Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce

Jack put the map away without looking at it again. "Keep up," he told Helena, then changed direction, turning off the dirt road onto a narrower side path. Low earthen walls and withered shrubs lined both sides. The sand beneath his feet gave way to gravel, and little stones rattled and rolled beneath his boots.

The privates behind him fell out of step for half a beat, then regained their rhythm. Helena quickened her pace and caught up to a position just behind his flank.

At the end of the path stood a rusty iron gate, half open. Its hinges needed oil, and they creaked whenever the wind blew.

Inside the courtyard stood an abandoned two-story brick building. Most of its windowpanes were broken, and the wind had shredded the edges of the curtains into strips that fluttered faintly in the afternoon sunlight.

Jack pushed the iron gate open and walked in. His Observation Haki told him the ability user was in the innermost room on the second floor.

Helena stopped at the courtyard entrance and signaled for the privates to spread out and surround it. She remained by the gate, where she could see the passages on both sides of the building, her hand resting on her sword hilt.

Jack entered the building and followed the footprints up the stairs. The wooden boards creaked under his weight, each step shaking the floor and sending dust sifting down through the cracks. He was too large for the staircase, which was only wide enough for him to climb sideways. His shoulders scraped the walls on either side, leaving fresh streaks in the white plaster.

The door at the end of the second-floor hallway was closed. Cracks ran through its wooden panels, with peeling paint along their edges casting tiny shadows in the light. Jack approached, and the door opened by itself when he was half a meter away—or, more precisely, someone pushed it open from inside.

A man stood behind it, lean and in his early thirties, with a pointed chin, narrow eyes, and an upturned mouth. His gaze traveled up from Jack's boots, past his white military trousers, his captain's uniform, and the gleaming epaulets on his shoulders, before finally settling on his expressionless face.

As he looked at Jack, the corners of his mouth curled a little higher.

"A Navy captain?" His voice was neither loud nor soft, with a faint rasp. "Since when did the Goa Kingdom have such a high-ranking officer around?"

Jack looked at him without speaking. His Observation Haki confirmed it: by East Blue standards, this man barely qualified as strong.

When Jack said nothing, the man leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. His posture was relaxed, like an ordinary man running into a neighbor on his doorstep.

"Captain, sir, you didn't bring all these men to my rundown little yard just for a friendly visit, did you?" His tone retained that casual contempt. "I'm very cooperative with the government. Just say the word. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. No need to be so serious."

Jack took a step forward. His boot struck the wooden hallway floor with a dull thud that echoed twice through the empty corridor before fading. His height made the ceiling light seem even lower. It shone down from above his head, casting broad shadows across his face.

The man straightened away from the doorframe, lifted his heels slightly, then lowered them again. His gaze fixed on Jack's shoulders, studying the outlines of the two rows of cannon barrels pushing against his uniform, as though calculating something.

"Nothing to say?" His mouth curled again, but the smile was no longer as composed as before. There was a probing edge to it now. "Then I'm closing the door. You can leave."

He reached out to push the door. The wooden panel moved inward less than five centimeters beneath his palm.

Jack planted his hand on it. His hand extended well beyond the panel's width, and the wood gave a dull thump beneath his palm. The door stopped.

The ease around the man's mouth finally vanished completely. He stepped back half a pace, tapped his toes lightly against the floor, and sprang two meters backward, landing by the wall at the end of the hallway. He moved so fast that an ordinary person could never have seen how that half-step happened. It was as though something had launched him backward.

"Are you trying to arrest me?" His voice rose a little, losing some of its rasp and gaining a restrained tension in its place. "Have I broken any laws?"

Jack raised his right hand. A faint black sheen gleamed across his fist beneath the light.

"That doesn't matter. Let me land a punch first."

His movement was unhurried, as ordinary as reaching for a teacup on a table. His fist traced an arc through the air toward the Spring-Spring Fruit user's chest.

The man could clearly see the path of the incoming fist. It was not particularly fast, yet he found he could not dodge it. In that instant, his body reached a conclusion: he could not withstand its force either. That instinct came from years of gauging force with his body. The Spring-Spring Fruit had given him an exceptionally keen sense for impacts, allowing him to judge the exact poundage of every attack.

The force behind that punch made the hair on his back stand on end.

He activated his ability the instant before Jack's fist touched his chest. His rib cage contracted inward like a compressed spring, absorbing Jack's impact before rebounding. A reaction force traveled back along Jack's fist, striking it with exactly the same force as his punch, but in the opposite direction.

Jack's hand bounced back. His knuckles brushed the fabric over the man's chest, wrinkling it with the impact, but leaving no mark on his skin. His own strength drove his fist back half a foot. His wrist tingled slightly, then returned to normal.

The Spring-Spring Fruit user leaned against the wall at the end of the hallway. His chest heaved twice, then quickly steadied. He looked at Jack, and his mouth curled upward again. This time, it was a genuine smile, smug with the success of his test.

"Interesting." His voice regained its casual contempt, though his breathing was a little heavier than before. "You're pretty strong, but hitting yourself hurts too, doesn't it?"

"That is interesting. Well, would you look at that. Trouble's like a spring—the weaker you are, the stronger it gets. I just wonder whether you can handle what comes next, Springer, user of the Spring-Spring Fruit."

Jack raised his right hand and punched a second time. This time, he neither held back in the same way nor used a probing speed. He used what he judged to be thirty percent of his strength. His fist struck and rebounded. The tingling was stronger this time, spreading from his wrist into his forearm before fading. Heartsteel's hardened layer and his Armament Haki stopped the recoil at the surface of his skin, leaving his flesh uninjured.

Springer's back struck the wall with a dull thud, leaving a shallow crack. He steadied himself, his chest rising and falling faster than before, but the corners of his mouth remained raised.

"That's it?" He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Putting that much strength into hitting me can't feel good for you."

Jack said nothing. He threw a third punch, doubling the force.

His fist struck the man's chest and bounced back, but Jack's body was so tough that this little damage felt like a tickle. He flexed his wrist, the joint giving a faint crack before returning to normal. Springer's back smashed a visible dent into the wall. Bits of plaster sifted down from above onto his shoulders. His expression began to change. I'm done. I'm done. This feels like it's going to kill me.

Jack increased his strength again. His fist rushed out with a gust that swept up the dust in the hallway, sending it swirling through the air. Springer activated his ability to absorb and reflect the impact again, but his body could no longer bear it. His back crashed through a thin section of wall. Broken bricks struck the opposite hallway wall and bounced back. He dropped to one knee, coughed twice, and a trace of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

He raised his head to look at Jack, the two-and-a-half-meter figure reflected in his pupils. His lips moved, but no sound came out. His arrogant shell had cracked, revealing the fear beneath.

"What kind of monster are you...?" The words squeezed out of his throat, hoarse and trembling.

Jack did not answer. He kept punching. He found that hitting himself like this felt rather good.

Springer drew on the full extent of his ability. His legs bent as far as they could, his calf muscles taut and his knees almost touching his chest, like a spring compressed to its limit. The instant Jack struck him, he sprang away. He shot through the hole in the wall at the end of the second-floor hallway, tore through half a wall and a floor, and flew toward the edge of the city like a stone launched from a slingshot, his body tracing an arc through the air.

Jack did not hesitate. He pushed off the floor and pursued him through the hole. Activating Geppo, he rose through midair without landing, kicking off the air in rapid succession. Each step found an invisible foothold, sending his body shooting in the same direction like an arrow released from its bow. From above, he spotted the man's figure, his gray coat catching flecks of sunlight as he rapidly fled. He was fast, but nowhere near concealed enough.

Jack extended his right hand, holding his index and middle fingers together. A speck of yellow light shone at their tips.

Finger Pistol secret art—Mystic Shot.

An energy bullet shot from his fingertips, trailing a thread-thin line of light through the air and hitting the man's left shoulder. Three smaller magic missiles followed and struck him. Springer tilted in midair and landed, immediately using his ability to adjust his launch angle, changing his straight path into an irregular zigzag. But Jack could see him clearly from above. Pursuing with Geppo was easier than chasing him on the ground. Every three seconds, he could close another hundred meters, and every ten seconds, he could fire another Mystic Shot.

Springer's leaps grew shorter and shorter. He was nearly exhausted. He crossed more than half the city, brushed past a church spire, skimmed over the market awnings, then plunged into the dilapidated streets of the slums. He bounced twice along the street. His third launch was noticeably weaker. He stumbled on landing, struck his knee against a protruding stone, and pitched forward. After rolling halfway over, he landed facedown at the entrance to a narrow alley.

Outside the alley was a small clearing. An old wooden table stood there, with a large iron pot on top. Steam rose from the porridge inside, and a thin sheen of oil floated on its surface. More than a dozen people, mostly elderly people and children, stood in line beside the table, holding coarse porcelain bowls and waiting for porridge. An elderly woman in an old coat was serving it, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Holding a long-handled wooden ladle, she was scooping porridge into a child's bowl. The child held a rag beneath the bowl to keep from getting burned.

Springer pushed himself up from the ground. His legs trembled. Mystic Shot had burned a hole through the clothing on his shoulder, and the skin around its edges was red, swollen, and hot. His breaths were rapid and shallow, and he tasted blood. At least two ribs had cracked during the earlier rebounds, and every breath brought a sharp, stabbing pain.

He lifted his head and saw the elderly people and children in line. His pupils contracted, but his hands were already braced against the ground as he prepared for one final launch.

Jack descended from the air.

His boots struck the flagstones with a dull impact. The ground sank slightly beneath his weight, and bits of gravel rolled outward. He stood between Springer and the porridge stand, his back to the old wooden table as he faced the man. His long shadow covered the entire alley entrance and fell across the people as well.

Springer looked at Jack, his lips moving. He wanted to speak, but there was not enough air left in his lungs. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, ran down his chin, and dripped onto the ground, soaking a small dark patch into the dust. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled and he dropped to them again.

Jack walked over and crouched in front of him. He looked down at the face smeared with dust and blood. Fear and resistance had still lingered in those eyes before, but now they were gone, leaving only a quiet resignation.

Jack reached out and pressed his palm against the man's chest. The movement was unhurried, without any unnecessary force, like pressing against a door panel. The chest caved in an inch. Bones broke with a muffled crunch, and the sound of breathing stopped. Springer's body twitched, then went limp. He toppled sideways, his eyes half closed. Blood slowly seeped from his mouth, but no longer gushed out.

A system notification lit up at the edge of his vision. Sacrifice complete. Paramecia · Spring-Spring Fruit Lineage Factor extracted. Heartsteel maximum increased by 10. Current Heartsteel stacks: 122/140. Dark Harvest: 50. Damnation: 34.

The random draw began, with three options cycling through the center of his vision. Jack did not look. He closed the panel, stood up, and turned around, leaving the corpse behind him to face the old porridge table and the elderly people and children waiting in line.

The woman's wooden ladle froze in midair. Porridge still dripped slowly from it, falling into the bowl and onto the table, where it spread into a ring of moisture. The child holding the bowl did not run. He kept it raised in his hands and stared straight at Jack, that towering white figure reflected in his pupils. The others in line were much the same. Some remained crouched where they were, while others stood at the alley entrance, afraid to move either forward or back. Every gaze was fixed on that two-and-a-half-meter figure's back.

Helena ran over from the other end of the alley, her footsteps hurried but her breathing steady. She glanced at the corpse, quickly jotted a few notes in her notebook, then stopped two paces from Jack's side.

"Death confirmed." She closed the notebook, keeping her voice low. "Springer, user of the Spring-Spring Fruit. Bounty: twenty-four million Beli. Elimination confirmed."

Jack did not turn around. He looked down at the knuckles of his right hand. A faint red mark remained where his own force had rebounded against him, but with the protection of Armament Haki and Hardened Skin, it no longer hurt. Only a shallow pressure mark remained.

"Captain, sir, shall we withdraw?" Helena asked.