oiled. In the middle of a jungle.

Gale’s eye twitched. “Oh, for the love of…”

Sure enough, the villagers’ jeers at him had flipped into cheers for muscle-boy. Someone started chanting his name. Someone else tossed flowers.

Then, just to rub salt in the wound, a little girl piped up from the crowd with way too much enthusiasm:

“Eat his butt!”

The entire ring erupted in laughter and applause.

Gale froze, very slowly turning his head toward Risa, who stood just outside the fence with the most neutral expression he’d ever seen on a human being.

“…This a village of cannibals or something?” Gale asked flatly.

Risa blinked at him once, then shrugged.

That was enough. Gale immediately spun on his heel, muttering, “Yeah, no. I’m outta here. I’m not sticking around to be somebody’s lunch special.” He started for the edge of the ring.

Before he could climb out, Risa latched onto his arm like a barnacle. “Stop, I’m just kidding! They’re not cannibals!”

Gale narrowed his eyes at her, skeptical. “You sure about that? Because that kid sounded real passionate about butt cuisine.”

Risa rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fly out of her head. “Yes, I’m sure. Look—by some miracle, your bullshit actually worked. Now you just have to prove yourself. All you need to do is take a few punches, throw a few punches, and we’re set. Don’t mess this up.”

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one standing shirtless in a village trial-slash-wrestling match-slash-potential buffet.”

He jabbed a thumb toward his opponent, who was now flexing his pecs one at a time like some circus act. The crowd went wild.

“And besides,” Gale muttered, his expression darkening, “it’s not just him I’ve gotta take punches from. Just what kind of stupid trial is this?”

Risa crossed her arms and gave him that maddening little shrug she always did when she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.

“It’s the kind where you outpunch your opponent.”

Gale blinked at her. Then again. Then his expression soured into a full-on scowl. He jabbed a finger at the far end of the ring where three shirtless, oiled-up grandsons stood side by side, flexing like a traveling bodybuilding troupe.

“Opponents. Plural,” he hissed. “Not one. Not two. Three.” His voice went up half an octave on the last word. “And—let me double check this—” He raised three fingers dramatically. “I’m not allowed to dodge, and I’m not allowed to use my Devil Fruit and my sword. Which, newsflash, is my whole damn kit.”

The villagers roared with laughter at his little outburst, apparently mistaking it for pre-fight banter.

Someone in the crowd yelled, “Take off your pants too!” which earned a round of approving whistles.

Gale froze. Slowly, he turned his head toward Risa. “…This really is a cannibal village, isn’t it?”

Risa just grinned at him, wicked as a fox. “On the bright side… you don’t have to face all three of them at once.”

Gale’s left eye twitched so violently it looked like it might leap out of his skull.

He leaned in close, his forehead practically brushing hers, his voice a low growl. “You do realize you’re about one smug comment away from getting another headbutt, right?”

Before Risa could fire back, a hush fell over the crowd. The ring of villagers parted, and the elder himself hobbled slowly through the opening, his cane thunking against the packed dirt with each deliberate step.

His wolf tattoo looked faded now with age, but his eyes gleamed sharp, unyielding as ever.

The elder’s presence alone was enough to silence the jeers and chants. Even the tw muscle-bound grandsons and their father straightened up, no longer flexing for attention but standing stiff, waiting.

And with that, the elder stepped into the ring.