"At last, it looks like a proper pirate ship!" Miyamoto couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of the newly repainted giant vessel anchored at the pier. The shipwrights had outdone themselves—what was once a weathered and battle-worn ship now glead with fresh paint, its massive wooden hull shining under the midday sun.
In addition to the new paint job, they’d also completed a series of much-needed repairs. The Jolly Roger of the Donquixote Family fluttered proudly at the top of the mast, its bold black-and-white symbol standing as a warning to all who dared challenge it.
Despite the imnse size of the ship—designed originally for giants—the shipwrights had managed to finish the work within the agreed ti. Miyamoto grinned, pleased with their efficiency.
"Well, I have to admit, you did a fantastic job," I said, walking up to the foreman. I handed him a bulging sack of Berries, feeling the weight of the gold in my hand before passing it over. "Here’s what we promised... and a bit extra for the repairs. You’ve more than earned it."
The old man, grizzled from decades of hard labor, hesitated for a mont. His weathered face showed the lines of a man who had worked all his life, and there was sothing almost vulnerable in his eyes as he accepted the paynt.
He was used to dealing with dangerous types, but pirates? There was always a certain reluctance. Yet, he could see that we were not like most pirates, and he took the money with a respectful nod.
"Thank ye, lad," the shipwright muttered, his hands shaking just a bit as he tucked the paynt away. "Can’t say I’ve worked for pirates often, but... I’ll be damned if I don’t appreciate the business."
anwhile, aboard the ship, Lucci, Robin, and the rest of the crew were already inspecting the cabins, making sure everything was in place. The accommodations, once built for giants, had been refitted for normal-sized people. They were spacious now, almost luxurious compared to the cramped quarters most pirate crews were used to.
I turned toward the pier, where the old man from the armor shop stood with his grandson Ipponmatsu by his side. The past week had changed them both—the harsh reality of this world had left its mark.
Yet, in the old man’s hands, the Shirayuki glead brightly, its polished blade encased within an elegant scabbard. The sword was a masterpiece, one that had haunted his dreams for years. Now, he had achieved what he had long thought impossible.
"Thank you, lad," the old man said, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes brimd with tears as he cradled the sword case, as if holding a piece of his soul. "You’ve helped an old man fulfill his dream..."
I waved it off with a grin. "Don’t sweat it, old man. Just make sure your armor shop doesn’t fall into ruin. With the bounty money you earned this past week, you should be able to live comfortably for generations." I smirked, eyeing Ipponmatsu.
"And don’t worry about troublemakers. Fly our Jolly Roger above your shop, and let’s see who has the guts to ss with you then."
"That will only cause us trouble with the Marines!" Ipponmatsu began, but the old man cut him off with a booming voice.
"Brat! It seems you’ve grown bolder over the past week!" the old man snapped, his voice echoing down the pier. "Who can stop if I want to fly a pirate’s flag on my own shop?" His roar was as fierce as a lion’s, and it made Ipponmatsu shrink back, his confidence visibly wilting.
I chuckled at the exchange, then heard Dora shouting from the ship, her voice carried by the wind. "Ross, let’s go! The wind’s picking up!" She leaned against the ship’s rails, her giant fra taking up a significant portion of the deck, casually tearing into a massive chunk of sea king at.
I turned back to the old man, giving him a final, respectful nod. "Take care, old man. Hope you’re still around the next ti I co back."
The old man smiled faintly, his eyes reflecting the quiet acceptance of soone who knew his ti in this world was nearing its end. He said nothing, just a soft nod, as if to say farewell without the need for words.
With that, I boarded the ship, and the sails were hoisted. The wind caught them with a satisfying snap, and the giant ship began to glide away from Loguetown, leaving the bustling harbor behind. As the island grew smaller in the distance, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of closure.
Dora, lounging on the deck, spoke up through a mouthful of food. "So, Ross, where to next?" She leaned back, staring up at the clear blue sky. "I want to find Dorry and Brogy. I’ve always wanted to et them. My parents used to tell stories about their adventures!"
I laughed, leaning against the ship’s railing. "Always after a new adventure, huh?"
The Marine Commodore stood at the edge of the pier, exhaling a long, silent sigh of relief. For the past week, it had felt as if a blade hovered perpetually over his neck, the re presence of Rosinante and his infamous crew casting a shadow over everything in Loguetown.
He had lived every day with a creeping dread, never knowing when or if that taphorical sword would fall. But now, as the Donquixote Family’s massive ship sailed further toward the horizon, he silently thanked whatever stars had spared him.
"Damn it all," the Commodore muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I requested a post in East Blue because everyone said it was the weakest of the four seas... Sigh. I must be cursed with the worst luck."
He glanced over at the old man who owned the armor shop, the very reason his week had spiraled into madness. The Marines now owed the man a staggering amount in bounties—over three billion Berries—a sum no small branch like Loguetown’s could ever hope to cover.
Yet, the old man had submitted his claim, with Rosinante himself having been the one to back him. There was no mistaking the threat in the pirate’s final words before departing.
The Commodore replayed them in his mind. "Make sure the old man gets his due, or I’ll be back to collect... personally."
Just the thought made a cold sweat trickle down his back. Donquixote Rosinante—the Shadow Emperor of the New World. Though not officially recognized as one of the Emperors like his elder brother Doflamingo, his influence was undeniable, and the Marines knew better than to poke that particular bear.
Few in the world wielded power like him, and even fewer had the gall to challenge him. The Commodore shook his head. No, they couldn’t simply deny the bounty under so legal pretext and accuse the old man of colluding with pirates. That would be a death sentence—an open invitation for Rosinante to rain hell on their heads.
The Commodore knew the truth. Rosinante wasn’t just a pirate with a powerful crew—he was a mastermind, a tactician, a force of nature that even the Marines tread carefully around.
Though he was called the Shadow Emperor, everyone knew he was the true backbone of the Donquixote Family. He moved like a ghost, pulling strings from the shadows, but when he acted directly, the world took notice.
Nearby, one of the Marine Captains was nervously speaking into a Den Den Mushi, making his report to headquarters.
"Yes, sir, Rosinante and his crew have departed Loguetown... No, sir, we don’t have any information on their next destination." His voice trembled slightly, a crack in the usual discipline that ca with wearing the Marine uniform. It wasn’t easy dealing with pirates of Rosinante’s caliber. In fact, it was terrifying.
The Commodore overheard the conversation and scowled. "Let’s get back to base," he said, turning on his heel, a tightness in his chest.
"We may not be able to challenge soone like Rosinante, but that doesn’t an we’ll let any riffraff stroll through Loguetown unchecked. The ito sword has attracted too many unsavory figures. Clear out the remaining troublemakers."
His words were bitter, heavy with the frustration of a man forced to face his own limits. It was true—Loguetown had been overrun by opportunists and pirates, all of them drawn to the ito that had recently surfaced.
But most of the truly dangerous ones had already been taken care of by Rosinante’s crew. The Donquixote Pirates had swept through the town like a storm, dealing with anyone who dared challenge them, leaving behind only the dregs—small-ti criminals and desperate scavengers who posed no real threat.
And now, the Marines were left to clean up the aftermath, to deal with the "residue" as the Commodore liked to call them. He gave a tired sigh. The whole situation had made them feel powerless, a bitter reminder that the vast gap in strength between them and the monsters of the New World was insurmountable.
The World Governnt could puff its chest out and call for order, but the truth was painfully clear to anyone who had to face the likes of Rosinante: there were forces in this world beyond their control, and Donquixote Rosinante was one of them.
As the Commodore marched back toward the Marine base, he felt a familiar sense of futility. His authority, his rank, ant nothing in the face of soone like that. He was just a cog in the larger machine, and the best he could do was ensure Loguetown wasn’t completely overrun by the lesser scum now that the real monster had left.
******
Marineford, Grand Line
The newly rebuilt Marineford stood as a testant to technological advancent and resilience, a towering fortress that dwarfed its predecessor.
After Garp’s near destruction of the base in a fit of insubordination—when he had attacked one of the Elders, a figure of supre authority within the World Governnt—many had feared the consequences.
Yet, to the surprise of the Marines, the World Governnt had not pursued the matter, choosing instead to turn a blind eye to the incident. They had even approved the ambitious plans to reinforce Marineford, granting the Marines the resources to rebuild their HQ stronger than ever.
The new Marineford was nearly three tis the size of the old one. The island itself had been artificially expanded using cutting-edge technology, incorporating advanced fortifications, impenetrable defenses, and state-of-the-art weaponry. It was now an indomitable stronghold—more fortress than base.
Inside the central eting room of this monuntal headquarters, Sengoku, the Fleet Admiral, sat at the head of the table, his fingers tapping rhythmically on its polished surface. His face was stern, his gaze heavy with displeasure.
The room was filled with the quiet tension of anticipation, yet more than half of the seven seats that were arranged for today’s eting lay conspicuously empty.
This was a critical day. The Shichibukai—the powerful group of pirates sanctioned by the World Governnt—had been summoned to Marineford to discuss the restructuring of their system, a eting that Sengoku had ensured was emphasized as an absolute priority.
And yet, out of the seven mbers of the Shichibukai, only three had bothered to show up, or in truth, only these three were still left: Dracule Mihawk, Ochoku, and Crocodile.
The rest of the seats sat vacant, and the empty chairs were a silent insult that did nothing to ease Sengoku’s growing frustration. His brow furrowed deeply, his fingers tapping a little more forcefully on the table now. His annoyance was palpable.
"Damn you, Ross...!" Sengoku cursed under his breath, glaring at the empty seats, though his anger wasn’t solely directed at the missing Shichibukai.
Bogard, who had recently been appointed to take on Garp’s duties after his public defiance, sat silently by Sengoku’s side, subtly turning his face away to avoid the brunt of the Fleet Admiral’s silent scolding. The tension between Sengoku and Garp’s faction had only grown more pronounced in the wake of recent events.
Everyone in the upper ranks of the Marines knew how they had ended up losing so many of the Shichibukai. And nearly all of it traced back to Donquixote Rosinante, Garp’s protégé. Four of the Shichibukai had either fallen or defected because of him, and the ramifications of that were now laid bare in the empty seats before them.
Anne Bonney and Hector Barbossa, both seasoned and deadly pirates, had been killed by the Donquixote Pirates, their defeats marking a massive blow to the prestige of the Shichibukai system.
Worse still, Shakuyaku, a dangerous and cunning figure who Sengoku had personally managed to add to the Warlords, had outright defected after joining hands with Rosinante.
Gecko Moria had disappeared as well—only to be discovered later that Rosinante had captured him and handed him over to Wano, where he was now imprisoned.
Even the most recent addition to the Shichibukai, the rising rookie from West Blue, Akagami Shanks, was absent from the eting. Shanks was a wild card, a young pirate whose rapid rise had both intrigued and confused Sengoku.
Why the Elders had pushed for his inclusion in the Shichibukai system was still a mystery to him, but Shanks’ noncompliance today only added to his frustration.
Sengoku exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair as his eyes scanned the room. This was untenable. The Shichibukai system had been created to keep a balance of power in the world, but now, half of its mbers were either dead or missing.
And with the looming threat of pirates like Rosinante destabilizing the order, they needed to reestablish the Shichibukai’s influence, and fast.
"Fleet Admiral," a voice interrupted his thoughts. One of the Marine Rear Admirals stepped into the eting room while carrying a folder, bowing slightly before continuing.
"The Elders have issued direct orders to fill the vacant seats within the Shichibukai as soon as possible. They’ve already proposed several candidates who could replace those we’ve lost."
"And they have just confird the intel that Gecko Moria has escaped from his imprisonnt in Wano, and they have passed down orders to reach out to Moria and have him retake the duties as a warlord."
Sengoku’s frown deepened. He knew the Elders had their own agenda. Filling the seats with strong but controllable pirates had always been their goal, but the reality was different. The Shichibukai weren’t easily controlled, especially when powerful figures like Mihawk and Crocodile operated with complete disregard for authority.
Tsuru, seated calmly nearby, took the folder from the Rear Admiral’s hands. Her sharp eyes scanned the contents, and for a brief mont, her usually composed expression faltered. She raised her brows in surprise.
The bounty of Red-Haired Shanks had been reinstated—a clear indication that his status as a Shichibukai had been revoked. As she flipped through the detailed reports, the reason for this decision beca imdiately clear.
According to the latest intelligence, Shanks and his crew had committed a massacre of unfathomable proportions. An entire island—its na now irrelevant—had been reduced to ashes. Not a single soul had been left alive.
Every inhabitant was slaughtered, and the entire island razed to the ground. This kind of brutality was common in the New World, a place where the World Governnt’s grip was tenuous at best. But for such an atrocity to take place in the first half of the Grand Line, and worse, for a Shichibukai to be responsible for it, demanded imdiate action.
Without a word, Tsuru set the new bounty poster on the table, her steady gaze flicking toward the few present warlords, as if giving them a silent warning. Mihawk’s eyes briefly moved over the poster. His expression remained neutral, though his brows raised a fraction, betraying a flicker of surprise.
But just as quickly, he resud his usual calm deanor, his disinterest returning as if nothing unusual had occurred. For Mihawk, bounty numbers mattered little—it was strength, not notoriety, that dictated one’s place in the world.
The poster, however, commanded attention.
[WANTED]
[RED-HAIRED SHANKS]
[DEAD OR ALIVE]
[768,900,000 BERRY]
Even Sengoku, accustod as he was to the chaos that ca with governing pirates, seed taken aback by the sudden turn of events. He took the folder Tsuru handed over, skimming through the grisly details.
As he read, the grim reality settled in. Genocide. There was no other word for it. The destruction was absolute, and the worst part was that the island in question fell under the jurisdiction of a Marine base. It wasn’t so distant, lawless speck in the New World—it was an island under the World Governnt’s authority.
Sengoku’s jaw tightened as he processed the implications. The Shichibukai, while valuable, were not above the law. Their immunity had limits, and Shanks had crossed the line. Genocide of this scale could not, and would not, be tolerated, no matter the power or reputation of the perpetrator.
Tsuru, ever the voice of reason, spoke first. "It’s been confird then. Shanks is no longer a warlord, and with this, his position becos the sa as any pirate. A bounty like that on his head—he’s officially a rogue, hunted by the governnt once again."
Sengoku nodded grimly, passing the folder back to Tsuru. "We knew Shanks was ambitious, but this? I expected a more tactical move from him, not... this kind of senseless destruction."
"Shanks has always been unpredictable, we don’t even know why he was offered a Shichibukai position in the first place,." Tsuru replied, folding her arms as she continued to assess the situation.
"But it’s unusual for him to act with such brutality. We may be missing key information about his motivations here. Regardless, this massacre undermines the authority of the World Governnt. The Elders will want swift action."
Mihawk’s eyes flickered again, though he remained silent. The Red-Haired Shanks he knew wasn’t soone prone to indiscriminate violence, let alone mass murder. But Mihawk knew better than to involve himself in the politics of the Marines.
He was a swordsman, not a diplomat, and whatever Shanks’ motivations were, it was of no consequence to him—at least for now, but he made a ntal note to convey this matter to his friend Ross, because this matter seed to hide sothing much deeper.
Sengoku exhaled heavily, his fingers pressing into his temples. This was yet another crisis on top of an already precarious situation. The Shichibukai system was in disarray, with key mbers either dead, defected, or now branded as criminals. The balance of power in the world was teetering, and Rosinante’s growing influence wasn’t helping matters.
*****
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