บท 41: Where Dreams Die (II)
"Why would I want to fight in some tournament?" I asked, throwing Blackbeard an unimpressed look.
"Winner gets 200 thousand berries!"
"Money's overrated."
"Most people live and die for money," he shot back.
"Why would I compare myself to most people?"
At that, he burst into his signature laugh. "Zehahahahaha! Absolutely! Who wants to be like most people? You're interesting. Just come to the tournament tomorrow. You can knock some heads around; it might lighten your sour mood."
I pretended to think about it while taking another bite. "Fine, I'll go. But I can't help noticing how persistent you're being."
"You're a dreamer," he said, a spark of ambition in his voice. "But if you want to make it reality, you need strength. I want to see if you're all talk or if you've got any real bite."
"Hmph. Testing me! You're a strange old man."
"Hey, I'm middle-aged at best!"
"To me, you're old." I stood up, finishing my food. "Also, I've had better pie."
As I left the pub, Blackbeard's laughter echoed behind me. Part one of the plan was a success. I wouldn't usually bother with all these theatrics, but Blackbeard's sniper, Van Augur, was a problem. His keen eyesight and observational Haki made him dangerous. Even though he hadn't acquired the Warp-Warp Fruit yet, he was still quick to disappear when things got risky. To catch him off guard, I'd have to get close enough. One way or another, he needed to go. A careful man like him helping a madman like Blackbeard is not a good combination.
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The next morning, I left the motel. Ace has become intolerable indoors. I had to force him to stay there another day. Knowing that Blackbeard was in town and not attacking him directly didn't go with his principles. But it was necessary. Besides, if I couldn't get close to the crew today, then I'd have to do it the old-fashioned way.
It wasn't hard to locate the tournament grounds—a makeshift arena on the edge of town. It seems like their main source of income is the bets. I signed up under the name "Marko Polo," which, granted, wasn't my best moment of creativity.
The rules were pretty standard: unarmed combat, last fighter standing. Killing or maiming was fair game. I stashed my sword nearby, just in case. There were sixteen divisions, and each one would fight battle royales to cut down the numbers. Then, it would move on to one-on-one duels.
I decided that I wouldn't use my hands. It's not because of some crap reason like 'I'm a swordsman, so my hands are only meant for using swords.' It was because I realized that I wanted to test myself purely on my physical prowess. And if I didn't restrict myself, it wouldn't really be fun.
I was placed in Block Six. The crowd buzzed with excitement, though this wasn't some grand arena; just a makeshift stage with a bookie taking bets on the sidelines.
The fight started, and it was just sooooo boring. I knew that this was a town where dreams go to die. But why are they all so weak? No wonder Luffy one shot Bellamy. And I didn't even need to do anything. I just put my hands in my pocket and knocked out those who tried to attack me. No one could even touch me once. When the round ended, the commentator dubbed me "Pocket Hand Marko." What kind of nickname is that?
The round of 16 started. Weak. Weak. Weak. They were all just so weak. This town really is at the bottom of the barrel. I was genuinely getting annoyed. I spotted Blackbeard in the audience, laughing and placing bets. I called out to him,
"Hey, old man! You dragged me to this, and everyone here is so weak it's almost sad."
"Zehahahahaha! They are weaklings, no doubt," he shouted back. "But the guy you'll face in the finals is the real deal. One of my lieutenants. Based on pure physical power alone, he can take on almost anyone. Survive ten minutes with him, and you've got a shot at joining my crew!"
"I don't even know your name. Why would I join your crew?"
"Names don't matter. Strength and dreams do!"
"You're too loud, old man. Let's see if this guy of yours is interesting. If not, this'll be goodbye. I hate being bored."
"Kids today, so impatient," he muttered.
Ignoring him, I stepped into the ring as the commentator took over.
"On one side, we have our rising star, the man so cocky he fights with his hands in his pockets—give it up for 'Pocket Hands, Marko!'"
A few cheers went up, though I could tell most people weren't fans. Probably because of that ridiculous nickname.
The commentator's voice rang out louder as he announced my opponent, "And here comes the reigning champion, the man, the legend, the reason you're all here—'Champion' Jesus Burgess!"
The crowd erupted with cheers as Burgess entered the stage. He was just way too freaking huge. He seemed even taller than even Blackbeard. And what's with the muscle? Did this guy never hear of something called 'leg day'?
With a grin, he looked down at me. "So, this is the guy the captain told me about? Looks like I'll be squashing a bug today."
"Do you know what the problem with big guys like you is?" I replied calmly.
He tilted his head, confused, as I vanished from my spot, reappearing behind him. My leg swung around, smashing into the back of his neck with enough force to send a shockwave across the stage. His head jerked forward, his proud stance gone, but he didn't fall.
I returned to my original position, hands still in my pockets, smirking.
"You're just too slow."
Anger flashed in Burgess's eyes, and he charged, fists flying. He was fast for his size, but not fast enough. I dodged each swing easily, barely having to move.
But then I noticed something—he was getting faster. With each punch, his strength and speed increased, his fists coming closer and closer. This wasn't just some brawler; he was adapting. I decided to test his power, taking my hands out of my pockets and bracing for his next hit.
His fists connected, each blow slamming into me like a truck, and I felt the raw force behind them. He was strong, no doubt, but nowhere near as powerful as Vergo. He wasn't using haki, but still, I could now properly gauge his strength. But his endurance—now that was something I still needed to test.
I had almost zero experience in hand-to-hand combat. But I still remember the basics that my father taught me when I was a child.
That'll have to do for now.
As Burgess swung at me from my left, I adopted a simple boxing stance, redirecting his punch with my left hand. Taking advantage of the opening, I stepped forward and launched an uppercut.
Realizing the strength behind my attack, he put up his guard just in time. My fist collided with his jaw, sending him stumbling back several steps. That was all I needed to know about his durability—tough but not indestructible.
Two-thirds of my strength was enough to rattle him. With a blade in hand, I could slice right through.
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