Aboard the Moby Dick.
"Jihahahaha, well, Newgate... isn’t this the perfect plan?"
The Golden Lion’s eyes locked onto the towering man seated in the center of the deck. His gaze brimmed with menace and cunning as he spread his arms wide, grinning wickedly.
"It’s time for the brats of this sea to once again witness the true terror of pirates!"
Marco and the other Whitebeard Pirates stood frozen, their faces pale, minds reeling like a storm-tossed sea.
They could hardly believe what they were hearing.
This man... had come up with something that insane!?
Had he gone completely mad?
But Shiki paid no attention to their expressions.
To him, their opinions were utterly meaningless.
"Well? It’s been a long time since we’ve fought side by side... I’ve always missed those good old days, sailing on the same ship..."
His smile was sharp, serpentine.
"Such fond memories."
He lifted his massive sake gourd and took a long drink. Then, with no emotion on his face, he said:
"Are you done talking?"
"One drink’s finished. Time for you to leave, Shiki."
A flicker of anger lit in his eyes.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Whitebeard replied flatly:
"I have zero interest in your plan. And I’ve no desire to recklessly start a war with the Marines... If that’s what you want, go do it yourself."
He glanced over at Kozuki Oden.
"Oden’s vengeance is his own to claim."
"That’s a choice he’s made. The rest of us won’t interfere. To do so would be the greatest insult to a samurai’s honor."
"As for this so-called ’bond of comradeship’ you speak of..."
His eyes turned cold as ice.
"If I remember correctly, when we were on the same ship... there was no such bond."
"Those days, living in fear of getting stabbed in the back by your own crewmates—I’ve had enough of that life."
As he spoke, his gaze slid to Marco and the others. A faint warmth shimmered deep in his eyes.
Shiki narrowed his eyes.
He had noticed that glance. The way Whitebeard looked at his crew.
The grin returned—mocking, poisonous.
"What a shame, Newgate... I used to have high hopes for you. But now, to see you reduced to this—it’s pathetic."
"With all your terrifying strength... and you want to play house in the middle of this war-torn sea?"
Shiki’s body slowly rose, hovering above the deck of the Moby Dick. From high above, he looked down on them all.
"Go on then! Keep playing your fake little family game!"
"You really think that by leaving the Marines alone, they’ll leave you alone?"
"Jihahahaha!! Utterly foolish! Naïve beyond belief!"
"This world... is still one where the strong devour the weak!!"
His gaze crossed the vast air between them, locking eyes with Whitebeard.
"Newgate, I used to believe you and I were the same—driven by ambition, by hunger."
"But now it’s clear. We’re on different paths."
"When the real war begins... I’ll be watching."
"Let’s see if you can still protect this gang of brats behind you!"
With that final, scornful laugh, Shiki’s form soared into the sky—vanishing beyond the horizon.
Whitebeard sat there, unmoving. His face heavy, his silence long.
A boot slammed hard into Momonga’s face. The absurd, inhuman strength behind it launched him through the air.
Shockwaves rippled through the sky as his body smashed through over a dozen towering trees, finally crashing into the base of a mountain with a thunderous crack.
The mountain trembled. Jagged cracks spread across the rockface.
Smoke and dust filled the air. From within the rubble, Momonga’s ragged coughing echoed.
"You bastard... How many times do I have to tell you—stop hitting my face..."
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he struggled out of the crater, Seastone cuffs locked tight around his wrists.
Not far away, Darren descended from the sky, landing lightly on his feet.
"If you don’t want me hitting your face, then dodge."
Momonga twitched at the corner of his mouth, restraining the urge to curse aloud.
I’m wearing Seastone cuffs, damn it! Just being able to move is a miracle!
But he didn’t bother arguing. What was the point? He’d still get beaten either way. Might as well save his breath.
Flopping down on the ground, Momonga sprawled out like a wreck. No hint of dignity or authority remained in this so-called "Supreme Commander of the North Blue."
Seeing his battered adjutant lying there like a broken toy, Darren couldn’t resist a jab.
To be fair, Momonga really was talented.
In just a few short days, he had adjusted to the effects of the Seastone cuffs. Even under their suppression, he’d begun reacting—blocking, dodging, however clumsily.
Not that it changed the final result: Darren still steamrolled him.
But at least he was starting to resist.
"Why aren’t you back at HQ yet? Don’t you have anything to do?"
Darren shrugged with a grin.
"I’ve still got a few academic credits to complete, sure. But I’ve got time."
"And besides, helping my adjutant train feels far more important than bookwork."
You’re just addicted to beating me up... Momonga rolled his eyes with a groan.
"Well then, today’s beat—uh, I mean, today’s Seastone resistance training is over."
Darren chuckled, summoned a metal hoverboard, and with one smooth step, launched into the sky and vanished into the clouds.
You said the quiet part out loud.
Inside the meeting hall of the Donquixote Family.
Doflamingo, Trebol, and the other officers were deep in discussion—plotting their next moves.
Doflamingo’s eyes turned sharp. His clawed fingers snapped toward a shadowed corner.
The walls and floor of the chamber split in razor-thin lines.
A tall figure stepped from the shadows, gripping several invisible threads in one hand. Sparks danced across his skin as he smiled at Doflamingo.
"Doffy, it’s been a while. You’ve grown stronger."
Doflamingo’s expression shifted.
He hesitated... then slowly dropped to one knee, taking a deep breath.
The proud head bowed.
"Greetings... Godfather."
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