After I lifted my gaze from the sword, I looked toward the Colosseum. Yesterday's fight against the Marine soldier had taught me one crucial lesson: there's no mercy in the arena. The moment you hesitate, the moment you let your opponent breathe, they'll strike without remorse, aiming to kill. This time, my plan was simple: I would face Helmeppo. He didn't seem to be a particularly strong opponent, but I couldn't afford to underestimate him. Fighters like Helmeppo always carried a sword, and I knew how dangerous that made him.
To prepare, I borrowed a small kitchen knife from Mai. Of course, I would have preferred a sword—anyone would—but swords aren't exactly cheap in this world, and in One Piece, money doesn't come easily. I was broke, so I had to make do with the knife. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.
As I walked through the long, dimly lit corridors toward the Colosseum, my heart pounded so loudly I thought it might burst from my chest. The sound echoed in my ears like the war drums from the historical films I used to watch in another life. The rhythmic thumping matched my footsteps, urging me forward despite the fear gripping me.
When I finally stepped into the Colosseum, the roar of the crowd swallowed me whole. My hands trembled as I selected Helmeppo as my opponent. The gate on the other side of the arena creaked open, and he entered. The fight began almost immediately.
I didn't wait for an opening. I lunged forward with my knife, aiming straight for his eye, hoping for a quick and decisive victory. Helmeppo, however, managed to dodge—barely. My blade grazed the skin of his left eye, leaving a shallow cut that began to bleed. Unfortunately, the wound wasn't enough to impair his vision, and he retaliated swiftly.
With a sharp swing of his sword, he struck my shoulder. The pain was immediate, and extreme. But I had anticipated this. I used the injury to close the distance between us, ignoring the burning sensation in my arm. Before he could recover, I drove my knife into his stomach. Then again. And again. And again.
I didn't realize how many times I had stabbed him until I saw the warm blood gushing over my hands, coating them in a sticky, crimson mess. My mind was numb, blank, as if the world around me had faded away. I barely registered what he was doing in those final moments. All I could feel was the repetitive motion of the blade and the warmth of his blood flowing down my fingers.
I wanted to vomit. My stomach churned, my body was shaking from the adrenaline and horror of what I had done. But I knew this was necessary. This was survival. My risky move—allowing myself to take the blow to my shoulder—had paid off. It gave me the opening I needed to end the fight.
As the saying goes, "Fortune favors the bold." Today, boldness had been my ally. And though the cost was high, I had won. I stood in the arena, my bloodied hands trembling, wondering if this was the kind of strength I had been seeking all along.
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