The island looked harmless at first.

White sand. Twisting palm trees. A breeze that carried laughter instead of danger.

“That’s suspicious,” Nami muttered, hands on her hips.

The moment all four women stepped fully onto the shore, the ground lurched — not violently, but decisively, as if gravity itself had tilted.

Perona shrieked first.

“HUH?! WHY DO I FEEL… LOPSIDED?!”

Behind her, the sand cratered.

Her shadow stretched wider than it should have, and when she turned, her eyes widened in horror.

“My… my butt is NOT CUTE LIKE THIS!”

It had expanded rapidly, cartoonishly — swelling until it was wider than a cannon cart, forcing her to wobble as her boots dug trenches in the sand.

Nami froze.

She tried to step forward.

Couldn’t.

Her back bumped into a palm tree she swore had been five meters away moments ago.

“…No,” she whispered. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.”

Too late.

Her balance shifted as her own weight redistributed, filling every available space behind her, pressing into rocks, trees, and air itself. Every movement caused something to be squished, flattened, or displaced.

“I can’t even turn around without demolishing the scenery,” she groaned.

Robin, meanwhile, adjusted her posture calmly.

“How fascinating,” she said, observing the way the sand compacted beneath her. “The island appears to redirect mass… exclusively toward the lower body.”

She shifted slightly, watching the effect ripple outward.

“The flow is constant. Relentless. Almost… hypnotic.”

Perona stared at her. “WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS?!”

Then the island trembled.

A shadow loomed.

Boa Hancock stepped forward — and the beach collapsed behind her.

Her silhouette blocked the sun.

Her expansion dwarfed the others entirely, her presence reshaping the shoreline like a moving monument. With every second, the ground cracked wider, her scale growing beyond reason.

She lifted her chin proudly.

“Of course,” Hancock declared. “My beauty would expand beyond logic.”

The island groaned as her proportions reached impossible levels — larger than ships, larger than buildings, the sand buckling beneath her like it was kneeling.

“Yes,” she shouted triumphantly. “Grow! A posterior fit for an empress!”

The sky cleared. The wind stilled.

The island had chosen its champions.

Far away, the sea trembled — and the rest of the crew would definitely notice something was wrong.