The deafening boom of the cannon fire still echoed through the steel-bolted walls of the grand auction hall.
A stunned silence fell upon them — like the eye of a storm passing overhead.
Smoke rolled in through the top ventilation grates and from the shattered rear archway, twisting along the red carpeted floors. Flickering dim light created long, uncertain shadows across the ranks of pirates that had frozen in place, hands fluttering around hilts, pistols, or power.
And then, sound returned.
Shrieks. Shouts. Legs scraped against the floor. A few of the braver pirates made a run for the doors — and were rewarded with a metallic clang as heavy metal shutters fell crashing from the ceiling, sealing all routes of escape with a single heartbeat.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Each locked door was a reminder: no escape. Not yet.
The guards bellowed above the cacophony, brandishing their rifles and halberds.
Stay still! The auction is on lockdown protocol!"
"No sudden action!"
"This is a safety measure! Sit down or face the consequences!
The auctioneer trembled visibly, rivulets of sweat running down his temple as he stood beside the glass-covered Storm Storm Fruit, now shuddering faintly with crescents of tiny lightning above its dark whirling surface. The guards had moved around the podium hastily, a loose circle around the prize — close, vigilant.
"It's Not Over."
Solian sat tight, motionless and bright-eyed.
As the others lost their grip on sanity, his crew obeyed him. Rina was already hunkered down low, her eyes frightening the upper balconies, scanning for motion — anything that might pass for a sniper. Elya sat cross-legged, hand on the hilt of her own gun, watching the madness with cautious patience.
Kota edged in closer. "You think this is a Marine ambush? Or some crew trying to steal the fruit?"
Solian shook his head once. "Too soon to say. But this was not a threat. That cannon blast was no warning — someone wanted to shake this place up. Maybe investigate security. Maybe light something on fire."
On all sides of them, charges were being traded back and forth between rival crews.
"You blasted that shot, you son of a bitch!"
"Don't fault me, you rat! You've been lusting after that fruit since it hit the stage!
More guns came out. Pistols were cocked. Tension charged the air — one spark from igniting a slaughter.
But no one had yet dared to make a move on the fruit.
It remained there, humming softly behind its armored glass, crackling like a thunderstorm in a jar.
"The Stormreaver Moves"
A groan of wood, a heavy ominous one, echoed down the hall as Tyros, Stormreaver Pirate captain, stood from his chair in the VIP section.
He did not bellow. Did not draw his sword.
He merely strode forward, each bootstep echoing through the increasing stillness.
His men parted before him silently, frozen and immobile-faced. Quiet as statues. Unlike them, they hadn't moved a muscle since the cannon blast.
Tyros entered the auction phase with cautious composure, reaching only the edge of the glass pedestal that supported the Storm Storm Fruit.
He glanced over his shoulder at the quarreling pirates with nothing but silent contempt.
"If this is anybody's scheme to take the storm…" he continued, voice low and authoritative, "…they'd better hope they came prepared for more than bluster."
That single sentence was enough to quiet a few of the more rowdy crews. Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats. One or two even let go of their guns.
It was clear now — Tyros wasn't afraid of any of them.
"Heavy Security Protocols Activate"
The announcer's voice returned, louder now, transmitted through a crackling den den mushi. "We are at alert status four! Emergency security lockdown is fully in effect!"
Walls shifted.
From the back of the auction stage, four panels creaked open, revealing reinforced ballistae loaded with electrified spears — anti-Devil Fruit weapons, if Solian had to take a stab at it.
At least two dozen armored guards swarmed out of side passageways. These ones did not stumble like the previous stage guards. These moved professionally. They had crisp footfalls. Their arms, top-shelf. These were not muscle-for-hire — these were likely private enforcers contracted by the hosting syndicate of underworld crime.
"They came here ready to move," Rina complained.
Slowly, Solian nodded. "They'd have to. With the price of treasure they're selling on here, they sure as hell knew they'd be having some fallback position."
And even though tension mounted, no one moved toward the glass case.
Despite conflict simmering, nothing contacted the glass display. That quiet, that restraint — that intimidated Solian worse than anything.
It meant that they were all holding their breaths.
Waiting for something to ease the tension. To take the initiative.
"Footsteps in the Smoke"
A dim clinking echoed in the smoke at the rear of the hall.
Metal against stone.
Not pirate leather. Not sandals. Something heavier.
Silence fell over a part of the room as the figures emerged behind the smoke screen, still formless. They were huddled. One stood tall and had what looked like a large hammer in his hands. Another had. something drawn behind him.
"Someone is coming," Elya breathed.
Solian creased forward, furrowed brows. "But they are not rushing in. Why?"
The figures teased on the verge of the smoke — not going forward, not going back.
Waiting.
He shivered with a chill running down his spine. Whoever they were, they weren't behaving like attackers. They were too serene. Too well-coordinated. That implied planning. Strategy.
"They want something," Solian grumbled. "And they're not here to have fun."
"The Calm Before."
In the growing stillness, the buzz of the Storm Storm Fruit sounded louder.
Small bolts of static flitted across its surface like white-blue veins of energy.
It was as if the fruit was responding to the environment — living off it. Strengthening as the pressure increased.
Solian's mind spun.
Was it possible that the attackers had been planted to pressure a bid to abort?
Was this a move to pressure the auction to call off and steal the fruit during transport?
Or something worse — a factional war brewing?
Whatever, Solian slowly rose to his feet.
Not to fight. Not yet.
He turned to his crew. "Get ready. Don't draw attention. But if this turns violent, we're not letting that fruit fall into the wrong hands."
Rina raised an eyebrow. "You think it's that dangerous?"
"It's called the Storm Storm Fruit for a reason," Solian said quietly, his gaze returning to the glowing case. "And a storm's about to break."
The chapter ended on that note — the smoke still hanging, the fruit still cracking, and the peace before violence hanging like a breath waiting to be released.