Niryou has had enough of underestimating his opponents.

Without missing another beat, he glowered-- a sort of bloodlust sharply holding its own against the boy's call for death.

The boy sensed the danger, and it seemed his systematic respond was to go straight for the kill.

Niryou felt the wires squeezed right through his neck, cutting through flesh almost too easily-- sliding through bone as if they were paper.

Almost as if this wasn't flesh Cross was cutting into.

The realisation flaring in him, Cross swung his hands to either side of the man, reaching for his blade, clawing them right out of the wall-- and leaped back.

With a grunt in lost opportunity, Niryou scattered into pieces of white, slabs of paper spilling from where he stood, his figure breaking and flowing in the wind, dancing in a million pieces before crafting once again its initial human form.

"A disgusting fruit eater," Cross pouted, almost disappointed.

"The fruit was disgusting, not me!" Niryou snapped at the choice of words, "I thought Devil Fruits were rare in the Four Blues, but to think a child like you knows of them..."

"So what are you?" Cross interrupted.

"Tch, tch," Niryou shook his finger, reaching for his sword at his side, "I'll have you know-- when it comes to being a Devil Fruit Eater, one important thing they must do is keep their abilities a secret. The element of surprise is an important factor in battles, after all."

Cross nodded, taking in the information, "so it's kinda like an assassination."

"Well, if you put it that way, many things are. So, what'll it be?" Niryou had two swords, and both palms circled on one hilt-- "will we be fighting, or will you be leaving?"

Cross' eyes narrowed, and his hands unwound the red wires that swirled around his arm.

"You," Cross mumbled, "will be dying."

"I thought you weren't supposed to kill me?" Niryou challenged immediately, "you're one rude little brat, huh? Haven't your guardians taught you not to just kill everyone you see?"

There was that absurd sarcasm flying in his voice, and Niryou was surprised that his speech didn't deter the boy as offensive. In fact, as horrible as he felt about it, Niryou realized his remarks were perfectly applicable to this young male. He had to opt for a less common-sense-obliging route of conversation now.

"Takara just told me not to kill anyone," Cross contemplated, looking down at his blades-- holding them so firmly, so confused, so deep in thought-- "but what else can I do?"

Niryou's eyes narrowed.

His grip on his swords loosened-- and he unstrapped the blades from his waist, tossing his proud Katanas to the corner of the alley.

"Fight with your fists," Niryou suggested, "when men fight with fists, the first one that falls and can't get back up-- that guy loses the battle. It common practice around these parts."

"Then, no one dies," Cross voiced it like a question. What was the point?

"A dead opponent isn't everything in a duel," Niryou gestured to Cross' weapons, as if asking him to take them off, "an opponent that comes back stronger and stronger, a test of strength isn't by an unethical ambush-- but by a fair and square brawl-- that's a true showdown."

"Test of strength?" Cross repeated. His hands were moving to take off the attachments to his blades-- obeying the little order without really thinking twice-- It sounded foreign on his tongue, but he didn't really hate it. It sounded interesting-- "why?"

"Hmm," Niryou considered his words, "well, why don't we fight it out and see?" he tried, "just keep punching, and see who falls first."

There was no real reason for Cross to be obedient to this man.

But Cross was intrigued, so he did.

  ー  

Grizzly first heard of the boy-- one he would eventually call Mime-- as a vagabond. A man well into age, but donning expressions that made him seem like he'd gotten a foot into the grave.

He had drifted onto their island just a couple months ago-- and was refusing any form of social contact. He found a mask from the slums-- with the painted expressions of a mime-- and he wore it each time Grizzly saw him.

Grizzly and Masquerade were just wandering pirates. With a couple others, they were the Hornigold Pirates, sailing the Grand Lines in pride-- then, perhaps it was after they reached the edge of Paradise-- after they lost everything just trying to make it out of the thick, dark mists of the Bermuda-- they decided that there was where they would end.

Scurrying right back all the way to West Blue, they wanted to start over, right this time. Call it idealistic if you must, but that was what Grizzly and Masquerade chose to pursue. Donning a decorative, facade-filled mask over their journey, they started anew.

Picking up those they come across, to them, this ship was a one-way ticket to a new life.

They had trouble at first, with old and new enemies chancing upon this 'pirate' ship that had 'discarded their jolly roger, their honour'; and from those whom believed that piracy was an unforgivable sin, and never would such a sin ever be purified--

A decade since their beginning, and they came to realize that no one would ever be able to view them as honest, trustworthy merchants. With how huge their crew had grown, Grizzly gave the crew an ultimatum-- that was, to gain peace, or to wander as pirates.

That was what brought them to this day-- where they risk losing one of them forever.

Grizzly vividly recalled the days Mime was what his name dictated-- a voiceless, fake marionette only created for the amusement of others.

He remembered the times he took Mime, and they wrecked havoc on the ship, they made dealings with islands, they fought with pirates to protect their cargo-- they've come a long way since then, haven't they?

He wasn't going to lose Mime here.

  ー  

Ensie Woodlock led his troops through the route, his guard up and his halberd hooked across an arm, not on his back. His gaze was sharp and sent toward the onlookers, wary for suspicious movement.

He was in West Blue, so he didn't think to catch a lot of troops. The highest ranking officer he brought with him was a Lieutenant.

"Rear Admiral!" 

And that annoying Russo's charge, Rock or whatever his name was. The blue haired boy was a ball of trouble, he swore. All he had going for him was strength, too much strength, and if he wasn't breaking something on the ship he was driving someone crazy.

"I thought you were to wait by the port," Ensie growled at the thing, the boy joining him at his side almost too casually, "where's Niryou?"

"He disappeared somewhere," Mock--Sock? Oh, what in the fuck was his name-- replied, "you were late, so."

Blueberry saluted.

"You, head off to the back," Ensie barked, "there's a nuisance in the direction of the palace. I trust you can take care of it." There was no doubt in his tone, despite their short time together.

Mime looked up-- from the clothes, still a Seaman-- this child was no one big. So why would Ensie-- Ensie, a patriarch that trusted only the strong-- send this child, alone, back to the merchants? Trust? To think he'd ever hear the word come from this tongue.

His fists gripped. Mime knew this child was bad news, then. Rose-- Rose, Rose got hurt. Pierrot was hurt. Grizzly and Masquerade were hurt. He couldn't bear to see it again. He didn't want to see it ever again. He hated to see it.

"Don't touch them," he hissed, conviction filling him, a tone of submission, not defiance-- "I won't fight back," he promised, "so don't touch any of my friends anymore."

Ensie looked back-- and one look-- was it pity? empathy? Mime didn't acknowledge it.

"Admirable, and I wish that would hold true for your friends as well," Ensie spoke, "will they let you go? That is what I wish to be promised."

Mime bit his bottom lip, having no answer to it.

"But with this many spectators around, we cannot do anything beyond securing you," Ensie shot a look at the blue-haired Seaman Apprentice, "we cannot fight unless we are fought."

"Aye, sir," Lock saluted, stopping his backward pace, and stepping forward now instead, "I heard you bullied a girl today, so we can't sully the Marines' names any more, right?"

"Buzz off, blueberry," Ensie snapped.

"What's with my superiors and calling me fruits?" Lock grumbled.

  ー  

Grizzly came to find a young boy blocking his path. 

Ensie was right ahead-- the moment he'd caught sight of the figures, a thunderous warcry had just ripped right out of his throat, anger mixed with fueling hatred boiling deep.

It was unlike him, a man of such a high bounty being so crude and rash in face of strength.

Ensie had simply thrown his presence as nothing of concern, continuing on his path so nonchalantly and allowing a young marine boy to be the only one in Grizzly's path.

Grizzly felt utterly looked down upon. So humiliated.

"Is it true you once fought toe-to-toe with Captain Bastille and Lieutenant Momonga?" the boy-- blue-haired, soldier's cap, was so chipper, almost satirical in his body language. "Oh, but I heard Captain Jack took down a Vice Admiral before... who's stronger?"

Ensie nodded to Fox, Boar and Butterfly-- the three split up, taking the alleys to round their way toward the port ahead of him.

"I will have you move aside," Grizzly grumbled, taking a bold step forward. "I despise overconfident kids like you."

"And I absolutely hate to be looked down upon," the boy gritted his teeth, taking steps forward, cracking his knuckles-- readying himself for impact--

Grizzly didn't have time to waste on this kid.

The first punch was caught almost too easily. Grizzly could feel the force of his punch, rising a gust of wind that blew the hat off of the kid-- but blueberry took his punch with one hand, unaffected and as if it was just so normal for him.

The boy threw his hand to the side-- so hard, Grizzly actually lost his balance-- and threw one hard, crushing, punch to his face.

Grizzly dragged back a few steps-- his head was spinning. Like his brain itself had been shaken by the sheer force of that punch, his ears were ringing and his head was splitting itself apart. His vision was full of phosphenes, blinking lens flares irritating him further.

"Everyone's like that," the boy grunted, "they see a kid, they don't think he's strong. Then I sock them in the face and that annoying expression of disbelief just washes over them-- frankly, I've had enough of this kinda bullshit in my life."

Grizzly spat out some bloody gunk from his throat.

Closing his eyes, he waited for the throb in his head to ease.

"No," he had to smirk a little, "I know a kid just like you. Looks like he's got beansprouts for arms, turns out he's some kind of monster in raw strength alone. You should meet him sometime, you look the same age."

The boy lifted his brows, only curious now as he shifted his feet, moving into a fighting stance, "that's not possible."

"Really?" Grizzly sighed.

The boy had nothing. No weapons, no hand guards-- not even one of those customary guns the marine soldiers just kind of had. 

Grizzly too, was void of his favourite combat gloves. 

But that meant nothing.

They exchanged punches once more-- this time, Grizzly let up.

Slipping his fingers right past the boy's closed fist-- Grizzly grabbed the boy by the wrist, and before the boy could react, he anchored a foot, pivoted, and just threw  the boy to some random direction.

"Strength ain't everything in a fight, punk!" he finished.