Headline: "Admiral Purple Kirin Declares: I Will Protect Fish-Man Island!"
The front page of the next day's newspaper featured a powerful headline alongside a striking photo of Chiga levitating in the sky above Fish-Man Island, casting his gaze down at the newly surfaced land.
The sunlight hit his Rinnegan just right, creating a piercing glow in the image that made the photo look almost divine.
Onboard the Moby Dick
"Pops! Fish-Man Island's been taken over by Purple Kirin!"
Marco rushed up to Whitebeard, newspaper in hand, but found the Emperor unfazed. Whitebeard took the paper, glanced at it, then tossed it aside like trash.
Marco hesitated. "Pops… Fish-Man Island was our territory. Isn't Purple Kirin stepping out of line here?"
Whitebeard's eyes narrowed. Of course he knew this was a provocation. Neptune had already called him last night to explain and even apologize.
In the past, Whitebeard would never have tolerated such a move, even from an ally. But the one who took Fish-Man Island was Uchiha Chiga.
And the reality was—Whitebeard wasn't sure he could win. Chiga had crushed Kaido and Shanks in a single day. Even if Whitebeard could defeat one of them, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to face the other afterward.
He was aging. All he wanted now was to spend time with his sons. If he went to war with Purple Kirin, he might survive—but how many of his sons would?
Worse still, Shanks himself had come aboard after Neptune's call, and the first thing the Red-Haired Emperor said was:
"Don't challenge Purple Kirin."
Whitebeard slammed his gourd of sake down, shattering it into fragments.
When had he—the World's Strongest Man—ever been humiliated ?
Now he was being cornered by a Navy brat he hadn't even met.
Marco silently watched Whitebeard, an uncomfortable thought gnawing at him.
Is the Pops.... really getting old?
Just then, Blackbeard Teach walked in, catching part of the conversation. A chill ran through him.
This... doesn't feel safe anymore. Is this really the crew of the World's Strongest Man?
He had once thought that if fate denied him the Dark-Dark Fruit, he could at least retire peacefully under Whitebeard's flag. But now? Now he was anxious.
His fists clenched as a dangerous determination took root in his mind.
No... I can't stay . I must get the Dark-Dark Fruit!
Lost in thought, he jumped when someone tapped his shoulder. He spun around, voice sharp:
It was Thatch, Captain of the Fourth Division. He froze at the hostile glare. Teach had never looked like that before. In his mind, Teach was always a cheerful, harmless crewmate.
Teach realized his slip. Internally cursing, he immediately switched expressions and smiled.
"Oh, Captain Thatch! You need something?"
Thatch blinked, confused. Had he imagined that look just now?
Still, Teach's reputation as a harmless good guy was deeply rooted in the crew. Thatch shrugged it off and asked, "You've been standing here for a while. Something bothering you?"
"Ah, nothing serious. Just worried about Pops. That whole Fish-Man Island situation really got to him."
Thatch sighed. "Yeah… but what can we do? That Purple Kirin is a beast. Even Kaido and Shanks couldn't beat him. Pops holding back—for our sake."
"Yeah, what a monster... Zehahahaha!"
Teach slipped into his trademark laugh, brushing off the tension.
Thatch didn't want to dwell on it either. "Forget it. Something else came up. A group attacked our territory recently. The Old Man wants the Fourth Division to clean it up. Your Second Division will join us. Get ready."
"Understood, Captain Thatch."
Teach turned to leave, needing to retreat and reevaluate his next steps.
Thatch watched him go, a strange feeling tugging at his gut. Something about Teach didn't sit right.
But his train of thought was interrupted by Whitebeard's violent coughing. His condition, triggered by the stress, had flared up again.
Thatch immediately dashed over to help Marco stabilize him with acupuncture and treatment.
Later, once they had helped Whitebeard to his room, Marco and Thatch stood on deck, their faces grim.
"Pop's health is deteriorating," Marco said. "And the Navy's only getting stronger. We're starting to fall behind."
Thatch nodded solemnly. A sense of powerlessness washed over him. For the first time, he felt that his strength just wasn't enough. Not anymore.
As the Whitebeard Pirates' head chef, he'd never focused heavily on power. But now, he realized that wasn't going to cut it. They were up against monsters.
Power wasn't treasure—it couldn't just be collected.
Thatch's eyes lit up.
He hadn't eaten a Devil Fruit yet. That was it. The fastest path to power.
It was well known: if natural strength fell short, the right Devil Fruit could close the gap. Marco, for example, had the Phoenix Fruit, a Mythical Zoan. His flight, regeneration, and boosted strength made him nearly untouchable.
Thatch hadn't thought about it before—but now? Now it seemed obvious.
He stared at Marco, thoughtful.
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Thatch? Why're you staring at me like that?"
Thatch snapped out of it and shared his thoughts.
Marco nodded slowly. "Makes sense. We need to strengthen ourselves. And if it helps ease the Oyaji's worries, I'm all for it."
But there was a problem.
The Whitebeard Pirates didn't just hand out powerful Devil Fruits—and most of the strong ones had already been claimed.
Thatch understood. "Let's leave it for now. Once we handle that mission, maybe one of the enemies will have a good Devil Fruit."
"Right," Marco said. "Good luck, Thatch."
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