The bar was dim, smoky, and just loud enough to drown out unwanted eavesdropping. Trafalgar D. Water Law sat in a shadowed corner, one hand resting on the table, the other lazily wrapped around his glass. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and Kikoku leaned within arm’s reach against his chair.

Perfect. He took a slow sip. Quiet enough to think. No one here worth worrying about.

His eyes scanned the room, catching every flicker of movement – the nervous bartender, the sailors laughing too loudly at their own jokes, and the bounty hunter pretending not to stare from the far end of the bar.

Amateurs. His lips curved into a faint smirk. If they make a move, I’ll be done before my drink is.

The room fell into a steady rhythm of chatter and clinking glasses until –

CRASH!

The ceiling above splintered with a deafening crack, wood and debris raining down. Law barely moved, his hand already resting on Kikoku’s hilt as a figure plummeted onto the bar counter, scattering bottles and sending the patrons into a panicked uproar.

He stared at the dazed, dust-covered intruder, who groaned loudly amidst the wreckage.

Of course. Law sighed, brushing wood splinters from his coat. So much for a quiet night.