For the first time since arriving in this wild, lawless world, Itachi felt something like anticipation.
The little supply boat drifted over open sea, crows swirling overhead, wind carrying whispers of legend. Itachi sat at the bow, lost in thought, running his thumb over his battered Konoha headband. He'd just humiliated the Marine admirals by accident. He'd become a wanted man on every island he'd set foot on. Yet no matter what he did, peace remained as distant as the horizon.
Then the sky darkened—not with crows, but with shadows cast by a ship so massive it blotted out the sun.
The Moby Dick.
Itachi looked up, his Sharingan glinting in reflex. The ship dwarfed everything he'd seen: white hull, ornate figurehead, billowing sails, and a deck crowded with pirates whose faces told a thousand stories. But it was the man at the prow, staff in hand, whose presence weighed on the air itself.
Whitebeard. Yonko. Pirate King contender. The only man who stood as tall as the legends whispered about him.
A hush fell as the Whitebeard Pirates lined the rails, tense, hands on swords and pistols. Marco's blue flames flickered at his side. Ace, resting on a barrel, squinted down at the lone, black-cloaked figure below.
Whitebeard leaned over the side, grinning, his voice like thunder. "So this is the Crow King? The world's getting noisier every day!"
Itachi stood, wind tugging at his cloak. "I'm just passing through."
Whitebeard's grin widened. "That so? You cause quite a stir for a drifter. They say you beat the Admirals with nothing but a flock of birds and a mean stare."
Marco whistled. "He doesn't look like much, Pops."
Ace cracked his knuckles. "I bet he's got some devil fruit trick."
Whitebeard slammed his staff on the deck, the sound booming across the sea. The waves trembled.
"Strength is strength," Whitebeard said. "Devil fruit or not. The world's full of men who talk big. You—let's see if your eyes are as sharp as they say."
The pirates went silent. The crew parted as Whitebeard stepped to the edge of the deck. He raised his staff, and with a twitch, the very air cracked—Gura Gura no Mi in all its world-shaking glory.
Itachi didn't flinch. Crows swirled tighter around him, their wings reflecting the growing storm.
Whitebeard's next words were almost gentle. "Let's not waste time on speeches. Show me—what are you searching for in this world, Crow King?"
Itachi met his gaze. For a heartbeat, two legends regarded each other across generations, oceans, and fates.
"Peace," Itachi said. "Or at least, the closest thing to it."
Whitebeard threw his head back and laughed—a sound so deep it shook the crows from the sky. "Then we're both fools!"
He brought his staff down. The sea split, a shockwave racing toward Itachi. The supply boat exploded in a rain of wood. Anyone else would've drowned, swept away by raw power.
But Itachi stood—on water, cloak billowing, Sharingan blazing. Crows became a shield, a cloak, a ripple of illusion and intent. For an instant, the world shimmered as genjutsu and earthquake met head-on. The Whitebeard Pirates gawked.
Ace gaped. "He's walking on water?"
Marco blinked. "Is he… making the waves ignore him?"
Whitebeard grinned, approving. "Not bad, Crow King! Not bad at all. The world could use more men who don't bow to fear."
For a moment, Itachi allowed himself to smile—just a flicker. "The world could use more men like you, too."
Whitebeard nodded, satisfied. "We all carry our scars. Some just hide them better. My ship is open to those who seek family. If you ever need a place—well, the ocean's big enough for legends and lost souls alike."
The crew cheered, a low, rolling thunder.
But Itachi only bowed—respect, silent and deep. "Thank you. But I have a path to walk alone."
Whitebeard watched as Itachi turned, walking across the sea as if it were land, crows swirling in his wake.
"Let him go, boys!" Whitebeard called. "That one's chasing something even the Pirate King can't claim."
As Itachi vanished into the horizon, Ace whispered, "Who was that guy, really?"
Marco smiled. "The world's about to find out."
And somewhere, above it all, Itachi's crows cried out—not in warning, but in honor.