One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #149

After what felt like an eternity of damp walls, dripping water, and Gale’s torch sizzling every time a stray droplet smacked it, the tunnel finally opened up.

And not just opened up—a whole damned underground chamber sprawled before him. The ceiling arched high, shadows playing in its corners, and the path under his feet stretched ahead in a narrow line, the stone walkway hugged by pools of black water on both sides.

Scattered across the pools were jagged rocks jutting out like stepping stones, while pale blue mushrooms clung to the walls, glowing faintly and casting the chamber in an eerie, ghost-light hue.

Gale raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Yup. Definitely screams boss fight arena. Where’s the giant health bar?”

Almost as if the universe was mocking him, slow, heavy thud… thud… thud footsteps echoed from ahead.

Gale closed his eyes, sighed through his nose, and shook his head. “Called it. Should’ve kept my big mouth shut. One day, Gale, you’ll learn. Not today.”

His hand slid down to the hilt of his rapier, though he didn’t draw it just yet. No point wasting the element of surprise if the other guy wanted to chat first. He continued forward, boots clicking against stone, every step mirrored by that deliberate stomping ahead.

And then, after a few breaths, the figure came into view.

“...Huh.”

The man was huge. And fat. Like, so fat he managed to look both tall and short at the same time, an optical illusion of a human balloon inflated on top of the spindliest pair of stick legs Gale had ever seen.

He was swaddled in purple overalls that strained with each jiggle, and perched on his head was a bicorne hat that looked two sizes too small.

For a split second, Gale’s instincts screamed: draw sword, cut down treasure thief, claim loot.

But then the man did the weirdest thing. He nodded. And smiled. Not the sinister “I’m going to eat you” kind of smile Gale had been preparing for, but the casual, polite sort. Like they were two random hikers who accidentally bumped into each other on a mountain trail.

The man’s behavior nearly short-circuited Gale’s brain. Usually, his thoughts ran on three tracks—booze, food, and women, in that exact order—and anything outside that holy trinity took a backseat. But now? Now the rusty gears of his skull actually started grinding.

“Alright… possibilities,” Gale muttered in his head.

One: the guy wasn’t tense, wasn’t surprised, not even a raised brow at seeing Gale walk up out of nowhere. That meant he either didn’t care—or worse—expected him.

Two: a treasure hunter would’ve been twitchy, sizing Gale up as competition. This guy? He greeted him like they were two old men meeting at the market.

Three: the way he looked at Gale, so casual, so familiar… yeah, no way.

They’d never met.

“...So either he mistook me for someone who'd casually hang in a damp cave...” Gale thought, “or I’ve accidentally wandered into the Welcome to Hell committee meeting.”

The puzzle pieces rattled around in his head, almost clicking into place—but they didn’t. And that annoyed him more than anything.

So, against his usual instincts (which leaned heavily toward “stab first, think later”), Gale decided he’d wait and see. At worst, he was already 80% sure there wasn’t a damn treasure at the end of this road, but he had to confirm before wandering off to check other parts of the island.

With a grunt, he passed by the rotund man. Neither of them said a word, neither spared a glance, as if they were just two strangers politely ignoring each other on a city street.

Then the footsteps stopped.

Too quiet.

Gale’s Observation Haki flared, prickling at the back of his neck, and he spun just in time to see a massive shadow descending. A gigantic wooden mallet—big enough to flatten a cart horse—swung down toward his skull, gripped in the pudgy hands of Mister Friendly Smile.

Gale’s hand shot up and caught it mid-swing, wood shuddering against his grip. His fingers dug into the mallet’s surface like claws, splintering it with cracks that ran down its side. Sparks of strain shot up his arm, but his grin only widened.

On the other end, the man was grinning too. Only this smile wasn’t welcoming—it was the “I’m about to squash you like a bug and laugh about it” kind.

Gale’s eyes twitched as he tilted his head, still holding the mallet at bay. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to swing at someone from behind?”

The man stared at the splintering wood in Gale’s grip. For a moment, just a moment, his wide grin faltered, eyes narrowing in faint surprise. Then, just as quickly, his expression stretched right back into that jolly, teeth-baring smile, like a mask snapping into place.

With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the ruined mallet into the underground lake with a loud SPLASH. Gale followed the arc, only to notice something that made his pessimistic side scream in agony—ripples spreading wide across the water.

He muttered, “Great. Bet that’s gonna wake up the local sea kraken or whatever else lives in this basement death pool.”

Before he could voice the complaint louder, the man’s meaty hands moved—one went to his “chin”… or maybe his chest? Honestly, Gale couldn’t tell where one roll of fat ended and the other began.

The guy looked like a purple dumpling stuffed into overalls, and yet somehow, impossibly, from folds Gale swore weren’t there a moment ago, the man produced another massive mallet.

Gale’s face froze in abject horror. His eye twitched once. Twice. “...Oh come on,” he muttered. “How many of those do you have in there? You walking warehouse of cholesterol—”

The man raised the mallet like he’d just pulled it out of Mary Poppins’ purse. His grin was sharp now, teeth glinting in the mushroom light.

He rumbled, voice low but carrying: “Didn’t plan to blindside… but then I realized—I haven’t seen you around here before.”

That one line made Gale pause mid-sarcasm. His brow furrowed.

'Haven’t seen me around here before.'

That meant he had seen others. Not one. Not two. Enough that he could mistake Gale as just another face in the crowd.

Which meant…

“...Oh, fantastic,” Gale muttered darkly, his thoughts racing.

'Not only is there a fat man with a possibly infinite supply of mallets trying to turn my skull into stew meat, but apparently there’s a whole-ass community living down here too. Tunnels full of people… great. Just great. Guess I really did wander into cave-dwelling-cannibal-island. Why not? Makes sense. That’s exactly the kind of luck I’d have.'

His grip tightened on his rapier, shoulders tense. He tried to ignore the mental image of being tied to a spit while goblins basted him with barbecue sauce.

Gale sighed through his nose, muttering, “Alright, Gale… play it cool. Just… don’t say the word cannibal out loud.”

He glanced at the man’s massive stomach and thought, 'Although… guy definitely looks like he hasn’t missed many meals.'

Gale inhaled sharply, steadying himself as he weighed his options. The guy was big, fat, and clearly armed with enough blunt objects to stock a carnival game. Fighting him here—on a thin walkway, with water yawning on both sides—was asking for trouble.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to protect,” he said, voice even, though his hand twitched toward his weapon. “But I’m just exploring. Whatever’s in these tunnels? Not my circus, not my… whatever you are.” His eyes narrowed, staring straight into the man’s grin. “So how about we stop this before someone actually gets hurt?”

For a second, it looked like maybe—maybe—the guy would take the hint. Then the man tilted his head, still smiling, and said in a sing-song voice:

“It’s the old man’s secret… Now that you know there’s something in these tunnels… I can’t let you leave.”

He hefted the mallet in both hands and charged forward, booming a flat: “Sorry.”

Gale groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose mid-leap backward. “Why… why do I even bother talking? Every damn time… can’t one lunatic just say ‘oh sure, you can go’ for once?”

Landing lightly, Gale yanked out his revolver. Without hesitation, he cocked it, aimed, and fired. The bullet zipped forward before swelling into something absurdly large—bigger than a barrel, almost comically oversized, like Gale had just shot an actual cannonball out of a pistol.

But instead of panic, the man only grinned wider. With a grunt, he swung his mallet, the fat in his arms jiggling as he struck.

The weapon didn’t splinter this time.

Instead, it rang. A sharp CLANG echoed as Armament Haki shimmered around the mallet’s surface, and the man batted the massive bullet away as if it were nothing more than a beach ball.

Gale blinked once. Then twice. “…Great. Armament Haki. Because of course he does. Why wouldn’t the rotund mallet-hoarder in a mushroom cave have haki?” He sighed as he holstered the pistol. “I swear, I’m cursed.”

There was no choice now. As his boots hit the ground, he bent his knees and launched himself forward in a burst of speed, Observation flaring to track the mallet. His opponent swung again, the arc wide and brutal, a gust of air whooshing past Gale’s cheek.

Gale didn’t fight the swing. He leapt over it. Over the man himself. His rapier hand twitched, itching for steel, but instead he chose another weapon.

With a sharp flourish, he unclasped his cape. Mid-air, it expanded violently, swelling in size and density until it billowed like a slab of lead cloth.

“Here—hold this for me!” Gale barked, hurling it down toward the man like an iron curtain.

The fat man’s eyes widened slightly, but his grin never left.

And Gale, falling behind him, muttered under his breath, “If this doesn’t work, I’m sewing spikes into this damn thing…”