One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #150

The man squirmed and wobbled like a trapped seal, his hands flailing as he tried to peel off Gale’s expanded cloak. Every tug made his cheeks jiggle, and his grunts echoed through the glowing mushroom-lit cavern.

Gale stood there watching, arms crossed, expression deadpan.

It was hard to tell which was heavier—the cloak itself or the sheer weight of secondhand embarrassment Gale felt watching this performance.

By the time the rotund man finally ripped the cloak away with a triumphant wheeze, he was met with the gleaming tip of a rapier—just an inch from his throat.

Gale tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded in mild annoyance.

“I’m not usually one to turn down a fight,” he said calmly, “but there’s no point in this one.” He shrugged, the motion lazy, as if this entire encounter was cutting into his nap time. “Even if there was… it’s already over. So, how about we talk instead?”

The man stared at the blade, blinking. Then, slowly, his grin returned—wide, self-satisfied, and deeply unsettling. “The fight’s only over if that little toothpick of yours can cut me,” he said, tapping his thick neck proudly. “And I’ve got pretty thick skin.”

Gale blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then rolled his eyes skyward like he was asking the heavens for patience.

“Thick skin, huh?” he muttered, lifting the rapier in a single smooth motion. With a flick of his wrist, the blade tilted upward, catching the faint light of the mushrooms. “Let’s test that theory…”

He whispered something under his breath—more out of habit than need—and the rapier’s blade expanded.

It shot upward like a silver beam, the air whistling as it grew longer and longer, punching straight through the rocky ceiling above. Pebbles rained down. The cave trembled. The sword didn’t stop—it kept drilling through solid stone until, at last, a faint crack signaled the blade breaking through to the surface.

Fifteen long seconds passed before Gale reversed the effect. The sword shrank back down in a smooth, continuous draw, the metal sliding back into itself until it rested once again in his hand—pristine and narrow as ever.

Above, a narrow fissure now cut through the ceiling, and from it, a single golden ray of sunlight sliced through the dim cavern, landing right between the two men.

Gale didn’t say a word. He simply leveled the rapier again, its tip glowing faintly in the light.

The rotund man, still staring at the gash in disbelief, blinked once before letting out a slow whistle. “Neat trick,” he admitted, grin creeping back across his face.

Then, just as quickly, he shook his head. “But even then…” He hefted his mallet again, his grin turning feral. “That won’t guarantee your victory.”

Gale groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically wiping away the stupidity from the conversation. “Yeah, I beg to differ, big guy,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But even if I can’t win, if what you’re guarding down here is such a big secret, then I don’t really need to, do I?”

He crossed his arms, his tone turning almost smug. “I could just waltz right out of here, tell every sailor, pirate, and drunk I meet that there’s a tunnel behind a waterfall on—well, whatever this island’s called—and that there’s something super mysterious hidden in it.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Wouldn’t take long before you’ve got a full-blown tourist attraction on your hands. Maybe a gift shop.”

Blamenco blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. His grip on his mallet tightened, but he didn’t swing it yet.

Before he could get a word in, Gale let out a long exhale and muttered, “You know what, forget it.”

He took a single step—and then his body blurred.

In an instant, the clearing was filled with flickering afterimages—Gale’s form appearing and disappearing across the glowing water, on top of mushrooms, behind the fat man, even upside down for half a second like a mirage gone rogue. Each footstep left faint ripples on the water’s surface that shimmered like petals.

Florencio’s signature footwork.

The rotund man’s eyes darted left and right, trying to follow him, until finally, he let out a defeated sigh. His shoulders slumped, his mallet drooping to the side. “...I suppose you have a point,” he admitted gruffly, voice echoing in the cavern.

The afterimages blinked out one by one, until only Gale remained, standing casually a few meters away, grin firmly back in place. “Like I said,” he began, gesturing with one hand, “we just need to talk this through. No need for all the hammer-swinging and macho posturing. You’ll hurt yourself—or worse, I’ll start caring.”

He gave Blamenco a once-over, eyes squinting in exaggerated thought. “You’re one of Whitebeard’s people, aren’t you?”

Blamenco paused mid-motion, visibly surprised. Then, after a beat, his grin returned, warm this time instead of threatening. “Aye,” he said with a hint of pride. “Blamenco—Sixth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.” He puffed out his chest a little, which only made him look more like a smug balloon. “And you, lad? How’d you know that?”

Gale shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Seen your bounty poster before,” he said simply. “Didn’t recognize you at first—no offense—but there aren’t many people in this world built like you.” He pointed toward the now-crumpled mallet beside them. “Or who carry around something that ridiculous and call it a weapon.”

He tilted his head, expression thoughtful. “Though to be fair, I’m terrible with names. So you’re lucky I didn’t call you ‘Balloon Guy’ or ‘Hammer Hippo.’”

Blamenco chuckled at that, rubbing his chin—or chest—it was still hard to tell. “For one so scrawny, you’ve got a mouth on you, kid,” he said.

Gale smirked back. “You’ve got three chins, so I guess we’re even.”

The laughter that followed wasn’t hostile—it was booming, genuine, and echoing through the cavern until even the glowing mushrooms seemed to shake.

Blamenco’s laughter finally died down, tapering into a few rumbling chuckles that shook his belly like a ship in rough waters. He wiped a tear from his eye, catching his breath, and then squinted at Gale with mild curiosity.

“Well, that was fun,” he said, voice still deep and friendly. “But let’s get to the important part. Who are you, kid? And what are you doing here?”

It was the kind of question that hit like a cannonball—simple, but heavy.

Gale grinned automatically, ready to answer without thinking. “Name’s G—”

He stopped himself mid-syllable, his grin freezing halfway into existence. His brain, which usually ran on sarcasm and instinct, suddenly screeched into high gear.

'Right. Faked my own death. Marine deserter. Technically dead. Definitely shouldn’t tell a Whitebeard pirate my real name.'

He cleared his throat, forcing a casual chuckle. “—Bayle,” he finished, snapping his fingers like that had been the plan all along. “Name’s Bayle. Treasure hunter extraordinaire.”

Blamenco raised an eyebrow, scratching the side of his head. “Bayle, huh? Never heard of you.”

Gale smirked. “That’s probably because I’m that good.”

The pirate’s lips twitched into an amused grin. “Sure, sure. And I’m the queen of Alabasta.”

Gale ignored the jab, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, I’m here for treasure. Big one. Old one. Shiny one.”

Blamenco tilted his head. “Treasure, huh? Hate to disappoint you, but there’s no treasure here—at least not the kind a young buck like you would be looking for.”

Gale raised a brow, his grin not faltering. “Yeah? ’Cause I’ve got a map and an eternal pose that say otherwise.” He fished the eternal pose from his coat and gave it a little shake, the needle inside still pointing unwaveringly toward the heart of the island. “Captain John’s treasure, ever heard of it?”

The name hit the cavern like a thunderclap.

Blamenco’s grin faded slightly. His brows furrowed, and he let out a slow exhale through his nose. “Captain John’s treasure, you say…”

He went quiet for a few beats, eyes distant, as though sorting through old memories. Then he sighed again and shook his head. “Sorry to break it to you, kid… even if that treasure is here, this island’s part of the old man’s territory. Whitebeard’s. It wouldn’t exactly look good for us if we let every brat with a map start digging through our turf.”

Gale’s grin didn’t even flicker. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly to one side. “Yeah, I figured as much.” He paused, smirk widening. “Which is why I’m willing to make a deal.”

Blamenco’s eyebrow lifted again. “A deal?”

“Yup,” Gale said, voice dripping with confidence. “You and your crew get a cut of the treasure—fair share and all that. I’m not greedy. Well, I am, but I’m not stupid. I’ve got the map and the eternal pose, but I need manpower. And you, my rotund friend, look like you can lift a small ship if you skip breakfast.”

Blamenco chuckled at that, rubbing his stomach with mock pride. “Flattery won’t get you far, kid. But I’ll admit, it’s working.”

Gale grinned wider, snapping his fingers like a salesman closing a deal. “See? We’re already halfway there.”

The older man’s amusement lingered, but his eyes remained sharp now—watchful, testing. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Not many would waltz into Whitebeard’s territory and start negotiating like they’re at a market stall.”

Gale shrugged casually. “What can I say? I’ve been hit in the head too many times to remember what fear feels like.”

That earned another genuine laugh from Blamenco—loud, booming, echoing off the cave walls.

Still, when the laughter died, there was thought behind his gaze. He tapped the handle of his mallet against the ground, deep in consideration. “All right, Bayle,” he said at last, his tone slower, more deliberate. “Let’s say—for argument’s sake—I do believe you. That map of yours actually leads to Captain John’s treasure.”

He leaned forward slightly, his grin returning, but this time it carried the weight of experience. “What makes you think I won’t just take it from you right now and save myself the trouble?”

Gale’s smirk didn’t waver. “Because you strike me as a man of culture… and because if you tried, I’d drop another sword through the ceiling and collapse this whole cave on both our heads.”

There was a long pause—then Blamenco barked out a laugh so loud that pebbles fell from above.

“You’re either brave or insane, kid,” he said.

Gale grinned. “Why choose?”