"Is this photo you?"
"…Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yes. That was back when I was still on the ship."
…
Rocks never imagined that with all his strength, he'd be caught red-handed trying to sneak a few local goods from a tiny mountain village.
He swore up and down that though he had no money on him, as the man destined to become King of the Seas he would never skip payment.
But the boy who caught him didn't believe a word.
The boy held up a wanted poster—thin face, still somewhat handsome, a young man who carried a sharp look. Then he compared it to the scruffy, bearded, round-faced man standing before him.
"This isn't you!"
Rocks could only shrug helplessly.
"I didn't expect this either."
Only a year had passed, yet the difference was stark. Months of wandering, starving, sleeping under the sky… Only now did Rocks realize just how much Magnus had done for them back in the White Wolf Pirates, carrying the burden like both father and mother.
Of course, he was still only in his twenties. But after his last shipwreck, after swimming who knew how far and washing up on a deserted island, he hadn't been able to care for his appearance. Naturally he looked rough.
At least… that was his excuse.
He remembered the time he and Whitebeard had gone to Pleasure Street. Whitebeard—ugly as he was—was still more popular. Rocks? Just looked coarse.
"…Fine. Let's just say it's you."
The boy—Barloric—already regretted stopping him. He had an ability to see into people's hearts. When he called out to Rocks, he saw a flash of murderous intent… that vanished just as quickly. If not, he'd never be chatting here.
"Now I see why people say Magnus picks his crew by looks—men ugly, women pretty," Barloric muttered.
By that standard, he'd never get into the White Wolf Pirates. Not that he wanted to.
"Become my crewmate."
"…Huh?"
Barloric blinked, distracted. By the time he realized what Rocks had said, the pirate already had a hand clamped on his shoulder.
"You saw my move just now—you're no ordinary kid. I'm no longer part of the White Wolves. I'm going to challenge that old man. Help me! Together we'll rule these seas!"
Rocks's eyes blazed with ambition. He knew alone he couldn't beat Magnus. He needed strong allies.
Barloric froze. "Why would I follow you? Why would I challenge Magnus for you?!"
He could see it clearly—the greed, the raw hunger that drove Rocks. And he wanted no part of it.
"That's not your choice to make!"
Rocks just laughed, knocked him out cold, and carried him away.
It was the same way Magnus had once pulled him aboard—by force.
Thus began the first meeting of Rocks and Barloric.
Rocks was ecstatic. His first crewmate! All he needed now was a ship, and he'd carve his own flag across the sea.
But when Barloric woke, the first thing he did was run. Straight to the local garrison—reporting Rocks as a pirate.
He expected Rocks to be driven out.
Instead, the soldiers treated Rocks with reverence, escorting him into Magra Kingdom's palace. And they dragged Barloric along.
The king himself received Rocks as an honored guest. A new ship was promised, a gift. After all, if Magra could tie itself to the White Wolf Pirates, what was one vessel worth?
Rocks insisted he had left Magnus's crew.
But in the king's eyes, Rocks was simply sent out to build strength of his own. If he had truly betrayed, surely Magnus would have killed him long ago.
So whether Rocks liked it or not, the White Wolf mark still clung to him.
At the second royal banquet, Rocks prepared to depart. He couldn't promise anything for Magra, but in return for the ship, he'd at least contact Magnus on their behalf.
That was when CP0 appeared.
The White Wolves and CP had been entangled since the beginning. And Rocks's fate seemed tied to theirs.
The one leading them: Grindwin, CP0's chief operations officer.
Rocks didn't recognize him. The clashes with CP after Elbaf had been handled personally by Magnus. Rocks had never been face-to-face with one so high up. But the moment Grindwin entered, Rocks felt it—a suffocating danger.
Perfect. The test he'd been waiting for.
He attacked without fear.
And was crushed.
A year away from the crew had honed his body and Haki, but he still couldn't grasp internal destruction or future sight. Grindwin stood far beyond him.
Still… Rocks survived.
Bloodied, mauled, but alive—thanks to Magra's labyrinthine sewers, and thanks to Barloric carrying him on his back.
"Why not leave me? Or hand me to the navy for a bounty?" Rocks asked, weakly.
"Shut up! You think I don't want to?" Barloric snapped, bitter. But he knew the truth. His power let him read hearts—and he saw Rocks's words for what they were: a test. If he betrayed him now, his head would roll instantly.
He couldn't abandon him. Not when everyone already thought he was a White Wolf.
"Got a plan to escape?"
"Escape? Why?" Rocks grinned savagely through split lips. "If I can run once, I can run again. If he can't kill me, then he's the perfect whetstone. He'll sharpen me until I break through!"
He had glimpsed the edge of future sight already. That was why he lived.
Magnus had taught him: to grow, a warrior must fight stronger foes. Haki blooms in battle.
Grindwin wasn't like Magnus—utterly untouchable. No, here was an enemy Rocks could clash with again and again.
Grindwin thought he'd cornered a stray wolf. He had no idea. What he faced was a beast honing its fangs.
While Rocks found his rival, the rest of the White Wolves trained in Wano. Ripley, Whitebeard, even the younger ones—all growing steadily against samurai opponents.
The fights weren't life and death, but repetition taught them much. Warriors, sumo wrestlers, even shinobi—they all added to the crew's experience.
And Magnus himself? He found sparring in Wano too.
"Hazy Moon Style: Radiant Light!"
The blade of Amatsuki Takiichi, the last great swordmaster of his clan, came crashing toward him. For a moment, his technique surpassed Magnus's own. But halfway through, the youth's body faltered, reverting to the bent frame of an old man.
"Ah! My back!"
It was Takiichi, eighty years old, borrowing youth from Stussy's hormones. But heavy use of Haki drained the effect too quickly.
Even so, through these bouts, Magnus polished his own swordsmanship little by little.
"Only fighting the strong truly matters," he murmured.
As for Takiichi, he had another reason.
"Lady Toki, don't trouble yourself with groceries—your health is everything. What you must do is bear strong sons for the Amatsuki!"
The old man had nearly wept when he discovered Toki alive, the last scion of his clan. With her married to Magnus, his hope reignited. Perhaps their children would carry on the name. Perhaps more than one. Enough to restore the clan's line.
For that, he would spar with Magnus every day. For that, he even swore—should Magnus ever demand Wano open its borders, he would stand by him.
Magnus only smiled. To him, Wano wasn't essential. If anything, the reverse should be true—Wano should one day beg him for protection.
But for now, he stayed. For one reason.
One day, he laid eyes on a blade revered as a national treasure.
Shusui—the sword once wielded by Ryuma, the Dragon-Slaying Samurai.
And within its steel, Magnus saw it—Haki sealed inside, faint, fading.
The last vestige of a legend.
(End of Chapter)
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