One piece: But MC is smart.

Smoker stood tall, the weight of his cigar heavy in the cool night air as he surveyed the shadowy figure before him. His mind had been torn ever since their conversation, but now he was certain—he needed answers. He needed to understand Shadow. More than just the man behind the mask, he needed to understand the conviction that drove him, the kind of justice he claimed to fight for. And there was only one way to truly get to the heart of it.

With a deliberate motion, Smoker exhaled, sending thick smoke trailing through the air. "Alright, Shadow," he began, his voice cold and steady. "I'm done with the talk. You've made your position clear. But I need to see if you're truly as strong as you claim. So, I'll make this simple for you—if you want to show me your vision of justice, prove it."

Shadow tilted his head slightly, his mask hiding any emotion. His stillness was a quiet challenge in itself. "Prove it, huh?" Shadow's voice was measured, calm, almost detached. "What exactly do you want me to prove, Smoker?"

Smoker's gaze hardened. "I want to see if you can back up all this talk. If you're really the kind of person who can stand by their ideals, then let's test it. I challenge you to a duel." He let the words sink in, his eyes locked onto Shadow's.

For a brief moment, there was silence—an oppressive weight that filled the air. Shadow didn't move, didn't flinch. He simply regarded Smoker with an unreadable expression, as if the challenge was just another obstacle in his path.

"You think a duel will answer your questions?" Shadow asked, his voice soft but carrying an unshakable confidence.

Smoker's grin was sharp, almost taunting. "It's not just about strength, Shadow. I need to see if you're truly willing to put your money where your mouth is. If you've got the power, then show me. Otherwise, this whole thing's just talk."

Shadow's mask gleamed faintly in the moonlight as he stepped forward, his presence almost suffocating. "A duel, you say? Fine. But you're asking the wrong thing."

Smoker's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Shadow's voice lowered, almost to a whisper, but it carried a heavy weight with it. "To fight for justice, Smoker, you first have to understand what it truly means. Do you think justice can be earned by swinging a sword or using power? No. True justice demands something much more painful. What I want from you is simple." He paused, letting the words hang in the air before he continued. "Ask forgiveness. Ask forgiveness from at least ten families. From the hundreds that the Navy stood by while their loved ones were murdered. Ask forgiveness for the blood that was spilled in the name of law, in the name of 'justice.'"

Smoker's eyes narrowed as the words sank in. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, the anger in his chest flared. "You're asking me to grovel, to apologize for things that aren't even my fault." His voice grew low, threatening. "I'm no hypocrite. I don't bow down to anyone."

Shadow's stance remained calm, but there was an undeniable coldness to his words. "It's not about bowing down, Smoker. It's about understanding that justice isn't about power or pride. It's about recognizing the pain you've caused and the lives lost in the name of it. That's the true weight of justice. So, until you can bring yourself to understand that until you can humble yourself enough to ask for the forgiveness of the innocent—no matter how many families, no matter how many lives you save—you'll never truly know what it means to fight for justice."

Smoker's eyes flashed with frustration, but something deeper lingered. He had heard of the things the Marines had done, the things he had seen and been part of. Shadow's words dug into him, though he would never admit it.

"Fine," Smoker finally growled. "If you won't explain yourself, I'll force you to. We'll settle this with a fight."

Shadow's response was as calm as ever. "A fight, huh?" He slowly began to take his stance, his body poised and ready. "If you want to test my strength, I'll accept. But you should know—this duel is more than just an exchange of blows. It's a test of what you stand for, of what kind of man you are. So, prepare yourself, Smoker."

Smoker's hand gripped his cigar tightly, his eyes narrowing into slits as the challenge hung in the air. This was no longer about defeating Shadow. It was about proving something to himself.

"You'll see what kind of man I am," Smoker muttered under his breath.

And with that, the tension between them thickened, a duel now set in motion, though neither of them yet knew the true weight of the battle that was about to unfold.

The moonlit battlefield was quiet except for the distant rustle of the sea breeze. Smoker stood, his weapon—the jitte tipped with sea stone—firmly in his grasp, his eyes locked on the bounty hunter known as Shadow. The air was heavy with tension, and wisps of smoke began to curl around Smoker's body, coiling like serpents in anticipation of battle. Shadow, cloaked in his black coat and faceless behind his mask, remained still, his stance unyielding, as though daring Smoker to make the first move.

"You've got some nerve, Shadow," Smoker said, the cigars in his mouth flaring. "You want justice? Let me show you what real justice looks like."

With a flick of his wrist, Smoker's smoke burst forth, spreading across the battlefield like a dense fog. His Smoke-Smoke Fruit ability allowed him to dominate his opponents by overwhelming their senses and restricting their movements. The smoke thickened, tendrils reaching out like living entities, aiming to snare Shadow in their grasp.

But Shadow didn't flinch. His body moved with precision, his footwork sharp and deliberate, weaving effortlessly through the encroaching smoke. Smoker narrowed his eyes, increasing the intensity of his attack. "You can't run forever!" he growled, extending a massive plume of smoke in an attempt to trap Shadow.

Shadow's response was silent but lethal. He sidestepped with a swiftness that defied logic, his movements graceful yet calculating, his black-clad figure slicing through the smoke like a phantom. His eyes, though hidden, seemed to pierce through Smoker, delivering an unspoken message: You are not my equal.

Frustrated, Smoker shifted tactics. With a burst of energy, he propelled himself forward using Shave, closing the gap in an instant. His jitte swung down with immense force, aiming to disable Shadow with the sea stone tip. But Shadow wasn't there. The weapon sliced through the air, colliding with the ground in a deafening crash. Smoker felt a chill run down his spine as Shadow reappeared behind him, the faint sound of his deliberate footsteps echoing in the silence.

Turning sharply, Smoker unleashed a barrage of smoke tendrils, each one reinforced with Armament Haki. Shadow's movements remained fluid as he evaded the attacks, his blade occasionally flicking through the air to parry the tendrils that got too close. The sound of steel meeting smoke infused with Haki resonated in the air, but not once did Shadow retaliate. He was playing with Smoker, forcing him to expose every flaw in his technique without delivering a single fatal strike.

Smoker gritted his teeth. This wasn't just a fight; it was a humiliation. Realizing he was up against a master of both Observation and Armament Haki, Smoker resorted to Finger Gun, his hand moving with blinding speed as he shot a series of lethal strikes at Shadow's vitals. The bounty hunter's blade moved like a shadow itself, deflecting every attack with minimal effort.

Shadow's silence was deafening. His sharp, unwavering gaze communicated what his words did not: This fight is beneath me.

"You think you're better than me?" Smoker barked, summoning a cyclone of smoke to disorient his opponent. He activated Iron Body, bracing himself as he charged headlong into Shadow, his jitte aimed at the bounty hunter's torso. The impact could have felled a building, but when the smoke cleared, Shadow stood unscathed, his blade lightly resting against Smoker's weapon. The sheer force of the block sent vibrations through Smoker's arms, a stark reminder of the difference in their power.

Smoker's frustration reached its peak. He activated both his Devil Fruit abilities and Haki simultaneously, his smoke taking on an almost tangible quality as it lashed out in all directions. Yet, Shadow remained untouchable, his body language exuding a calm dominance that rendered every attack futile. Smoker's sweat-soaked face betrayed his growing realization: no matter how hard he fought, Shadow was always one step ahead.

Finally, Shadow struck—not to kill but to end the fight. His blade, enhanced with an aura of Haki so refined it hummed through the air, slashed downward in a controlled arc. The force of the strike split the ground beneath them, sending a shockwave rippling through the area. Smoker's jitte was wrenched from his grip, and he was sent sprawling to the ground, his body battered and bruised, his will shaken.

As the dust settled, Smoker knelt in the dirt, his weapon lying uselessly beside him. He stared up at Shadow, who stood motionless, his blade pointed downward, a silent warning. Slowly, deliberately, Shadow reached up and removed his mask.

As Smoker remained on the ground, beaten and humbled, Shadow did something unexpected. He reached up to his face and removed his mask, revealing a face that was burned beyond recognition—scars that covered much of his features, skin twisted and marred by flames. His left cheek and eye were especially disfigured, the skin melted and raw, the scars deep.

"This," Shadow began, his voice low and filled with conviction, "is the justice you defend. My father and mother held this sword, not as a weapon, but as a mercy to end their suffering after they were burned alive by your 'justice.' This blade," he raised it slightly, the edge gleaming in the moonlight, "has seen the truth of the Navy's hypocrisy and the World Government's lies. It is a witness to my justice."

Smoker could only stare, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Shadow's words.

"You asked me what it would take to join your Navy," Shadow continued. "Ask forgiveness—not from me, but from ten families out of the hundreds you've stood by and let burn, let starve, let die. Until then, your justice is nothing but a tool for the powerful. A puppet's justice."

Shadow turned his back, the sword in his hand gleaming as he sheathed it with a deliberate motion. His every step echoed with finality, leaving Smoker to kneel in the dirt, his mind swirling with doubt, anger, and a glimmer of understanding.