Miss Valentine's heels clicked against the tiled floor of Spider Café as she exchanged a glance with Mr. 5, his usual swagger subdued, probably because most of the people here were numbered agents with higher numbers than him.
The room was already filled with tension, thick as the desert air outside. Mr. 3 adjusted his glasses, his slender fingers tapping the side of his teacup. Beside him, Miss Goldenweek sat on a chair, calmly painting in her sketchbook. She was calm and stoic, like usual.
"I don't appreciate being summoned without explanation, especially during my vacation." Mr. 3 said coolly, his eyes narrowing at Mr. 2 Bon Clay, who twirled in place dramatically; it somehow irritated him.
"Friend, I was summoned too!" Bon Clay exclaimed, striking a flamboyant pose. "We're all in the dark here."
Across the café, Miss Merry Christmas was in mid-rant, slapping the back of the sluggish Mr. 4, who seemed more interested in the sandwich in his hand than the growing standoff. "Move your fat head faster, will ya?! I told you not to bring that damn dog inside!"
Miss Valentine's eyes wandered—and locked with the gaze of a striking, blue-haired woman sipping tea alone at a corner table. The woman's expression was smug, self-assured. Dangerous.
A heavy voice cut through the tension before she could step toward her.
"Enough chatter."
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a flowing dark vest stepped forward, casting a long shadow over the table. His skin was deep bronze, his features sharp and chiseled, and his mere presence drew immediate silence.
"I am Mr. 1," he said, his voice smooth as polished steel but laced with power. "Mr. 0 requested your presence at Rain Dinners. All of you, follow me."
The blue-haired woman stood up, smirking as she brushed a strand behind her ear. "Shall we, then?"
Miss Valentine squinted at her but said nothing, feeling something off about that woman. Something scary.
Mr. 1 did not have time for dawdling. He turned sharply and began walking. The rest followed—some with suspicion, others with boredom, and a few with excitement. Whatever awaited them at Rain Dinners, it was clear the Baroque Works officers were about to receive a new directive, and this made Miss Valentine worried and excited.
Miss Valentine adjusted her hat, her yellow parasol twirling lazily in her grip as she followed the rest of the Baroque Works agents out of Spider Cafe toward Rain Dinners Casino. Inside the Casino, they went down the narrow, spiraling staircase towards the basement. The air grew cooler the deeper they went, and footsteps echoed against stone walls. Mr. 1 walked at the front—tall, composed, unreadable—never once looking back to make sure they followed.
Miss Valentine cast a glance over her shoulder. Mr. 5 ambled behind her, hands in pockets. He acted nonchalantly, but as his long-time partner, she knew he was nervous. Behind him, the others shuffled forward—Mr. 3 muttering something under his breath, Miss Goldenweek quietly walking, Mr. 4 dragging his feet with his dog, Lassoo panting beside him, and Miss Merry Christmas barking insults at anyone moving too slowly.
The path led to a wide steel door flanked by guards who didn't even blink as Mr. 1 approached. The door creaked open with a nod, revealing a cavernous chamber bathed in dim greenish light with a floor-to-ceiling aquarium housing the ferocious Bananagator. And in front of that, he was lounging on a massive oak chair like a king atop his throne.
The Desert King, Sir Crocodile.
So it's true, Miss Valentine thought, her eyes widening slightly. Mr. 0 is one of the Seven Warlords.
He sat with one leg crossed over the other, a cigar burning lazily between his fingers. His curved golden hook gleamed in the low light, and a wicked smirk pulled at his lips as he watched them enter. His lazy-looking eyes scanned them menacingly.
"So," Crocodile said, voice low and smooth as desert silk. "Let the meeting begin."
Miss Valentine felt a chill run down her spine. It wasn't fear exactly; it was akin to a deer standing before a cold-blooded predator. She felt helpless.
Crocodile exhaled slowly, smoke trailing behind him. "The plan has entered its final phase," he said. "Arabasta will fall, and with it, the Nefertari dynasty. Our true goal lies buried beneath this kingdom; only one key remains to unearth it."
He cast his gaze over the group, lingering for a second longer on each pair of eyes. "You all have roles to play."
He pointed at Mr. 4.
"Mr. 4 and Miss Merry Christmas —you'll deal with the kidnapping."
Crocodile then looked at Mr. 2.
"Bon Clay, your ability is crucial. Go to Nanohana with the Billions. Create chaos using the king's face."
Miss Valentine blinked. Looking at Mr. 2 warily.
"Mr. 3, you and your partner assist with decoys. Delay the Marines if they intervene."
"Mr. 1 and Miss Doublefinger —you helped Bon Clay create chaos in Nanohana."
Then his eyes landed on her.
"Miss Valentine and Mr. 5—you owe me an explanation."
Miss Valentine tensed when Crocodile turned his sharp gaze onto her.
"Whiskey Peak," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "What exactly happened there?"
Beside her, Mr. 5 shifted uncomfortably. The casual slouch in his shoulders faded fast.
Miss Valentine swallowed and spoke first. "The bounty hunters were already wiped out when we arrived, bos. Someone beat them—bad. A swordswoman, they called her 'the Huntress.' Left most of them hospitalized."
Crocodile's brow twitched, but he said nothing.
"She didn't match any known bounty posters from the Grandline," Valentine added, glancing at Mr. 5, hoping he'd jump in.
He did, reluctantly. "It wasn't just the Huntress. We believe the group that associated with her also took Miss All Sunday… and the Unluckies. They're missing after the Huntress's relentless attack."
That made the room go quiet.
Crocodile bit his cigar between his teeth. Nico Robin was crucial in his plan, but finding her could wait until the coup d'état finished.
Crocodile's voice turned into a low growl. "And what of the princess and her bodyguard?"
Mr. 5 hesitated. "The Straw Hat Pirates, an Upstart from East Blue, interfered. They... were powerful. They took the princess and her bodyguard with them. They're probably en route to Arabasta."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Crocodile's chair screeched against the stone as he stood. His hook twitched once.
"You let a teenage girl and a handful of nobodies from East Blue, the weakest sea, ruin my months of planning?" His voice rose into a sharp snarl.
The hook lashed out, shattering a table as the agents flinched. Then Crocodile turned on his heel and pointed to the floor near the glass wall of the enormous Bananagator tank.
"Get in," he said coldly.
Miss Valentine blinked. "B-bos?"
"You both failed me," he said. "Now entertain my pets."
Before either could react, sand shot up from beneath them. It gripped their feet like manacles and flung them through the air. Both agents landed hard in the tank with a splash, water churning around them.
The monstrous Bananagators stirred, their eyes glowing from the depths.
Behind the glass, the other numbered agents stood frozen in horror, no one daring to breathe too loudly.
Mr. 1's face remained expressionless, but even he stepped back a little.
Miss Goldenweek shivered by the brutality. Mr. 3 adjusted his collar nervously. Miss Merry Christmas muttered something inaudible under her breath.
Inside the tank, Miss Valentine thrashed toward the edge, trying to float, her parasol gone, her signature cool wiped away by panic. The curse of devil fruit slowly claimed her.
Crocodile didn't even glance at her.