Everyone fell silent at Laki's words, glancing at each other with stunned expressions.

Sure, they didn't really believe that the Honey Badger Fruit could ever possess the same potential as an Ancient Zoan—let alone a Mythical Zoan.

This wasn't some fantasy world. What good was something as intangible as "fighting spirit"? At least Conqueror's Haki could knock out enemies and keep weaklings from swarming you. Was battle intent supposed to just… scare people into running away? Make them faint on the spot?

"Laki is a Quick-Calculation Fruit user. If she says it, she's probably right!" Robin said, firmly siding with her.

"Only if he doesn't get himself killed doing something stupid," Shanks said with a grin.

But even as he teased, he didn't actually deny Laki's analysis.

"You have no right to talk about anyone else being reckless!" Benn Beckman jabbed a finger at Shanks, clearly annoyed.

"Hey, I can be rational sometimes!" Shanks said innocently.

While they were talking, Bratt once again charged at Rosinante.

It seemed the fighting spirit surging through his body wasn't just keeping him from collapsing—it was actually making him stronger.

His punches hit harder. His attacks came faster.

"Looks like there's no way to get through to you with words. Perfect—I've never been a big fan of talking anyway. I've always believed in communicating with fists. So let's have ourselves a nice, friendly conversation, shall we?" Rosinante said with a smile.

Bratt's fist was already coming straight for Rosinante's face.

He didn't care about whatever Rosinante was saying. The fighting spirit roaring inside him had drowned out everything except one thought—battle, battle, battle!

And as always, Bratt went straight for the face. Practically every strike he threw was aimed there—and this one was no exception.

The punch was fast, fierce, and just about to land—when Rosinante vanished right out from under it.

"You seem to really like hitting faces. Well, as it happens—I have a soft spot for face-slapping myself!"

Rosinante suddenly reappeared at Bratt's side, his fist coming down from above so quickly that Bratt didn't even have time to react before it connected.

"Critical Hit!" Rosinante barked, his fist smashing into Bratt's head and slamming it straight into the ground.

The impact shattered the ground into spiderweb cracks, collapsing it into a decent-sized crater.

Everyone watching winced involuntarily, their faces twitching as though they could feel the pain themselves.

"What a brutal strike! The explosive power in that punch is unbelievable—this is an incredibly refined striking technique!" Shanks exclaimed, visibly impressed.

"Did he just… kill him?" Yasopp said, a little stunned.

But just as Yasopp's words left his mouth, Bratt wobbled and slowly got back to his feet.

"A true 'critical hit'—all the power compressed into a single point and released in an instant. Even though that was just a weaker version of His Majesty's full-power Critical Strike, it's still so strong that even an ordinary Vice Admiral would be knocked out cold by it. And yet this Bratt—whose strength is still a bit below Vice Admiral level—managed to take it head-on and stand back up!" Laki said thoughtfully, as if confirming that her earlier analysis had been right all along.

"He… actually withstood it?" Ryan was surprised as well.

As the vice-commander of the Bloodsworn Guard, Ryan had sparred with Rosinante countless times. He knew just how terrifying even this "weakened" Critical Hit could be.

An unprepared Vice Admiral would have been finished with one blow.

Even with Ryan's enhanced physique from his Lynx Zoan fruit—well beyond an ordinary Vice Admiral—he would have had to take the hit seriously to withstand it.

It wasn't that Rosinante could casually one-shot any Vice Admiral—but with his speed and seamless movement, dodging or blocking him was a real challenge for anyone below Admiral level.

So seeing Bratt eat that punch cleanly and still stand up made even Rosinante raise an eyebrow.

Bratt shook his head violently as he got up.

The punch had scrambled him good—the whole world seemed to be spinning.

"Eh? You—why are there two of you now?" Bratt slurred, pointing at Rosinante.

Stars were dancing in his vision, and Rosinante seemed to have split into two figures.

"Oh? Two of me now? Well, that means the punch worked. Don't worry—I can make it three, four, maybe even five next time," Rosinante said with a grin, flexing his fists.

"D-Don't think just 'cause there's two of you, that I'm scared! If I don't beat you into a state where you can't live without help, then I'm not Bratt!" Bratt growled, swaying but still pointing at Rosinante.

"Looks like I still didn't hit you hard enough. Guess we need some… deeper communication." Rosinante's grin widened.

In the blink of an eye, he vanished again.

"Bang!"

The sound of a fist connecting rang out.

Rosinante's speed was so fast that even the onlookers didn't see him move—they only heard the impact.

Bratt's head jerked sideways from the blow.

Before he could even figure out what happened, another fist slammed him from the opposite side, sending him spinning back.

Then another.

And another.

Punch after punch crashed into him, rocking him back and forth like a rag doll.

In just moments, Bratt's face had swollen into a pig's head, completely unrecognizable.

And still—he hadn't even managed to see Rosinante's shadow.

"B-bashhhtard! Y-you… where are y-you? Th-this young mashtter c-can shtill fight!" Bratt roared—though his voice was weak and slurred, his lips swollen so badly that his words came out nearly unintelligible.

Even the Red-Hair Pirates and Ryan's group, who had been watching intently, were dumbstruck by Rosinante's speed.

"Quick! Surround the area! Don't let a single pirate escape! That's a major target of Marine Headquarters—the Red-Hair Pirates and the Flathead Pirates' captains are both here! We must take them all down this time!"

At that moment, voices from the perimeter rang out, loud and commanding.