The Red Force stood as a testament to the resilience of the Red Hair Pirates. The once-battered ship now gleamed under the setting sun, its hull patched, its mast repaired, and its sails mended. The crew had worked tirelessly through the night and into the day, their determination fueled by the absence of their comrades. Benn Beckman stood at the helm, a stream of smoke trailing from the cigarette between his fingers as he looked over the horizon. The repairs were finally complete, but the weight of their missing crewmates hung heavy in the air.
Bonk Punch wiped the sweat from his glistening bare head as he tightened the last bolt on the mast. "That should hold," he said, his deep voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "She's not pretty, but she'll sail." Monster, the large monkey with a curious glint in its eyes, swung playfully from Bonk Punch's arm and nodded in agreement.
Gab, his thick dark mane waving behind him, darted across the deck, checking the rigging and securing loose lines. "She's ready, Benn!" he called out, his enthusiasm undimmed despite the long hours of work. "Just say the word!"
Benn stepped down from the helm, pulling on his cigarette. The Red Force was seaworthy again, but the crew was incomplete. The absence of their comrades was a gaping hole, one that couldn't be filled by repairs or supplies.
"We've done all we can here," Benn said urgently as smoke puffed out. "Now it's time to find the others."
The crew gathered around him. Bonk Punch crossed his muscled arms, his brow furrowed. "We're with you, Benn. But where do we start? They could be anywhere by now."
Benn's eyes tightened, flicking the ash from the cigarette between his fingers, as he pulled out a map and spread it across a barrel. "Limejuice said the slaver's ship was heading east. If we follow that course, we might catch up to them before they reach the next port."
Monster leaned over the map, his massive frame casting a shadow. With a questioning look, he tapped the map with his monkey fingers.
"Then we keep looking," Benn said, his voice firm. "We don't leave our own behind. Not ever."
Gab clenched meaty his fists. "We'll find them, Benn. And when we do, we'll make those slavers regret the day they crossed us!"
Benn allowed himself a faint smile as he took a pull from the cigarette. "That's the spirit. Now, let's get moving. Every minute we waste is a minute they're in danger."
The crew sprang into action, their movements swift with purpose. Bonk Punch and Gab manned the sails, their strength and experience ensuring the ship would move at top speed. Monster scurried up the rigging, his monkey frame nimble as he secured the lines. Benn returned to the helm, the ash of his cigarette glowing as his focus fixed on the watery horizon.
As the Red Force set sail, the wind filled its masts, propelling the ship forward with a speed that belied its recent damage. The crew worked in silence, their focus unwavering. Benn's grip tightened on the wheel as the ship cut through the waves.
*****
The festival's cooking competition draws locals and visitors alike to showcase their culinary skills. The competition was held in a large, open pavilion near the heart of the festival grounds, its wooden beams adorned with colorful banners and strings of lanterns that cast a warm, inviting light. Long tables were set up for the contestants, each station equipped with fresh ingredients, gleaming utensils, and roaring stoves. The air was bursting with the mouthwatering aromas of sizzling meats, fragrant spices, and sweet desserts, mingling with the excited chatter of the crowd.
At the center of the pavilion, a raised platform held the judges' table, where Harper, Vaughn, and a few other esteemed experts sat, ready to taste and critique the dishes. Harper stood out among the judges, glittering with sequins that caught the light with every movement, adding a dazzling effect and making Harper's presence even more striking amidst the colorful festival decor.
He leaned forward eagerly, his clipboard in hand, already jotting down notes before the competition had even begun. Vaughn, seated beside him, was the picture of calm, his dark-skinned features relaxed but attentive, his dreadlocks tied back neatly. The other judges included a renowned local chef, a visiting food critic, and Nanette Ellington, whose refined palate made her a natural choice for the panel.
The crowd gathered around the pavilion as the contestants took their places. Among them were seasoned chefs, home cooks, and even a few adventurous visitors who had decided to try their hand at island cuisine. The competition was fierce, but the atmosphere was lighthearted, with laughter and friendly banter filling the air.
Harper stood up, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "Welcome, everyone, to the Founder's Festival Cooking Competition!" he announced, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. "Tonight, we celebrate the art of cooking, the flavors of our island, and the creativity of our talented contestants. Let the competition begin!"
The contestants sprang into action, their hands moving swiftly as they chopped, stirred, and sautéed. The crowd watched in awe, their cheers and gasps echoing through the pavilion as the dishes began to take shape. Harper and Vaughn observed from the judges' table with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
As the first dishes were presented, Harper's enthusiasm was impossible to contain. He took a bite of a beautifully plated seafood dish, his eyes widening in delight. "Oh my stars, this is incredible! The flavors, the presentation—it's like a symphony in my mouth! Vaughn, you have to try this!"
Vaughn chuckled fondly, but he could not hide his exasperation. "Harper, you're supposed to be impartial."
Harper waved a hand dismissively, his tone light. "Oh, hush. I'm just appreciating the artistry. Besides, you can't tell me this isn't amazing."
Vaughn took a bite, his demeanor softening as he nodded in approval. "It's good. Really good." He spoke around his mouth full of food.
The competition continued, with each dish more impressive than the last. One contestant presented a delicate dessert made with wisteria blossoms, its floral aroma, and intricate design, earning gasps from the crowd. Another showcased a hearty stew made with locally sourced ingredients, its rich flavors and comforting warmth reminding everyone of home.
As the final dishes were presented, the judges deliberated, their discussions lively and passionate. Harper was particularly vocal, his dramatic flair adding to the excitement. "This dessert is a masterpiece! The balance of flavors, the texture—it's perfection! But this stew—oh, it's like a hug in a bowl. How can we possibly choose?"
Vaughn interjected with a calm smile. "We'll have to consider all the elements—taste, presentation, and creativity. But I think we can all agree that this has been an incredible competition."
In the end, the judges reached a decision, and Harper stood to announce the winners. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's been an absolute delight to taste your creations. But now, the moment you've all been waiting for—the winners of the Founder's Festival Cooking Competition!"
As the winners were announced, the crowd erupted in cheers, their faces lit with pride and joy. The pavilion was filled with laughter and applause accentuated by the golden glow of the lanterns. Amidst the lively atmosphere, Shanks stood at the pavilion's edge, his arms crossed over his chest with a pensive expression. His eyes were distant as he stared off into the crowd.
When Marya noticed him standing alone, she approached him. She tilted her head, studying him with concern. "Shanks," she said, her calm voice carried a note of warmth. "You look like you're miles away. What's wrong?"
Shanks glanced at her, softening slightly, though the worry in his eyes remained. He sighed, his tone quieter than usual. "It's my crew. I thought they'd have made it here by now. The storm scattered us, but they're resourceful. They should've found their way."
Marya's brow furrowed, reflecting a flicker of understanding. "You're worried about them."
Shanks nodded, his gaze drifting back to the crowd. "Yeah. They're my family. I trust them to handle themselves, but... I can't help but wonder if something's gone wrong. The sea's unpredictable, and that storm was no joke."
Marya crossed her arms thoughtfully. "They're strong. If anyone can make it through, it's them. But I get it. Waiting is the hardest part."
Shanks chuckled, though there was little humor in it. "You're right about that. I'm not used to sitting around, though. It's not exactly my style."
Marya's lips curved into a small smile. "Well, you're not exactly sitting around. You've been sparring, exploring, and now you're here at the festival. You've made yourself useful."
Shanks grinned faintly. "Yeah, I guess I have. And this festival—it's something else. Your people know how to throw a party."
Marya nodded, reflecting a flicker of pride. "We do. But if you're really worried about your crew, we can talk to Captain Knox about sending out a search party. The island's guardians know these waters better than anyone. They could help."
Shanks considered her offer, "I appreciate that, Marya. But my crew... they're survivors. They'll find their way here. I just need to be patient."
Marya's smile widened slightly. "You are not good at waiting. If you change your mind, can we talk to Captain Knox?"
Shanks laughed, his usual easygoing demeanor returning. "Not even a little. But I'll manage. Besides, I've got a sparring match with you to look forward to. That should keep me busy."
Marya gleamed with a spark of competitiveness. "Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're worried."
Shanks grinned playfully. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
*****
The hold of the Navy ship was dark and oppressive, the air thick with the scent of salt and despair. Chains rattled as the prisoners shifted restlessly, their spirits tested.
"Alright," Limejuice whispered, scanning the dimly lit hold. "Midnight's almost here. Everyone remembers the plan?"
Hongo, focused, nodded grimly. "I'll pick the locks. Lucky and Eli, you take out the guards on this deck. Snake, you and I will head for the armory. Limejuice, you cover us from a distance."
Lucky Roux grinned, "And once we're armed, we take the ship. Easy."
Eli smirked with anticipation. "Easy for you to say. You've done this before, right?"
Building Snake, leaned forward. "Enough talk. Let's move."
As the ship's bell tolled at midnight, signaling the changing of the guard, the group sprang into action. Hongo worked quickly, his lockpick slipping into the shackles with practiced ease. Within moments, their chains fell away, and they were free.
Lucky Roux and Eli moved first, swift and silent as they approached the two guards at the door. Lucky's fist connected with the first guard's jaw, knocking him out cold before he could raise the alarm. Eli disarmed the second guard with a swift kick, then delivered a precise strike to the back of his neck, sending him crumpling to the ground.
"Clear," Lucky whispered, his grin returning to his round face as he relieved the guards of their weapons.
Meanwhile, Hongo and Building Snake slipped past them, heading for the stairs that led to the upper decks. Lime juice followed at a distance; his rifle slung over his shoulder as he probed for any signs of trouble.
The armory was two decks up, just as Building Snake had said. The door was locked, but Hongo made quick work of it, his lockpick turning the mechanism with a soft click. Inside, the shelves were lined with weapons—swords, rifles, and ammunition. Hongo and Snake armed themselves quickly.
"Let's get these to the others," Hongo said, handing a pair of pistols to Snake.
As they made their way back to the lower deck, Limejuice took up a position near the stairs, his rifle trained on the corridor. "Hurry up," he muttered under his breath. "We don't have all night."
Back in the hold, Lucky Roux and Eli were already rallying the other prisoners. "Listen up!" Lucky said with a low, authoritative voice. "We're taking this ship. If you want your freedom, now's the time to fight for it!"
The prisoners, emboldened by the sight of armed allies, nodded eagerly. Eli handed out weapons, his smirk returning as he saw the resolve in their eyes. "Let's show these Marines what happens when they mess with us."
The group moved as one, their footsteps echoing softly as they made their way to the upper decks. Limejuice fell in beside Hongo and Snake, his rifle at the ready. "We've got company," he said, nodding toward a group of Marines rounding the corner.
The fight was fierce but brief. Limejuice's rifle cracked through the air, taking down Marines with pinpoint accuracy. Lucky Roux and Eli charged forward, their fists and blades a blur as they disarmed and incapacitated the guards. Hongo and Building Snake fought with calculated execution, their movements efficient and deadly.
As the last of the Marines on the deck fell, the group turned their attention to the helm. The captain of the ship stood there, his face pale but his hand steady on the hilt of his sword. "You'll never get away with this," he spat, his voice trembling angrily.
Hongo stepped forward, locking onto the captain. "We already have."
The captain lunged, but Hongo was faster. He disarmed the man with a swift strike, then knocked him out cold with a single punch. The ship was theirs.
Limejuice lowered his rifle. "We've got the ship. Now what?"
Eli grinned, gleaming with triumph. "Now we sail. And we send a message to the Marines and the slavers—don't mess with the Red Hair Pirates."
The group erupted in cheers, their spirits lifted by their hard-won victory. But their celebration was short-lived. In the distance, the silhouette of another ship appeared on the horizon—a familiar one with crimson sails and a figurehead shaped like a dragon.
"Is that…?" Lucky Roux squinted, his grin widening.
Hongo's lips curved into a faint smile. "The Red Force. Benn's come for us."