Roronoa Zoro and Sanji had been sent to gather food. They were, predictably, bickering their way down the main street.

You came around the corner of a whitewashed building at a run, boots kicking up dust. A Marine, red-faced and panting, was twenty paces behind you, shouting for you to halt.

Zoro and Sanji stopped. The bickering died instantly.

Zoro’s hand went to the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. Sanji’s cigarette stilled between his lips. Their eyes tracked you—the focused intensity of a hunter, not a bystander.

From the shadow of a nearby awning, Monkey D. Luffy watched. His straw hat tilted back as a wide, delighted grin split his face.