A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile

Chapter 12: The Scoop of the Century (The Reactions: Part 2)

In a Marine stronghold far from Serapha, the air hung heavy with the faint tang of seawater and iron. The distant crash of waves against stone echoed through the corridors, muffled by the thick walls that had weathered countless storms. Beyond the narrow windows, the moon hung high over the ocean, casting silver streaks across the black expanse of water.

Inside the main office, a dim lantern flickered against the walls lined with maps and wanted posters, their edges curling from the salt-heavy air. The faint hum of Den Den Mushi resting in their cradles added a constant undercurrent of tension, as if the world beyond the fortress walls might erupt at any moment.

Vice Admiral Smoker stood near the room's center, shoulders squared with rigid tension as he stared down at the newspaper clutched tightly in his fist. Smoke curled from the twin cigars clenched between his teeth, thin wisps drifting upward like ghosts of his agitation. His sharp eyes, hardened from years of chasing pirates through storm and steel, narrowed at the grainy image printed on the front page.

"Tch. Crocodile..." Smoker growled the name like a curse, the paper crinkling beneath his fingers as he tightened his grip. "That bastard never stays buried for long."

Beside him, Tashigi adjusted her glasses with a quick, habitual motion. Her brow furrowed as she studied the photograph. Beneath the harsh overhead light, the details seemed sharper—the hard line of Crocodile's shoulders, the ever-present cigar clutched between his fingers, and the woman beside him, half-turned as if she had sensed the Den Den Mushi's lens. Crimson silk clung to her frame like shadows wrapped in fire, gold accents catching the light with regal defiance. Her face, partially obscured by the angle of the shot, held just enough clarity to reveal high cheekbones and a gaze that seemed to pierce through the page itself.

"There's no known bounty or criminal record matching her description," Tashigi said, flipping through a stack of documents spread across the nearby desk. "I've cross-referenced the image with all registered pirates, known underworld affiliates, and persons of interest reported in the last five years... Nothing. If she's been involved with the underworld, she's stayed well hidden until now."

Smoker exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips in a steady stream as he lowered the newspaper to the desk. The grainy photo seemed to stare back at him, as if mocking the years he had spent chasing men like Crocodile across the seas.

"Nobody that close to Crocodile is innocent," he stated bluntly, his voice roughened by smoke and certainty alike. "Whoever she is, she's a threat—and if she's helping him rebuild, then we're looking at more than just one pirate making a comeback."

Tashigi glanced up from the papers, concern flickering behind her glasses. "Sir... Do you think he's aiming to restart Baroque Works?"

Smoker's jaw tensed. The thought had already crossed his mind, more than once. Baroque Works had been a syndicate built on deception, its agents embedded in every corner of society until the very foundation of Alabasta had nearly crumbled beneath their influence. With Crocodile at the helm, it had taken a warlord's fall and the intervention of some of the world's strongest pirates to dismantle the organization. But power like that didn't just vanish—it lingered in the shadows, waiting for the right hands to seize it again.

And if Crocodile's hands were reaching once more... the world would feel the tremors soon enough.

"Whether it's Baroque Works or something worse, we're not waiting for him to make the first move," Smoker said firmly. He turned toward the rows of Den Den Mushi lining the shelves beside the maps. Each snail lay dormant in its shell, their eyes closed as if waiting to be awakened. Smoker reached out, fingers brushing the shell of the communication line directly connected to Marine HQ.