Bon Clay's mascara eyes scanned the chaos. Rain dripped from the open ceiling. Screams echoed from crumbling walls. He'd just seen Crocodile take a fire-wrapped punch to the aquarium tank—things were falling apart.
"So much drama, who dared to threaten my friends?" he shouted, face tightened into a scowl.
Then, a whisper —cold and smooth—drifted from behind him.
"A vengeance."
He spun.
And saw… himself.
His face smirked back at him, perfectly mimicking his quirks, stance, and eyeliner. But that wasn't the part that unsettled him—it was that his double had no shadow.
The mirror image melted away like fog as a raven-haired woman stepped from the cracked remains of a glossy chandelier.
Clad in a red cloak with a sleek, flamboyant hat, the woman's eyes were like polished glass—clear but unfeeling.
"You're an assassin, correct?" she said coldly. "Let's not drag this out."
Bon Clay pouted. "Why in a rush, darling! I'm not looking for a foe here; I am searching for a true friend!"
He quickly touched the woman's face, struck a flamboyant pose, and transformed into her with his Mane Mane no Mi.
"See? Gorgeous. Would it be great if we became friends instead?"
Alvida didn't blink. Her expression didn't shift—not even an eye twitch.
Then, her body shimmered, and suddenly, ten Alvidas surrounded him in a perfect circle, all staring at him. None of them were amused.
Bon Clay's confidence faltered.
"Eh…? A mirage? A trick… What kind of devil fruit power do you have?"
He spun in a pirouette and threw a kick—straight through one. His foot passed harmlessly through empty space.
Then everything went black.
The casino is gone.
Bon Clay stumbled, now in a shimmering void of infinite mirrors—each one reflecting a different version of himself. In one, he was crying. In another, he was dead. In another, he was happy. In another… he was nothing.
His breath caught. Panic crept in.
"Where… what is this scary place?" he muttered, looking around wildly.
Then her voice boomed, distorted and distant—as if the mirrors spoke.
"Welcome to my domain. In this place, I am a goddess."
He saw her reflection everywhere—but nowhere real.
A fist struck him from behind. He turned—nothing. A kick from above. A blast of mirrored glass slashed across his arm. Every attack came from nowhere, everywhere, and never in the same direction twice.
Bon Clay tried to find an opening but couldn't know where the woman was. He was kicked, bludgeoned by a big mace, slashed, and shot.
He was bleeding now. Dizzy. Losing track of which reflection was accurate.
Then… silence.
She stepped forward. The real woman.
Standing in front of him.
Eyes sharp.
Not angry. Not proud.
Just cold.
"I don't really care about what you will do to the people here," she said quietly. "But the man who saved me from torturous days deemed you guys dangerous and needed to be eliminated."
Her finger touched his bloody forehead.
"Now your devil fruit looked valuable. I am sure my Captain would like your devil fruit."
The woman punched him, and with a shattering flash, the Mirror World cracked—
Bon Clay was flung into the hall from the Rain Dinner basement, skidding across the soaked floor.
He coughed and tried to stand. Every part of him ached.
She emerged behind him from the glimmer of a reflective puddle. She stepped on his battered shoulder, Keeping him in place.
***
Kuina stood in a ruined corridor. Her dark halter top was soaked with rain and sweat. The Wado Ichimonji rested quietly at her side, its blade humming silently.
From the waxy ruins in front of her, Mr. 3 slowly stepped forward, eyes sharp behind circular glasses. Behind him, Miss Goldenweek calmly dipped her brush into a paint can.
"You're scary, I'll give you that," Mr. 3 said. "But what confused me was why a powerful swordswoman like you had never been heard in the Grand Line before."
Kuina didn't answer. She tightened the grip on her sword.
Goldenweek calmly painted a green spiral on the floor.
"Let's make her... calm," the girl muttered.
The moment the brush touched the ground, Kuina felt the pull on her mind—a fog, like her thoughts were floating away. Her breath slowed, and her sword arm trembled.
But then she exhaled, slow and measured.
Her will flared—and the illusion shattered.
She darted forward, blade slicing through the painted mark in a single flick.
Goldenweek blinked. "Huh?"
Kuina's voice was calm and focused.
"My mind doesn't belong to you, little girl."
Before Goldenweek could lift her brush again, Kuina struck with the back of her sword, knocking the girl against the wall, unconscious.
Then, behind her, Mr. 3's wax construct emerged: a massive humanoid, plated in thick wax armor, with arms like battering rams. Its mouth hissed steam as wax gears churned in its chest.
"That was scary," Mr. 3 said from atop the construct's shoulder. "But can your sword cut a condensed wax? In this form, my wax is stronger than steel."
The giant wax mecha launched a flurry of wax fists. Kuina dodged—barely—her breath steady, her eyes calm. Each strike shattered the floor around her.
She whispered, "Senbon Zakura."
With a slash, Wado Ichimonji's pinkish slash shimmered, then fragmented—not truly breaking, but scattering into dozens of razor-thin petals, glinting like sakura under the hallway's fractured lights.
Mr. 3 frowned. "What is this...?"
The construct moved to block, but the slashes danced like drifting cherry blossoms, bypassing armor and slicing through joints and wax gears. One by one, wax limbs fell off.
Mr. 3 screamed as the core of his wax construct exploded into waxy sludge.
Kuina walked forward, her blade glinting.
She stopped in front of him as he backed away on the ground.
"That was an impressive feat you displayed with your devil fruit," she said quietly, "but too bad I've slept with an imaginative devil fruit user this past two years."
One clean strike. The flat of her blade knocked him out cold.
Kuina resheathed her sword and moved on.