One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #135

The elder’s voice cut through the forest hush like a drumbeat, steady and commanding.

“Throughout the generations,” he said, raising his cane like a staff of judgment, “whenever there was an argument, whenever a man had something to prove, there was only one way to settle it.”

His free hand curled into a fist, and he thumped it once against his chest.

“With fists.”

The villagers roared their approval, stomping their feet and pounding their chests in unison.

Then the elder’s weathered hand gestured toward Gale.

“And today, an outsider has come to our village—an outsider who wishes to prove his strength.”

That was all the cue the crowd needed to turn into a chorus of jeers.

“Skinny outsider!”

“He’ll break like twigs!”

“His ribs are showing—throw him a fish before the fight!”

Gale’s eyelids twitched. His fingers itched with the sheer restraint it took not to raise both hands and give the entire village a double middle finger salute. Instead, he crossed his arms, muttering under his breath: “No problem. I’ll just add ‘entertainment clown for angry wolf-people’ to my résumé.”

The elder didn’t care for the jeers, didn’t even acknowledge them. His voice boomed again, steady and sharp.

“Since he wishes to prove his strength, it is only natural that he be tested against our tribe’s strongest warriors—my son…”

The elder’s cane swung to the side, pointing at the massive slab of muscle standing behind him.

“…and my grandsons.”

Two more mountains of flexing beef stepped forward, flexing their arms to the sound of the crowd’s renewed cheers. Their torsos gleamed with oil like they’d been preparing for this moment since sunrise.

Gale squinted at them, then at the crowd, then sighed heavily. “Fantastic. A family discount on ass-kickings. Buy one beating, get two free.”

The elder crouched down slowly, his cane scratching a circle into the dirt between them. When he finished, he stabbed the cane into the ground with finality.

“The rules are simple,” he declared. “Two men enter the circle and let their fists speak. Losing consciousness, falling, or stepping outside the ring means disqualification.”

The crowd cheered again, stomping hard enough to shake the ground beneath Gale’s bare feet.

Then the elder turned back, eyes narrowing at Gale.

“Any questions before we begin, outsider?”

Gale stretched his shoulders with all the enthusiasm of someone about to get teeth surgery. “Yeah. Just one.”

The elder inclined his head. “Ask.”

“When we’re done here, do I get a free coupon for a steak dinner? Or is the humiliation prize enough?”

The crowd booed. Risa facepalmed so hard Gale could practically hear her skull rattle.

He shook his head, muttering, “Nah, forget it. Don’t answer that. Let’s just get this over with.”

The elder’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles. He raised his cane again.

“Then step into the circle.”

The first grandson—a hulking beast of a man whose arms looked like they could crush coconuts without trying—grinned and stomped forward, cracking his knuckles with a sound like boulders grinding.

Gale stared at him, blank-faced. His inner voice sighed. “This is gonna suck...”

Still, he stepped into the circle.

The elder raised his cane like a referee’s flag.

“Begin!”

Then he stepped back, cane tapping once against the dirt as if punctuating the word.

Gale braced, shoulders loose, chin tucked. He’d expected the grandson to charge in like a bull the second the word was given—but the big guy just stood there, muscles flexing like he was posing for a statue commission. His grin stretched wide.

“You look as fragile as a toothpick,” the grandson said, his voice deep and rumbling like a drum. “If you want to surrender, then now’s the ti—”

Crack!

A jab shot out from Gale’s fist like a spring-loaded trap, landing square on the bridge of the man’s nose. The impact snapped his head back with a satisfying jolt.

The crowd gasped. Risa’s eyebrows shot up. Gale grinned.

The grandson blinked, his nose already leaking a thin trickle of red. Then he lowered his head again, glare burning hotter.

“…That barely tickled.”

Gale chuckled, tilting his head. “Good thing I wasn’t even trying to tickle you.” He flexed his knuckles, letting the crowd see it. “I barely put any strength behind that. I’m here to prove my strength, not how stupid you are.”

The villagers exploded into a mix of jeers and laughs, half of them howling at the insult, the other half shouting for Gale’s blood.

The grandson’s grin finally twisted into a scowl. His jaw flexed, veins bulging at his temples.

“You’ll regret that.”

He drew back a fist the size of a watermelon and let it fly.

The punch smacked into Gale’s cheek like a hammer against stone, jerking his head to the side. The crowd roared, already calling the fight over.

But Gale only took half a step back, rolled his jaw with a few audible pops, and then looked the grandson dead in the eye.

“For a guy built like a carriage,” he said dryly, “you hit like a little girl.”

A ripple of laughter shot through the crowd before the grandson’s bellow drowned it out. His face twisted with fury, spit flying as he opened his mouth to retort.

But Gale didn’t give him the chance.

He pivoted, hooking his fist straight into the grandson’s ribs with a sharp, precise crack.

The man’s eyes widened. His breath hitched. His hand moved instinctively to clutch his side, face contorted in pain.

The crowd gasped again, this time louder, more shocked.

Gale straightened, shaking his hand loose, the ghost of a smirk curling on his lips.

“Oops,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Guess the carriage sprung a leak.”

The grandson didn’t bother with words this time. His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened, and through clenched teeth he threw another fist straight at Gale’s face.

Crack!

This one landed hard. Hard enough to make Gale’s teeth rattle and his vision spark white for a second. His head snapped to the side, spit flying.

“Ghh—dammit,” Gale groaned, rubbing his cheek as he stumbled half a step back. His eyes watered. Inside, though, his thoughts were a whole different brand of panic.

'Alright. Okay. That one actually hurt. That wasn’t little-girl strength—that was ‘get your affairs in order’ strength. If he keeps punching like that, I’ll be waking up in a pine box with a note that says ‘should’ve dodged.’'

Well, it wasn't really that bad, but if he kept getting punched like that, it would seriously hurt his chances of actually outpunching the other two opponents waiting for him.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their faith in the elder’s grandson instantly restored.

Meanwhile, Gale forced himself to straighten, spitting to the side. “Alright, Carriage Boy… guess you’ve finally started the engine.”

The grandson snarled and raised his fists again, but Gale wasn’t about to give him a second swing. His jaw still throbbed from the last one.

He drew in a sharp breath, coiled his fist tight, and slammed it forward like a battering ram—right into the grandson’s solar plexus.

Thud!

The bigger man’s body folded like a badly pitched tent. His mouth fell open, a wheeze escaping his lungs that sounded less like a warrior’s roar and more like a dying accordion.

The crowd gasped again, half of them holding their stomachs in sympathy.

And Gale? Well, Gale wasn’t above stacking the deck. With a casual step forward, he “helped” guide the grandson’s staggering body—just the gentlest push on the shoulder. Enough to make his opponent stumble out of the circle without even realizing it.

The grandson finally managed to suck in a ragged breath and straightened, fury blazing in his eyes. He raised his fists again, ready to come back swinging—

“Enough,” the elder’s voice cut through the arena like thunder. His cane smacked against the dirt. “You’ve lost.”

“What?!” the grandson barked, snapping his head toward his grandfather. “I can still fight! He hasn’t even—”

“You stepped out of the circle,” the elder interrupted flatly, voice brooking no argument. “You know the rules. You are disqualified. Step aside.”

The grandson’s jaw worked furiously, veins bulging at his temples. He looked like he wanted to argue more, but one sharp look from the elder was enough to kill the words in his throat.

Instead, he shot Gale a final, venomous glare—one that promised retribution, maybe murder—before storming out of the ring.

Gale, for his part, grinned wide enough to show teeth, lifting a lazy wave. “Don’t feel bad, champ. You put up a good fight. Your ribs’ll remember me fondly.”

Inside though, he was groaning. And my jaw’s gonna remember you even fonder. Feels like I got kissed by a Sea King.

The crowd murmured, some booing, others cheering, but all eyes snapped forward as the second grandson—slightly leaner, with sharper eyes and faster footwork by the looks of him—stepped into the circle.

Gale’s grin faltered just a little.

“…Oh, good. Round two. Exactly what my face needed.”

The second grandson stepped into the ring with a calm, measured gait. Compared to the walking battering ram that was his younger brother, this one looked… slimmer. Leaner.

His muscles were toned, sure, but nowhere near the “could bench-press a boulder” bulk the other one had flaunted.

Gale exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging just a little. Alright, alright… this guy doesn’t look so bad. His punches probably won’t rattle my teeth into next week. Might even be able to get through this one without any—

Those comforting thoughts lasted exactly one second.

“Defeating my younger brother is something to be proud of,” the second grandson said coolly, folding his arms across his chest. His voice carried in that quiet, smug way of someone who already thought the outcome was decided. “But don’t get too comfortable, outsider.”

He tilted his chin slightly, looking down his nose at Gale. “My brother is the weakest of us, after all.”

The crowd cheered at that, chanting his name, their voices swelling like they were watching a hero step onto the battlefield.

Gale stared at him in blank silence, lips parting slightly. His brain lagged like a bad Den Den Mushi connection. Then, finally, his face twisted into sheer outrage.

“…What is this, a friggin’ JRPG?!” Gale barked, throwing his hands into the air. “You people the Heavenly Kings or something?!”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Risa buried her face in her hands, already bracing herself for the incoming storm of nonsense.

The second grandson, however, just tilted his head, expression as unreadable as stone. His eyes narrowed, and his tone was flat as a blade’s edge.

“…I don’t understand a word of what you just said.”

The crowd went silent, waiting for Gale’s reply.

Gale, meanwhile, just stood there, rubbing his temples. 'Perfect. Outnumbered, outmuscled, and now apparently trapped in a boss-rush mode with people who don’t even get my jokes. Truly, hell has layers.'

And just like that, the elder’s voice rang out again. “Begin!”