But then—how was Ace even captured by the Navy?
The report didn't ntion any details. It seed more like a rumor piece, and its authenticity was questionable.
Still, since Captain Davy Jones had raised the question, everyone racked their brains to give an answer.
"I heard Ace only set sail three or four years ago," Alvida said after thinking a mont. "He's originally from the East Blue. He founded his own pirate crew and quickly made a na for himself on the seas—he was one of the 'Supernovas' of his ti. Later, Whitebeard subdued him, and he beca one of his sons."
"Mikita the 'Miss Valentine'" also chid in: "I think he was even offered a chance to beco one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, but he refused."
"His epithet is 'Fire Fist,'" Kuro said calmly, seated with perfect poise. "He's a Logia—user of the ra ra no Mi. His current bounty is 550 million berries."
That bounty alone already surpassed the combined total of the entire Davy Jones Pirates.
Which was why, in the New World, bounty figures beca both highly important—and not important at all.
Buggy scratched his chin, adding, "I've heard Whitebeard values Ace more than most of his sons. Even among all of them, Ace holds a special place."
Buggy had paid attention to Ace for a while.
The very first ti he saw the na "Ace" in the papers, he had frozen. After all, Roger's sword was also called Ace.
Later, upon learning that Ace was a mber of Whitebeard's crew, and recalling how close Whitebeard and Roger had been, Buggy couldn't help but imagine connections.
At one point, he even thought Ace looked sowhat like Captain Roger himself.
Could they be related?
But eventually he dismissed the thought.
Roger had never once ntioned having a son, and Rayleigh had never brought it up either. So the chances were slim.
Buggy preferred to think that the reason Whitebeard cherished Ace so much—aside from his strength and maturity—was that Ace's na stirred mories of an old, fallen friend, evoking an unconscious sense of fondness.
Yes—while the world called Roger and Whitebeard irreconcilable rivals, they were also undeniably kindred spirits.
Davy Jones rely nodded after hearing all this, then pressed for more intelligence on the Whitebeard Pirates.
The crew shared what they recalled from newspaper reports: how many sons Whitebeard had, the strength of his commanders, what territories they controlled, and so forth.
In this way, they deepened their understanding of the Whitebeard Pirates.
Crocodile once again opened his weary eyes.
The familiar ceiling of the storage room ca into view—the sa wooden planks, the sa barrels, the sa walls.
Here again? Damn it.
Was this so endlessly looping nightmare? Each ti he died in the dream, he would awaken again in this sa cramped storage room? Was this… Davy Jones's Locker?
Apprehension and unease made his breath quicken, drawing attention from the man beside him.
"Crocodile-san, I thought you'd be out for another day at least."
The spotted do hat of Trafalgar Law ca into view.
"Seems I underestimated both your constitution and your will to survive…"
"Trafalgar Law?"
"Good. You're lucid, and your mory's intact."
Suppressing the pain wracking his body, Crocodile forced himself upright, realizing this ti he lay on a wooden cot—not simply tossed onto the floor like before.
His body was wrapped in layers of white bandages.
"That bed, I requested from Captain Davy Jones," Law explained, rising from his chair and moving to a table that Hachi had carried in.
"My advice is to keep resting for a few days. Old wounds on top of fresh ones—you're nowhere near healed."
Crocodile glanced down. His golden hook still adorned his left hand, while his right was encased tightly in plaster.
"Drink this." Law brought over a vial of dicine he had prepared.
Crocodile simply stared at it, not taking it.
Law sighed. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have had plenty of chances. As a doctor, I won't harm a patient, even if you betrayed us before. That's my line I won't cross."
Still, Crocodile refused.
Puzzled, Law glanced at his hands, then understood. "Fine—open your mouth. I'll feed you."
"No."
Crocodile shook his head sharply, unwilling to accept such humiliation.
With sheer stubbornness, he let his neck turn to sand, sending his head floating over to the vial. He clamped the bottle in his jaws, tilted back, and downed the contents in one swallow.
"As you wish," Law chuckled. "My only orders are to keep you alive, nothing more."
Crocodile spat out the empty bottle with a cold snort.
Quick as ever, Law caught it before it shattered, setting it back on the table.
"You've joined Davy Jones's crew then?" Crocodile asked.
"Yes," Law replied tersely. "After you left, my crew was attacked by monsters… Captain Davy Jones avenged them, and promised certain things. So I beca his subordinate."
"Didn't expect you'd stoop to serving under soone," Crocodile sneered.
Law gave him a mild smile. "And coming from a forr Warlord of the Sea, that line carries no weight at all."
Crocodile's face darkened. mories of his two humiliating defeats at Davy Jones's hands surfaced. What use were words, when he had been utterly powerless both tis?
"What does he intend to do with ?"
"Captain already made it clear. You're to serve as crew aboard this ship—until death claims you."
"Impossible." Crocodile shook his head. "I won't accept that. I have too much left to do. I don't have ti to rot away on this ship…"
"Crocodile-san," Law said evenly, "I don't think the captain was asking for your opinion. I was only tasked with informing you."
Crocodile's expression turned pitch black.
But Law detected a subtle softening in his tone. So he pressed further:
"What is it you still have to do? Aim to beco one of the Four Emperors? Or… the Pirate King?"
Crocodile's eyes narrowed.
"Ah, the Pirate King, then," Law said with a wry smile. "Though your road's been a crooked one—first defeated by Whitebeard, then serving as a Warlord, and finally crushed by Captain Davy Jones."
Law's words cut sharp, his calm smile carrying a biting edge.
Crocodile glared at him, his scarred face twisted, stitches twitching like rippling waves, as if ready to explode at any second.
But he didn't.
Law shook his head. "I get the sense Captain Davy Jones doesn't care for the Pirate King's throne. He seems to be aiming for sothing far greater. So in truth, you two don't really conflict."
"And even if you do want to beco Pirate King, you should take it one step at a ti. I'd wager you dream of avenging yourself on Whitebeard, don't you? As it happens, Captain's heading straight into Whitebeard's territory."
"You must realize—facing the Whitebeard Pirates alone, you don't even co close to qualifying."
Law leaned back into his chair, resting Kikoku casually on his shoulder, one leg crossed over the other, his deanor relaxed.
Crocodile had to admit—Law was an excellent persuader. He couldn't deny the temptation gnawing at him.
Why had he lost to Whitebeard all those years ago?
Beyond his own inferiority, his crew had been utterly inadequate. That defeat shattered his forces—most killed or scattered. He had been forced to crawl back to Arabasta, lying in wait, recruiting anew.
Yet no matter how he rebuilt, the best he managed was Baroque Works. Only a handful there had true rit.
It was that failure that drove him to seek the ancient weapon Pluton. But his plans collapsed in ruin.
Now—here was a new opportunity, laid before him. Crocodile could not help but weigh it carefully.
He sat in silence for a long ti, his golden hook carving pale scratches into the wooden cot.
If serving this crew was already a foregone conclusion… could he perhaps use it to achieve his own ends?
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