Chapter 49

The Grand Line: Jaya (Two Years Ago)

The "Salty Dog" tavern was loud, smelling of spilled rum, cheap tobacco, and unwashed pirates.

At the center table sat Captain "Ironhide" Galt, a massive man with a bounty of 180,000,000 Berries. He was currently standing on a chair, loudly recounting how he had slaughtered an entire Marine garrison.

"They shot me point-blank!" Galt roared, flexing a bicep that turned instantly into black, hardened Haki. "Cannons! Rifles! It didn't matter! I am invincible! I laugh in the face of death!"

The tavern patrons cheered, raising their mugs. Galt bathed in the adoration, taking a massive swig from his barrel of ale.

Then… the tavern grew unnaturally cold.

It wasn't a sudden wind. It was a pressure that settled over the room, choking the laughter in the pirates' throats. The piano player stopped playing. The cheering died down.

Tick. A soft sound echoed from the entrance.

Tock.

A figure wrapped in a dark, velvet cloak walked into the dimly lit tavern. The hood obscured her face, casting long, unnatural shadows against the wooden floorboards. She didn't swagger like a pirate. She walked with the elegant, terrifying grace of a predator.

Galt frowned, sitting down heavily in his chair. "Hey! Who killed the music? Drink up, you cowards!"

The cloaked figure walked slowly toward Galt’s table. The crowd parted instinctively, none of them daring to breathe too loudly. She pulled out a chair right next to the massive Captain and sat down gracefully.

For a moment, neither spoke. Galt glared at her, his hand resting on the hilt of his massive cutlass.

"You lost, little lady?" Galt sneered. "This ain't a place for playing dress-up."

The figure didn't look at him. From beneath her cloak, a pale, slender hand emerged, clad in a fingerless black lace glove. She reached into her coat and slid a crumpled piece of paper across the sticky, rum-soaked table.

It was a Wanted Poster.

CAPTAIN "IRONHIDE" GALT. 180,000,000 BERRIES. DEAD OR ALIVE.

Galt looked at it, then let out a booming laugh.

"Ah! I get it!" Galt slammed his hand on the table, grinning arrogantly. "You're a bounty hunter! Or maybe just a fan? Listen, sweetheart, a lot of fools have tried to claim that paper. None of them walked away."

"I know," a voice as smooth as silk and cold as a grave came from beneath the hood. "I've heard the stories. You're the man who laughs at death. The man who cannot be cut."

She tapped a long, manicured fingernail against the bounty poster.

"I'm a bit of a collector. Would you mind… signing this for me?"

Galt chuckled, shaking his head. He picked up a quill from the bar. "Sure thing. Always happy to oblige a fan before I gut 'em. Who should I make it out to?"

"To… Kurumi."

The quill snapped in Galt's hand.

The name carried a weight in the Grand Line underground. The Nightmare. The hunter who left no bodies, only shriveled husks drained of their years.

Kurumi reached up and slowly pulled back her hood.

Her skin was porcelain pale. Her lips were curled into a polite, yet utterly sadistic smile. But it was her eyes that made Galt's breath catch in his throat. The left was a deep, bloody crimson. The right was a brilliant, glowing gold—the face of a clock, its hands ticking silently.

"Ara, ara," Kurumi giggled softly, the sound sending a chill straight down Galt's spine. "You stopped laughing, Captain."

Galt panicked. He roared, his entire upper body instantly turning pitch-black with Armament Haki. He drew his cutlass and swung it horizontally with enough force to cleave the table and the girl in half.

Whoosh.

The blade hit nothing but air and a few drifting shadows.

"Too slow," a whisper tickled his ear.

Galt froze. She was sitting on the edge of the bar counter directly behind him, her legs crossed elegantly. In her right hand, she held an antique flintlock. In her left, a rapier.

"I had my Haki up!" Galt stammered, his eyes wide. "You can't hurt me!"

"Oh?" Kurumi tilted her head.

Galt suddenly felt a warm trickle on his cheek. He reached up, his fingers coming away wet with blood. A thin, perfectly straight cut had been opened on his face.

His eyes widened in absolute terror. He hadn't seen her move. He hadn't felt the blade.

"How…?" Galt whispered. "My iron…"

"I didn't cut your iron, Captain," Kurumi smiled, her clock eye spinning slightly. "I cut the second before you hardened your skin. You see… you might be immune to steel. But no one is immune to time."

Galt’s arrogant facade shattered. The fear was primal. He wasn't looking at a bounty hunter. He was looking at the reaper.

He scrambled backward, tripping over his own chair. He scrambled to his feet, shoved his own crewmates out of the way, and bolted for the tavern doors. He burst out into the foggy, rain-slicked streets of Jaya, running as fast as his massive legs could carry him.

Behind him, in the dead silence of the tavern, Kurumi picked up the Wanted Poster.

"He didn't sign it," she sighed in mock disappointment.

She stood up, her flintlock twirling effortlessly around her finger. She walked slowly toward the exit, her heels clicking rhythmically on the floorboards.

Out in the foggy street, Galt was panting, hiding behind a stack of crates in a dark alley. He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to quiet his breathing. She's a monster. A demon.

Then, he heard it.

Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…

It was accompanied by a soft, melodic, chilling humming.

Galt peeked around the crate.

At the end of the alley, emerging from the fog, were two glowing eyes—one red, one gold. The clicking of her heels matched the ticking of her eye. She was dragging the tip of her rapier against the cobblestone walls, sending a shower of orange sparks flying into the mist.

"Ready or not, Captain…" Kurumi's voice drifted through the fog, dripping with anticipation.

She raised her flintlock, aiming it into the dark.

"…your time is up."

BANG.