Straw Hat Castaways: The Marimo and the Shit Cook's 72 Hours
When a violent storm tears through the Grand Line, Zoro and Sanji are ripped from the Thousand Sunny and washed ashore on a desolate, uncharted island in the lawless Graveyard of the Calm. No ship. No crew. No way to call for help. Just the world's worst combination—a directionally challenged swordsman and a hotheaded cook—stranded together with nothing but seawater, silence, and each other's company.
With only three days to survive before a Navy patrol might pass by, the two must scavenge for
Straw Hat Castaways: The Marimo and the Shit Cook's 72 Hours - Fangs of Mud — The Shattered Shoulder and the Broken Blade
The night wind carried the smell of scorched wood.
In the plaza of Drift Port, the smoldering remains of water barrels still lay scattered about. The flames were out, but thin trails of smoke rose and muddied the sky. The floating island, built from a patchwork of derelict ships, groaned everywhere, creaking with every swell.
The shadows of two bound men stretched long across the ground.
Zoro was gritting his teeth.
The pain shooting through his left shoulder sharpened with every breath. Was the bone cracked, or broken? Even he couldn't tell. All he knew was that his arm was heavy—as if it had been filled with lead.
Beside him, Sanji quietly held a cigarette in his mouth. It wasn't lit. Even so, the familiar feel of it against his lips was just barely keeping him sane.
"Let's go over this again, swordsman."
A voice spoke.
In the center of the plaza, Gerzo Balbarossa sat atop a half-burnt barrel. His short silver hair was slicked back. His bulging golden eyes looked down at the two of them as if appraising livestock. The left half of his face bore a mud-like birthmark. Every so often, it squirmed like something alive.
At his hip hung a leather pouch stuffed with gold coins. Each time it jangled, Balbarossa's lips curled.
"How much do you think your heads would fetch if I sold them to the Navy? Three hundred twenty million for the swordsman. Three hundred thirty million for the cook. Six hundred fifty million berries altogether. ...Do you understand? What that means?"
Zoro didn't answer.
He only glared back with golden eyes.
"I'm saying I'll let you keep your lives. With six hundred fifty million, a man could live out ten years in comfort in this mud-sea. One of your lives, and my whole world changes. Be grateful."
Balbarossa laughed as he toyed with the leather pouch.
That smile was cold.
The clink of gold coins echoed through the plaza.
"Gerzo! The code forbids laying hands on this island's guests!"
A sharp voice split the night air.
From the edge of the plaza, Madam Olga stepped forward. An old woman with silver hair streaked with white, tied back in a single bundle, her right eye covered by a black eyepatch. The brass cane in her left hand struck the deck of the derelict ship. Clack. Clack.
Her amber left eye pierced straight through Balbarossa.
"The code, you say?"
Balbarossa sneered.
"Is there any code in this sea? There's only money. But... since we're here, I'll pay my respects to your precious code."
He slowly raised his hand.
From the elbow down, that arm turned to mud with a wet slop.
"Without water, no one can live. So then—how far can you endure to protect your water?"
The mud arm stretched out like a whip.
Its target: the water barrels lined up in the corner of the plaza.
Splash.
The mud slammed into one of the barrels. The lid burst off, and fresh water spilled out. But it clouded almost instantly. The mud mixed with the water, turning it into a dark, filthy sludge.
"Stop it!"
Olga shouted.
But Balbarossa didn't stop.
The mud arm struck barrel after barrel. Splash. Splash. Wood shattered, water sprayed. The clear water was fouled by mud and swallowed by the ground.
"Do you understand what this means? How many days of water does this island have left? Three? Four? Or is today the last day?"
Balbarossa's voice was gleeful.
No—he was genuinely enjoying himself.
Watching people's faces twist in despair was as dear to him as counting gold.
"You... you bastard."
Sanji said it through clenched teeth.
"A bastard suits me fine. Only bastards survive in this sea."
Balbarossa shook the pouch of gold coins.
A jangling, grating sound.
"Now then, time to negotiate. Hand yourselves over to me. Do that, and I'll let the people of this island live. The water... well, they can make do with mud-mixed water. Where there's life, there's hope."
"Who the hell... would ever—"
Sanji bit down on the words like he was chewing through rope.
Then.
Snap.
A dry sound rang out.
Zoro had ripped apart the rope binding him with sheer brute force.
"...That's enough. You talk too much, mud bastard."
Zoro slowly rose to his feet.
His left shoulder throbbed. But he didn't care.
With his right hand, he drew the sword at his hip.
Wado Ichimonji.
The white blade caught the moonlight and gleamed.
"Oh? Still got fight in you, swordsman?"
Balbarossa stepped down from the barrel.
The mud birthmark spread across his face.
"Fine. I'll break that neck of yours right here. A corpse still fetches a bounty, after all."
Zoro took his stance.
His left arm hung heavy from the shoulder down—it wouldn't move properly.
But in his right hand, the sword held no hesitation.
"...Sanji. Stay back."
"Don't give me that. You think I'm letting you go alone?"
Sanji tried to tear off his ropes too.
But his body wouldn't move. The fever hadn't broken yet. His limbs were heavy as lead, and his vision blurred now and then.
"Are you even in any state to stand?"
"Of course I can stand."
Sanji forced himself up, teeth gritted.
His knees trembled.
But he didn't fall.
"Amusing. Even the sick cook wants to challenge me?"
Balbarossa laughed.
"Then I'll take you both on at once. Be grateful. ...Your lives will line my pockets."
Before those words finished, Zoro was already moving.
He kicked off the ground.
Closed the distance in an instant and swung Wado Ichimonji in a horizontal slash.
But.
Schlck.
The blade sank into Balbarossa's torso.
No—it sank in.
As if he'd thrust it into mud.
"I told you it's useless."
Balbarossa's body turned to mud around the blade. It slumped and deformed, swallowing the steel. He couldn't pull it free. The mud seized the sword and wouldn't let go.
"This Doro-Doro Fruit of mine nullifies any kind of strike. Slashes, blunt force—it all just sinks into mud. ...Understand now? Your sword can't reach me."
Zoro strained to pull the blade free.
But the mud didn't budge.
Worse—it began coiling around his arm.
"...Damn it."
Zoro let go of the sword and leaped back.
The mud spat out the blade, and Wado Ichimonji clattered to the ground.
Clang.
A hollow, lifeless sound.
"What's wrong? Giving up already?"
Balbarossa extended his mud arm.
That fist came flying at Zoro's face.
Zoro twisted his body on reflex.
But pain shot through his left shoulder, and his movement lagged for a split second.
Thud.
The mud fist struck Zoro's left shoulder dead-on.
A sickening crack of bone echoed through the plaza.
"Guh—!"
Zoro's body was blown backward.
He slammed into the ground and rolled twice, three times.
"Zoro!"
Sanji shouted.
Zoro managed to push himself up on one knee.
But his left arm wouldn't move.
From the shoulder down, there was no feeling at all.
"That was a good sound. The sound of breaking bone—second only to the clink of gold coins."
Balbarossa swung his mud fist as he slowly approached.
"Now then, which bone shall I break next? The right shoulder? Or, for a swordsman, maybe the wrist?"
Zoro grabbed at the ground with his right hand.
Wado Ichimonji lay a short distance away.
But more than that—
At his hip, two more.
Sandai Kitetsu.
And one more blade.
"...Not yet. I'm not finished yet."
Zoro drew Sandai Kitetsu.
The cursed blade's edge gleamed as if drinking in the night's darkness.
"That sword's the same. It'll just sink into mud."
Balbarossa's body turned to mud again.
Zoro slashed at him regardless.
But.
Schlck.
The same. The blade sank into mud.
"I told you, didn't I? It's useless."
The mud coiled around Sandai Kitetsu.
Zoro tried to pull the sword free.
But the mud was strong, and it wouldn't let go.
Worse—
The blade began to creak and groan.
"I'll break it. Along with your pride."
The mud constricted around Sandai Kitetsu.
The blade screamed.
"Stop—!"
Zoro shouted.
But it was too late.
Crack.
Sandai Kitetsu snapped clean in two.
The broken blade spun through the air and stabbed into the ground.
Only the broken hilt remained in Zoro's hand.
"That's one sword down."
Balbarossa laughed as his mud body returned to normal.
"Two left. What'll you do? Keep slashing and get them all broken? Or quietly submit?"
Zoro stood frozen, clutching the broken hilt.
His left shoulder was shattered, his sword was broken.
Even so, his eyes weren't dead.
"...I can still fight."
Zoro reached for the two remaining swords.
But his hand was trembling.
"Stop it, Marimo!"
Sanji shouted.
"If you keep fighting with that shoulder, your arm's really going to be ruined!"
"...So what."
"Don't 'so what' me! If you can't swing a sword anymore, who's supposed to protect me?!"
Sanji's voice was shaking.
From the fever, or something else.
"...What the hell are you saying?"
Zoro turned around.
Sanji was staggering to his feet.
His footing was unsteady.
But he stood in front of Zoro.
"What you can't do, I'll do. What I can't do, you do."
Sanji spat his cigarette onto the ground.
"Right now you can't swing a sword properly. So I'll stand in front. ...That's all there is to it."
"Ha! What use is a sick cook?!"
Balbarossa extended his mud arm.
Target: Sanji's neck.
"Your mud—it's weak to heat, isn't it?"
Sanji poured power into his right leg.
His calf grew hot.
Diable Jambe.
The heat warped the air.
"Diable Jambe!"
Sanji's kick met the mud arm head-on.
Ssss.
The mud evaporated from the heat.
No—not evaporated.
The water in the mud was driven off, and it hardened like clay, then crumbled away.
"What—?!"
Balbarossa's expression changed for the first time.
"Your mud holds water. Add heat, and the water evaporates. Do that, and your mud stops being mud. ...That's the logic."
Sanji said it while gasping for breath.
Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Interesting. But don't think heat like that will dry out all my mud."
Balbarossa extended his mud arms again.
Both of them this time.
"Then I'll just kick as many times as it takes."
Sanji raised his right leg.
But.
"...Ngh."
His body wavered.
It was the fever.
His vision warped.
The kick cut through empty air.
"A sick man's kick just slakes the thirst of my mud!"
The mud arm caught Sanji's leg.
"Let go!"
Sanji tried to kick with his other leg.
But the mud coiled around him, and he couldn't move.
"First, I'll snap that leg. What's left of a cook who can't kick?"
The mud constricted around Sanji's leg.
"Guh... aah...!"
Sanji let out a cry of pain.
Then.
"...Who'd you say you're breaking the leg of?"
A low voice echoed through the plaza.
Zoro was on his feet.
His left arm hung limp.
But in his mouth, he held the broken blade of Sandai Kitetsu.
In his right hand, Wado Ichimonji.
And one more sword.
Two blades and one in his mouth.
"Who decided Santoryu needs three whole swords?"
Zoro grinned defiantly around the broken blade in his teeth.
"...What can you do with a broken sword?"
"Even broken, it cuts. I'll cut you."
Zoro took his stance.
His left shoulder was shattered, his sword was broken.
Even so, this man was still a swordsman.
"Sanji. Can you still kick?"
"...Obviously. I'm about to kick that mud bastard flying."
Sanji poured every last bit of heat into his captured leg.
"Diable Jambe—highest heat!"
Fwoooosh!
The mud dried instantly and cracked apart.
"Guh—?!"
Balbarossa's mud arm crumbled away.
In that opening, Sanji broke free.
"Now, Marimo!"
"Yeah!"
Zoro kicked off the ground.
Two blades and one in his mouth.
An improvised, irregular Santoryu.
"Santoryu—Mud Slash!"
Wado Ichimonji tore through the mud body.
The next blade followed.
And the broken blade in his teeth pierced the mud's vital point.
Shlkk.
Three slashes carved through the mud body at once.
"Guaaaaaah?!"
Balbarossa's body was blown back, scattering mud everywhere.
Dried and brittle from Sanji's heat, the mud could no longer absorb the slashes.
The mud body crumbled, split, and was blasted out toward the sea.
Splash.
Balbarossa fell from the
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