Arming Tsujo

Vowing never again to be caught off guard and defenseless, I headed back toward Ipponmatsu’s Arms Shop. A proper weapon might have drastically altered my encounter with Nami. Both earrings were back where they belonged, but I still kept my eyes on the crowds for any trace of the orange-haired thief.

“I came for my cutlass,” I announced upon entering.

Ipponmatsu barely glanced toward the weapon lying beside his workbench. “Then come back tomorrow like the Marine told you. I haven’t started on it.”

“You haven’t?”

“It’s a piece of dockside crap,” he said. “I’ll clean it, oil it, and have it ready tomorrow. I’m not dropping good steel to hurry.”

Waiting until tomorrow seemed unreasonable when Nami was somewhere in Loguetown carrying a staff and an alarming amount of anger toward my balls.

I looked over the swords displayed along the wall. One immediately stood out from the rest. Its long, gently curved blade rested in a glossy black scabbard decorated with gold waves. Crimson cord wrapped the hilt, and a golden dragon curled around the guard. It looked expensive, dangerous, and far more suitable for Iron Cock Tsujo than my battered old cutlass.

The sword felt good in my hand. More importantly, it looked great. I sheathed it, slid it through my belt, and adjusted the angle until the golden dragon on the guard remained visible.

Ipponmatsu watched me take it without objecting. “You chose that one for the fittings.”

“The dragon looks impressive.”

“Different sort of choice from the swordsman who came through this morning.” His gaze settled upon a barrel of cheap swords beside the counter. “He reached into there and found Sandai Kitetsu. Knew it was cursed the moment he held it.”

I had no idea what a cursed sword was, much less how anyone could identify one by touching it. I did recognize the reverence in Ipponmatsu’s voice. Tashigi had sounded exactly like that whenever she began lecturing me about Famous Blades. Apparently the shopkeeper was another sword-crazy weirdo.

“I warned him what the Kitetsu does to its owners,” Ipponmatsu continued. “He tossed it into the air, held out his arm, and trusted his luck against the curse. The blade turned around him without cutting so much as a hair. He never flinched.”

“Did this guy have green hair?”

Ipponmatsu nodded. “Came in carrying one sword and left carrying three. A man like that deserves blades worthy of him.”

“That was Roronoa Zoro. The Bounty Hunter. Now a pirate.”

“So he was a criminal, eh?” Ipponmatsu said. “I didn’t know that at the time, and that’s what I’ll tell the Marines if they come poking their noses around and ask where he got his new swords. Roronoa Zoro may be a pirate, but from what I saw, he’s one of the last true swordsmen left in this world! I’m glad I gave him those swords. They never would’ve done anything sitting in this shop gathering dust. He’s going to make those blades more famous than I could ever hope for!”

The notion of Zoro leaving the shop with even more swords struck me as ludicrous. Three swords? The man only had two hands!

This dude, who otherwise seemed like a covetous prick, became weirdly romantic whenever swords were involved. It was a strange contradiction, this hard-nosed merchant with a soft spot for legendary blades and the warriors who wielded them.

These Straw Hats sure had a way of influencing people.

I thought back to how Luffy had inspired Koby to finally tell off Alvida, that once-blubbery seacow and now smooth-skinned, giant-busted, bountiful-bottomed, long-legged beauty that I adored.

I remembered how grateful that old mayor had been after the Straw Hats saved his town from Buggy, the clown with detachable limbs and an ego the size of a small island.

I recalled how the head chef at the Baratie had spoken about Luffy almost fondly and insisted that his sous-chef, Sanji, would not leave for just any pirate, and yet he had.

Then there was Makino. Sweet, innocent Makino, the barmaid whose tight pussy I had thoroughly rearranged. The memory sent a pleasurable shiver down my spine.

These Straw Hats had a way of making themselves seem like harmless heroes, charming communities and individuals into forgetting they were, in fact, dastardly pirates. They inspired loyalty, gratitude, and a ridiculous amount of goodwill for criminals. Everywhere they went, they left people singing their praises and overlooking the fact that they were thieves, outlaws, and troublemakers. It wasn’t just brute strength or cunning that made them dangerous. It was this influence, this pull they had on people.

I walked out with the ornate sword at my hip. Ipponmatsu never asked me to pay for it or suggested that it belonged in his shop. He only called after me that the cutlass would be ready tomorrow.

The earrings were working perfectly again.

I rested a hand upon my new sword as I walked. That kind of sway over the hearts and minds of others was more dangerous than any Devil Fruit. Nami had it in spades. She wasn’t just some sneaky pickpocket. She had a reputation. The kind that let her weasel her way into people’s trust, the kind that let her walk into a store, flash a smile, and walk out with whatever she wanted. Even when people knew she was a thief, they still liked her. Still trusted her.

I clenched my teeth.

That was what had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

I wouldn’t let it happen again.

This time, I had my power and a sword considerably better than the one I had gone there to collect. When I found Nami again, she wouldn’t be slipping through my fingers.

Not this time.