“Eh?” Bat-Bella froze mid-air, wings stiff.
The chalice lay in glittering shards on the stone floor. Dreams of wealth, bragging rights, and her carefully curated “I’m-better-than-you-peasants” image collapsed instantly.
“NOOOOOO~!” she wailed, voice cracking the room’s acoustics.
Irving and Ivy blinked as their vision finally returned.
“What the heck is happening?” Irving muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Ivy inhaled sharply.
“GASP! THE CHALICE!” she screeched, dropping to her knees.
Irving spun toward Kovalski.
“Did you shoot the chalice, Kovalski?!”
Kovalski shrugged, already composing the lie with zero guilt.
“Oops. Sorry. I was aiming at that idiot pink bat. My eyes were still blurry.”
He said it smoothly. Too smoothly.
“Nooo… Kovalski, whyyy…” Ivy whimpered.
But Irving didn’t explode. He just looked at Kovalski, lips curling into a tiny, dangerous smile—one of recognition, not surprise.
“HUAAAAAAA!!” Ivy sobbed again.
“HUAAAAAAA!!” Bat-Bella joined in, dramatically syncing the misery like a cursed duet.
Their despair echoed gloriously.
Then the crystal pedestal suddenly hummed again.
“Congratulations,” Diamon D Roger’s voice boomed, calm and ceremonial. “That’s the correct answer.”
Ivy and Bella stopped crying mid-hiccup.
“Huh?”
“The Nakama Test is about loyalty,” Roger continued. “Only a crew that truly values their bond is worthy to witness my treasure.”
Clank Clank Clank.
Gears turned beneath the pedestal.
The floor around the crystal began to sink in a perfect circle. As it descended, stone steps unfolded downward, forming a spiral staircase that led into darkness below.
“Come,” Roger voice said, voice lowering with reverence, “Let me show you my greatest treasure. The Single Piece.”
The Misfits stared at one another, faces glowing again with shameless hope.
They nodded. Slowly at first. Then enthusiastically.
Any memory of trying to ventilate each other with bullets evaporated.
They smiled. Like idiots. Loyal idiots.
And with that same smile, they marched toward the stairs together.
---
Meanwhile, one level above, a squad of Goldenclaws soldiers and steam armors entered the treasure room, sweeping the area for any trace left by the Murican spies.
Megan, who had just reached the chamber’s edge, froze before stepping into the secret path the Misfits had opened earlier. She pressed her back against the wall, observing the patrol patterns, armor loadouts, and sight cones like a habit drilled into her bones.
“Tch… They’re already here…” Megan whispered.
She tapped her earpiece.
“Overlord, pursuers are inside the dungeon,” she reported. “No chance I slip past them clean on the way back. Not with this crowd.”
Janet’s voice came through the static-crisp line.
“Then stealth is no longer the plan,” Janet replied. “Extracting the Misfits just got upgraded to mandatory. You’ll need firepower.”
Megan exhaled, almost amused at the understatement.
“True,” she said. “I’ll go loud when needed.”
“Megan, move,” Janet urged. “The old man’s clone doesn’t have much time. We can’t stall.”
Megan checked the mag-clips on her vest by touch alone, a final ritual before chaos.
“Roger that.”
Without another word, she stepped onto the secret path and began her descent, boots hitting ancient stone floor. The tunnel swallowed her, away from the sweep above and toward the idiots she now had to save.
---
The Shrine of the Single Piece
The circular staircase delivered the Misfits into a chamber drowned in darkness. The only visible thing was the cube-crystal on the pedestal, glowing faintly, humming like a machine pretending to be magical.
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“Now behold,” Diamon D Roger’s voice rolled out, ceremonious, ancient, and irritatingly proud.
“The shrine of the Single Piece.”
THUD THUD THUD
A chain of heavy mechanical clanks answered him. Lights snapped on one by one in exaggerated sequence, flaring to life like a theatrical fuse being lit. The room revealed itself fully: rows of equipment, trinkets, skulls, armor, and weapons — all arranged obsessively neat, museum-style, illuminated with dramatic care.
Except none of it looked impressive.
No shimmer. No gold. No priceless glow. Just stuff.
Bella was already at the display rack, hands behind her back, inspecting three dusty katanas mounted like holy relics. Thick webs drooped from them.
“These katanas,” Bella asked, “are they expensive?”
She yanked one off the mount.
CRK-SHHATTER.
The blade disintegrated in her hand, crumbling into glitterless disappointment.
“Nope. Don’t think so.”
She dropped the hilt and fragments onto the floor like trash, dust pluming up around her boots.
The rest of the squad moved inward, each new item assaulting their expectations further:
- A bulky exoskeleton that looked like a half-finished cyborg project, topped with a steel pompadour hair, literal hairstyle molded in metal.
- A human skeleton wearing a gentlemen's suit and a violin, still sporting a fully intact afro wig, somehow surviving longer than its owner.
- A framed deer skull, decorated with a crooked pink top hat, like the world’s least threatening warning sign.
Ivy dragged her palm down her face.
“What is all this…” she muttered.
Diamon D Roger’s voice returned, quieter now, echoing differently in the stone, heavy with misplaced sentiment.
“These are the reminders of my nakama…”
“My true friends…”
Irving stared at the room again.
“This isn’t a shrine,” he said flatly.
“It’s a mausoleum.”
Silence fell — the kind that made their earlier gunfight look emotionally stable by comparison.
At the center of the chamber wall hung a massive curtain, covering something deliberate, important, or at least trying to be.
Diamon D Roger recording continues.
“I really want to tell the story of my journey with my friends,” Roger declared. “The day we first met, the other bandits we defeated, the people we liberated—”
“Oh please, no more long story,” Kovalski whispered.
“But it’s going to be a very long story,” Roger continued, “and I believe you’re all already very curious about the Single Piece.”
“Oh thank god,” Ivy exhaled, hands trembling, “no flashback… I guess…”
“Now,” Roger said, “behind this curtain is the biggest treasure my nakama and I found after all our adventures. Something that made us earn the title: Bandit King.”
The Misfits stood before the curtain, hearts pounding — excitement and anxiety mixing into a dangerous cocktail.
“Something that even you,” Roger raised his voice dramatically, “without realizing it, always had in your heart from the very beginning of your journey!”
“Huh?” the Misfits whispered in confused harmony.
The curtain dropped.
It revealed them.
Their reflections stared back — real, clean, undistorted, immaculate.
It was a mirror.
A very—normal—mirror.
No gold. No glow. No ominous hum. Just a mirror, sitting there, judging them silently for believing.
“Yes,” Roger announced proudly, “you and every one of your companions actually had it all along. The Single Piece of happiness.”
Their faces collectively died.
“Try to remember every journey and adventure you and your nakama went through,” Roger continued in soft sincerity, “the happy times, the sad times. That was our treasure at the end. Friendship. The most valuable treasure we could ever have. I had it. And now it’s your turn to cherish it.”
Then silence.
No more recording.
Just an emotional storm quietly brewing inside each of the Misfits.
Kovalski inhaled sharply.
“…hey,” he said, deadpan, “maybe there’s another secret path behind the mirror.”
“Yeah,” Irving nodded, equally lifeless, “maybe you’re right.”
And without hesitation, they synchronized like idiots sharing one brain cell.
Weapons up.
RATATATATATATATATATATATA
BANG BANG BANG BANG
PSSHT PSSHT PSSHT PSSHT
The mirror exploded into shards, glass confetti raining onto the shrine floor.
SHATTER.
The room remained silent again.
The mirror shattered. Behind it was …
A wall.
A very—normal—wall.
“Nope,” Bella said flatly. “That’s it. We found the Single Piece. Yeay…”
“So I guess…” Ivy stared at the debris. “The only question is: what do we do now with this ‘Single Piece’?”
Silence answered first. Disappointment second.
“Well,” Irving sighed, “you all know what our “answer” is for every question in a dungeon, right?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Kovalski nodded, catching the vibe instantly. “We have the “answer”. Hah.”
“Ah, silly me,” Ivy tapped her head, suddenly enlightened. “How could I forget? Hah. Plenty of “answers” in the subspace bag. Hah.”
“Hah,” Bella agreed.
“Hah,” Irving confirmed.
“Hah,” Kovalski finalized.
It was the least enthusiastic evil laugh in history, but it counted.
---
A few minutes later, the shrine room was rigged like a demolition contractor’s fever dream.
C4 in the corners. C4 behind pipes. C4 on suspicious structural supports. C4 where it absolutely should not be but they did it anyway. The Misfits used all their collective knowledge — shockingly competent when motivated by spite — to ensure the blast would reach maximum emotional closure.
“Kukuku,” Ivy muttered, villain mode activated, eyes shadowed. “With this, the Single Piece won’t claim more victims like us.”
“Thank you for your ‘treasure,’ Diamon D Roger,” Bella said, equally possessed by irritation. “Now let us repay your kindness.”
“And we’ll repay it with a mega blast,” Kovalski added.
“Now, Diamon D Roger!” Irving raised a detonator with a glowing 30-minute timer. “Behold the result of friendship — delivered in minutes, guaranteed, no refund!”
He pressed the remote with passion.
“HAHAHAHA—” the Misfits laughed, finally sounding alive again. Evil, united, unhinged by disappointment.
“Now what are you idiots laughing about?!”
A female voice cut through their madness like a supervisor catching workers on a smoke break.
They froze. Megan stood behind them, arms folded, foot tapping, patience fully bankrupt.
“Oh boy,” Irving whispered. “I forgot about the BICHes.”
“Miss— what are you doing here?” Kovalski asked nervously.
“We were just exploring,” Irving forced a smile. “Collecting… helpful intel for y—”
“Cut it,” Megan snapped. “I know you’re here hunting the Single Piece.”
“And I know the Single Piece is just trashy jargon,” Megan continued. “Langley heard everything from the transponder. Which means: no treasure, only embarrassment.”
“What?!” Irving choked.
“And it irritates me that it wasn’t even treasure,” Megan sighed. “There goes my bonus…”
The Misfits froze again — realizing that even if treasure was real, it would’ve been confiscated by Murica anyway. A realization more painful than their previous one.
“Anyway, we need to scatter fast,” Megan said. “The dwarves are heading here to hunt us, and we need to rescue my partner. He got busted.”
“Well excuse me,” Ivy complained. “We’re not BICH agents. We can decline or accept operations.”
Megan leaned in. “He got busted because two idiots went AWOL during a joint op.”
Kovalski and Irving stiffened.
“Which,” Megan added, “is punishable under Murican military law.”
Their hands shot to Ivy’s shoulders instantly.
“Ivy,” Kovalski said with sudden patriotic sincerity, “BICH or not, they’re Muricans.”
“That’s right,” Irving nodded gravely. “It’s our responsibility.”
“But do we have time?” Bella asked. “The C4 is already ticking.”
“You WHAT?!” Megan snapped.
“Ahaha,” Irving waved the detonator smugly. “Look, we still have plenty of time. I just need to turn off the—”
BOOM.
“Eh?” Irving muttered.
The detonator on his hand was gone. Not turned off. Not paused. Just… gone.
A clean, precise cannon shot had atomized it into pieces mid-speech.
Silence returned for the third time that day, but this one had a very different tone.
They turned slowly.
At the entrance stood Goldenclaws infantry, already braced, weapons aimed for an ambush.
“You…” Megan stared at the debris. “Have backup detonators… right?”
“Err…” Irving said.