Far beyond the storm-swept coast of the target island, a lone Marine warship rocked steadily on the heaving swells of the North Blue.
The sky above was choked with snow-laden clouds, heavy and motionless. Freezing winds whipped across the deck, slicing through uniforms and armor like invisible blades.
"Admiral Sengoku, Byrnndi World has landed on the island. He's leading a contingent inland toward the rendezvous point."
The voice came from the lookout perched atop the mast, his coat flapping violently in the wind as he lowered his telescope. On the main deck, Admiral Sengoku stood immovable, arms crossed, his white Marine coat billowing behind him like a banner of silent judgment.
"Hmph. Can you make out how many followed him?" Sengoku asked, his tone low but laced with intent.
Through his own reinforced binoculars—the best Marine HQ could offer—he scanned the blurry horizon. All he could see were faint black specks moving in the snowstorm, shadows wading through a curtain of ice.
"Unclear, sir. But from what we can tell, most of his men remained aboard the four docked pirate ships."
Sengoku's brow twitched.
"Four? Didn't our last intel confirm five?"
"Yes, Admiral. But one vessel did not dock. We've lost visual contact."
Nearby, Rear Admiral Borsalino—legs crossed, back half-turned—lazily scraped a fingernail with a penknife.
"Mmm... playing it safe, aren't they?"
Sengoku didn't respond to Borsalino's drawl. His mind was already calculating.
"That's Byojack's influence," he murmured.
Sickly, weak in body, but razor-sharp in mind, Byojack—Byrnndi World's older brother—had long been the unseen hand behind the World Pirates' most brilliant escapes. While World was a storm, Byojack was the one who read the wind. He had saved their necks more than once.
"He's the one I worry about most," Sengoku muttered. "World's power comes from the Moa Moa no Mi—but strategy? That's his brother's battlefield."
"Admiral," a Marine aide approached with haste. "Target confirmed on land. Should we commence the operation?"
Sengoku glanced at Borsalino, who offered only a shrug. The Admiral then reached inside his coat and drew out a sleeping Den Den Mushi. Its shell bore the insignia of North Blue's command.
"Not yet... we move on Captain Darren's signal."
The island was a desolate expanse of rock and frost, a barren plateau smothered in snow. The wind howled like wolves among the crags, and the sky was an iron-grey dome.
Byrnndi World trudged forward, his immense frame swaying like a mountain on legs. Behind him came his pirates—hundreds strong. They moved in staggered lines, some shielding their eyes, others dragging crates or wiping ice from their blades.
Perched on his shoulder was Byojack. He looked skeletal in the folds of a sheepskin cloak, an IV line still trailing from beneath the fabric.
The snow numbed his fingers. The cold burned his lungs.
And something deeper than the frost gnawed at his chest.
"World... something's wrong. I can feel it."
His voice was soft but brittle, like cracked glass.
Byrnndi World didn't slow down.
"Barorororo! You always worry too much, Brother. Just wait till we're armed to the teeth. We'll be out of here before the wind even changes."
His laugh was full, cruel, and vibrant.
But Byojack didn't laugh.
He turned his eyes toward the snow-covered cliffs ahead, then to the jagged inlet they'd passed earlier.
"Since we set out, we've done nothing but take and kill. Our name alone is stirring fear across the Blue."
"We didn't choose the name 'World Pirates' to rule, World. We chose it to roam—to see the world. Not to burn it."
World stopped. The snow began to thicken.
The men behind them slowed as well, sensing a change in their captain's mood.
The air felt heavier. Colder.
"You think I forgot our dream?" World asked, his voice low, devoid of the mocking tone he often wore.
Byojack's voice cracked.
"When was the last time we visited a new island without guns? When did we last smile over a drink and just breathe in the sea air?"
World turned slowly. Snow clung to the sharp ridges of his helmet.
"You don't dream of seeing the world anymore. You dream of making it kneel."
"Ever since you got that Devil Fruit... ever since the Moa Moa no Mi made you powerful—you've changed."
"Your power multiplies more than mass and speed. It magnifies your rage. Your hunger. Your destruction."
Then World clenched his fists.
"Because they forced me to!"
The shout was so loud it echoed across the cliffs.
"You think I want this? I have to destroy what stands in our way! The Marines! The Celestial Dragons! The system itself!"
"We need to be feared to be free. That's the only way they'll leave us alone."
"And I have the power to make it happen!"
He turned away, and with a final glance, he murmured:
"Watch closely, Brother. Because soon, this world will belong to us."
Byojack didn't answer. He just clutched the edge of his coat tighter, and stared at the back of a man who once dreamed of wonder—but now walked with the weight of a tyrant.
And inside his sickly chest, something broke a little more.