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The drunken pirate's words ignited a firestorm of speculation. Any news deemed "BIG" had to involve the New World's top dogs, the Emperors of the Sea.
"Captain Roger just returned. I doubt he's already fighting Whitebeard—" a more level-headed pirate commented, skeptical.
"Quit stalling! Spill it!" someone yelled impatiently.
The drunken pirate, enjoying the attention, grinned, drawing out the suspense. "Just a few hours ago, near the entrance to the New World—that Maelstrom Spider crew, the ones Roger crushed earlier? THEY GOT WIPED OUT! BY A ROOKIE!"
"Who cares? Who the hell are the Maelstrom Spiders anyway?" Not everyone followed the news. Reading newspapers wasn't exactly a popular pastime among pirates. Most preferred to get their information through the grapevine—rumors, gossip, and drunken boasts.
"The Maelstrom Spider Pirates? Squard?" A lanky pirate, possibly a member of Roger's fleet, shot out of his chair.
"Squard? Whitebeard's son? Killed by a rookie?" His first thought—the rookie was suicidal. News of Whitebeard's allied crews being defeated was common—but no one had the audacity to kill one of his officially recognized "sons."
Arthur, sitting in a corner booth, nursing his drink, listened to their boisterous chatter with amusement.
"Only the Big Mom Pirates saw me kill Squard. And there were no News Coos around…"
He smirked, his disdain for Big Mom growing. A truly powerful individual—someone with unshakeable confidence—wouldn't resort to such petty schemes. They would confront their enemies directly, settling scores with their own strength.
Whitebeard and his crew were like that—their strength came from within, their disdain for underhanded tactics evident in their straightforward, often brutal, approach.
Still—the news spreading worked in his favor. He welcomed Whitebeard's challenge. He knew he wasn't as strong—yet.
But he wouldn't cower before him.
If he couldn't win—he'd die fighting.
And what was worse than death?
He hadn't set sail expecting to return home alive. He was ready to face whatever the sea—and its monsters—threw at him.
He finished his drink, no longer interested in the pirates' idle chatter.
He walked to the bar, addressing the bartender—a woman with short, curly black hair, full lips, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. "You sell Log Poses here? I need one for Raijin Island."
Log Poses, though commonly worn on the wrist, were fragile, easily broken in battle. Replacements were a necessity for any serious pirate.
"A Log Pose for Raijin Island?" The woman set down the bottle she was cleaning, studying Arthur with an appraising gaze. That look, that knowing glint in her eyes—Arthur knew she recognized him.
"One million Belly—" she said, placing a Log Pose on the counter.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is this place called Shakky's Rip-off Bar or something?"
"Shakky's Rip-off Bar? I like that!" The woman's eyes gleamed, her gaze sharp and intelligent. "But for a dead-man walking—money's no use, is it? So what does it matter if I overcharge you a little?"
She spoke bluntly, casually predicting Arthur's death.
Arthur chuckled, studying her more closely, recognizing her now. "You're pretty confident. And you…You're Shakky, aren't you? A strong pirate like you—running a bar on Risky Red? Hard to believe."
This was Shakky—Rayleigh's future partner, the owner of Shakky's Rip-off Bar on Sabaody Archipelago.
Decades ago, she had been a notorious pirate, the only woman among the big names, a target of Garp himself. Back then, even Big Mom had been a rookie.
But around 1480, Shakky had vanished, disappearing from the news completely. He hadn't expected to find her here, on Risky Red, Roger's territory.
"I got tired of the pirate life. Time to settle down, find a respectable job. Women aren't like you men, obsessed with fame, freedom, and adventure." Shakky flicked the ash from her cigarette, then tossed the Log Pose to Arthur.
"Be careful, kid. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Whitebeard's wrath is not something to be taken lightly. Few would challenge him—and you're not one of them."
"Don't think your Rumble-Rumble Fruit makes you invincible. There are plenty of ways to counter speed."
Arthur caught the Log Pose, a smile playing on his lips. He knew Shakky's reputation as an information broker was well-deserved.
"Speed can be countered. True—But so what?" Arthur's arrogance, his unwavering self-confidence—it wouldn't be shaken, not by threats or warnings.
"I'll say it again—those who fear monsters are cowards. Whitebeard—his dream is fulfilled. His ambition is gone. He's not the threat he once was. He's easier to deal with than Shiki."
"Whitebeard, Shiki, Roger, Redfield—they're all aging. This new era…it belongs to ME!" Arthur's laughter echoed through the bar, blue lightning flickering in his eyes.
Everyone aged—unless they had the Op-Op Fruit's "Immortality Operation"—or something like the Pure Gold. Even Redfield had eaten a Devil Fruit to maintain his youth and vitality.
In Arthur's eyes, these old-timers were past their prime, their strength fading. Once Roger was gone, once the new era began, their influence would wane.
And that's when Arthur's reign would begin.
"I don't have one million Belly…But your life is in my hands. Consider this a…debt repaid. You're getting the better end of the deal." Arthur, picking up the Log Pose, tipped his hat, turning to leave.
Shakky, unfazed by Arthur's words—or his casual theft of the Log Pose, stopped him. "Wait, Arthur. Why not stay a while? There's someone who wants to meet you."
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