Silence.
A heavy, dead quiet blanketed the stadium for two full seconds before a deafening, historic roar tore through the roof.
"NIGHTMARE! NIGHTMARE! NIGHTMARE!"
At the edge of the canvas, the announcer stood frozen, his eyes wide, his mind short-circuiting like a fried Den Den Mushi. This... this wasn't in the script at all!
In the center of the ring, Rhea stood tall, raising her bruised arms into the glare of the spotlights, her lungs burning as she gasped for air.
Nothing had gone according to plan. Her left thumb was shattered, her body was a map of dark soft-tissue contusions, her right tibia was fractured, three ribs were cracked, and a subtle, agonizing hairline fracture throbbed near the base of her lumbar spine.
Yet, as the wave of cheers washed over her, she didn't care. To hell with the politics, the scripts, and the syndicate schemers. In this fleeting moment, she simply surrendered to the pure, unadulterated joy of victory.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp, terrifying thunder of heavy gunfire drowned out the roaring crowd.
The heavy glass pane of the second-floor luxury box shattered, raining sharp crystal shards down onto the lower stands. A bloody body plummeted from the upper tier, hitting the main aisle with a sickening thud.
screams erupted as panic rippled through the stands.
Through the falling debris, a second, short figure leaped down from the balcony, landing with practiced ease onto the dead body below, using the corpse as a cushion to absorb the impact.
It was Capone "Gang" Bege.
Seeing the commotion, several Junkrat Gang security guards rushed toward the aisle with weapons drawn. Before they could even identify the intruder, a storm of lead erupted from nowhere, riddling them into bloody sieves before they could pull their triggers.
Point-blank gunfire shattered the crowd's last remaining composure.
Instinct took over, and thousands of spectators stampeded toward the narrow exit arches. Parents screamed for their children, gamblers trampled one another on the stone steps, and the vibrant arena transformed into an absolute hellscape in seconds.
"Quiet!"
Bege snatched the Den Den Mushi megaphone from the paralyzed announcer, firing three quick rounds into the ceiling. His voice boomed over the fleeing mob, cold and iron-hard.
"Where is everyone running? The main event is just beginning!"
Grasping the dead Hammy by his thinning hair, Bege dragged the syndicate leader's corpse onto the canvas like a dead dog.
Under the center spotlight, Bege squatted down, lifting Hammy's bloody, unrecognizable face for the remaining crowd and the Den Den Mushi cameras to see.
His expression was arrogant, manic, and completely unhinged.
"Take a good look, everyone! This trash was 'Junkrat' Hammy, leader of the Junkrat Gang! As of tonight, he's dead—by the hand of Capone Bege, Godfather of the Fire Tank Syndicate!"
Bege opened his arms wide, his voice echoing through the acoustics of the dome. "Cheer, you bastards! Cheer for the future King of the West Blue Underground!"
No one cheered. No one clapped.
The remaining spectators stared at the short man in the ring with sheer terror, a single realization dawning on every mind present:
The West Blue... is changing forever.
In the eerie silence, Rhea was the first to find her voice, her eyes wide with shock as she leaned against the turnbuckle. "You're... Capone Bege? How could you do this? Was Hammy not your ally?!"
Bege turned, his dark eyes locking onto the woman who had dared to call him out in public. His expression darkened. Without a word, he raised his heavy flintlock pistol, pointing it dead at her chest.
THUM-THUM-THUM!
Fire snakes leaped from the barrel, spitting lead across the short distance.
In her prime, Rhea could have dodged standard gunfire with her eyes closed using Soru. But now, battered, broken, and at the absolute limit of her stamina, she couldn't move her legs in time.
It's over...
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the cold bite of lead.
The impact never came.
Carefully opening one eye, her jaw dropped. Standing directly in front of her was a massive, jagged pillar of dark red magma, its heat shimmering in the air, completely melting the incoming lead slugs into useless drops of molten metal.
Where did this come from?!
Rhea looked around frantically until her eyes landed on the front-row VIP section.
Ornn stood near the edge of the ring, his hand pressed flat against the canvas, while Yamato stepped up beside him, her iron mace already unslung and resting against her shoulder.
"Is that... you two?!" Rhea gasped.
Ornn and Yamato vaulted over the ropes, stepping cleanly onto the stage. Ornn unclipped a heavy, stylized belt—the Lion King gear—from his waist and thrust it into Rhea's trembling hands.
"Fasten this around your waist," Ornn said, his voice calm and commanding. "And listen to me."
Rhea stared at the belt in confusion, but knowing they had just saved her life, she obeyed without hesitation, snapping the heavy iron buckle into place around her waist.
The moment the latch clicked, an indescribable wave of warmth exploded from her spine, spreading through her limbs like warm wine.
The hairline fracture in her lumbar spine, the shattered tibia, the cracked ribs, and the bone-deep contusions began to knit together at a speed visible to the naked eye. A surging, majestic strength—far beyond anything she had ever felt—flooded her veins, chasing away every trace of exhaustion.
Wait... what is this fuzzy feeling on the top of my head?
Rhea instinctively reached up to touch her scalp, her fingers brushing against two soft, twitching triangles of fur. A small, embarrassed squeak escaped her lips.
"Cat... cat ears?!"
Ornn glanced sideways at her, taking in the sight. Well... a cat-eared grappler is definitely a visual upgrade over a lion-whale.
Though, if he was being critical, that little squeak had slightly ruined the dramatic tension of their standoff.
Across the ring, Bege stared at the cooling magma pillar in genuine astonishment.
Yet, as a veteran conspirator who had survived countless underworld ambushes, he quickly regained his composure, a cold smirk returning to his face.
"Magma manipulation? That wasn't in any of the intelligence reports..." Bege sneered, flicking his cigar ash onto the mat. "No wonder Garner and his men couldn't handle you three. I intended to make your execution a quick side show tonight, but it seems this game is going to be far more entertaining."
Rhea, now completely healed and overflowing with energy, looked at Bege like he was delusional. "Are you out of your mind? Look at the room—it's three against one. We have the clear advantage in strength!"
She honestly couldn't understand why this short mafia boss was still giving grand speeches when he was standing alone against three fighters who had just cleared an entire gang.
"A numerical advantage?" Bege repeated, a dark, mocking laugh bubbling up from his chest.
Two small drawbridges suddenly unlatched and dropped open along the front of his leather vest.
From the tiny portals, hundreds of microscopic figures poured out like swarming ants. The moment they crossed the invisible perimeter a few feet from his body, they expanded instantly back to full, human size.
Within seconds, over a thousand fully armed mafia thugs packed the canvas and the surrounding floor, their rifles and cutlasses pointed dead at the trio.
Bege dropped his burnt-out cigar, crushing it beneath his heel, and spread his arms wide, looking at Rhea with supreme arrogance.
"Tell me, cat girl... who has the numerical advantage now?"
"We do," Ornn replied smoothly, stepping past Rhea.
Bege stared at Ornn as if he were an absolute idiot. Ornn simply tilted his head, giving Yamato a subtle, knowing wink.
Yamato caught the cue immediately. Stepping forward, she drew a deep breath and released her Conqueror's Haki without holding back.
BOOM!
An invisible, crushing shockwave of raw willpower burst from her frame, rippling through the ring like a physical wall of pressure.
The thousand armed thugs behind Bege didn't even have time to raise their weapons. Eyes rolling back into their heads, they collapsed in synchronized waves, dropping to the canvas like freshly harvested wheat. Within three seconds, all thousand men lay unconscious, foaming at the mouth.
Bege's cigar cutter slipped from his trembling fingers, his jaw dropping in sheer, unadulterated horror as he stared at the mountain of his own collapsed army.
Ornn looked at him, offering a warm, cheerful, and sunny smile.
"See? I told you we had the numbers."
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