There was an old law among fish-men that they would never share their blood with humans.
That meant no transfusions. It was usually the humans who shunned the idea of fish-man blood anyway. The hero Fisher Tiger died because no human would give their blood to save him, it was said.
As it happened, a secret syndicate was operating in the shadows of Fish-Man Island. They targeted not only humans, but also the fish-men who dared to work with them.
Up on the surface, “human shops,” where slaves were bought and sold, were common targets of terrorist activities. And fairly solid evidence indicated that this secret society was behind those attacks, too.
“And when the shop went up in smoke, so did all the humans!”
“Praise the hero! Raise a toast! Serves those humans right!”
In the Fish-Man District, children like Wallace grew up hearing the adults around them praise those who carried out the terrorist attacks. Performing terrorist acts made you a hero. It was almost as though they were competing to see just how much human blood they could shed.
“This is a holy war!”
It was at the height of this movement that Queen Otohime, who argued for harmony with humankind, was assassinated.
Whitebeard’s flag might have protected the fish-man people from pirates, but in the end, it only obscured the problems the fish-men were dealing with among themselves.
“The sun’s so far from this place,” Ace murmured, looking up at the tremendous height of the sun tree, Eve.
He didn’t have connections to the places he passed through, and he wouldn’t get involved. However, he knew that no matter how hard the fish-men tried to avoid facing the twisted hatred they harbored within themselves, and no matter how dutifully the queen had collected signatures in an attempt to paper over the crude reality of the situation, this would come to no good.
Hatred dulls the eyes of those infected by it, and warps their hearts before they realize what has happened.
Queen Otohime was killed by the personification of the hatred that dwelt in Fish-Man Island for generations upon generations. The humans were not the only enemy the fish-men had. They were also their own enemies…
At the harbor of Fish-Man Island…
“Deuce has gone to procure some supplies,” said Mihal, the ship watchman, when Ace returned to the Piece of Spadille.
Mihal had an unusual past for a pirate: he was a former teacher. As he was the eldest, the other crewmates called him “Teach,” and he taught those who couldn’t even read a newspaper headline how to read and write. He was also a crack shot with a rifle.
“That guy’s always in a hurry. Of course, he can’t do anything unless he’s thoroughly prepared for it,” Ace chuckled.
Masked Deuce was the kind of person who felt the need to gather water, reserve food supplies, make a sturdy ship, and even check the weather ahead of time before he tried to get himself off a deserted island in distant seas.
“And you take too much of your fate into your hands when you go, Ace.”
“You think so? Well, if you average us out, we’re just about right, then. Where are the others?”
“Learning lessons of adulthood at the Mermaid Café.”
“Oh, they went there?! Why didn’t they invite me?” Ace griped.
“They said that it wouldn’t be any fun if the captain was there and hogged all the attention for himself. Though Skull is trying to figure out the Navy’s next moves.”
“The Navy?”
“Information tends to disperse here at Fish-Man Island. It’s not likely that the World Government will sit idly by and allow a rookie who refused to join the Seven Warlords pass through without comment.”
“Ugh. That whole thing is such a pain,” Ace sighed, spitting out the toothpick he’d been chewing.
The Five Elders had summoned Ace to join the Seven Warlords at Sabaody Archipelago, but he’d refused—and, sure, it’s also possible he’d demolished a Navy officer in the process. The officer was all talk, a vice admiral for show, but the higher-ups at the Navy didn’t like having their dignity sullied like that.
Something pounced onto the deck.
It was an animal, a cat. A rare species of lynx the size of a full-grown panther. In its jaws was a bloodied, grotesque-looking deep-sea fish.
“Grrrr…meow.”
“Hey, Kotatsu. Looks like you got yourself a treat.”
Ace scratched the neck of the fish-bearing wildcat named Kotatsu, who sidled up to him. The giant cat purred contentedly. Either he’d found the fish at the harbor, or gotten it from one of the fish-man fishers since it was unlikely to sell.
Ace had picked up Kotatsu during his travels. The cat had been caught in a trap set by poachers looking for sideshow creatures, and Ace rescued him. Because of that, he was wary around people, but was very protective of Ace. When it got cold, he always came looking for Ace and wouldn’t leave his side.
“Looks like we’ve got our dinner for tonight,” said Mihal, peering at the deep sea fish in Kotatsu’s jaws.
“Her special pirate stew, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Speaking of which, how’s the cook search going? Are we putting out the call? We gotta do something about the Spade Pirates’ biggest weakness.”
“Weakness? Yes, the food is terrible.” Mihal wiped his glasses. “You’d be hard pressed to call her pirate stew food…”
They were referring to Banshee, a genial and masculine-looking pirate. Without a cook on the ship, she had no choice but to take over the cooking. All she knew how to do was boil or roast or serve food raw, with no seasoning beyond a dash of salt.
“Just between you and me…I ate better when I was with the bandits,” said Ace, recalling his childhood on Mt. Corvo.
“There are limited options for cooking at sea, and we’re a group of men with no domestic skills… Plus, it’s not as though she’s our mother.”
“And if you complain, she’ll cave in your skull with her iron ladle. Er, sorry, ma’am. We always appreciate your cooking,” Ace said, apologizing to the woman who wasn’t there.
A voice called up from below, and he leaned over the side railing. Down on the pier was a scowling Deuce. Skull was with him, too.