Buggy's mind was flooded with long-buried memories.
Captain Roger had never once mentioned having a child. Neither First Mate Rayleigh nor "Red-Haired" Shanks had ever spoken of such a thing either.
If Roger truly had a child, he would have admitted it outright. There was no need to hide it from Buggy.
If he did father a child, it could only have happened after the disbandment of the Roger Pirates—in that gap of at least one year before Roger turned himself in to the Marines.
Buggy had always wondered where Roger had gone in that missing year, and what he had done that allowed him to stand on the execution platform with such a carefree smile.
Could it be that during that year… Captain Roger had been in a hurry to "make a child"?
The thought felt terribly disrespectful to Roger, yet it neatly explained Ace's age—and why Whitebeard, Edward Newgate, doted on Ace so much.
Ace even bore a resemblance to Roger in his features.
The more Buggy thought, the stronger the possibility became.
And if his hunch was true, then Ace would meet the same fate as Roger—executed publicly. That wasn't just humiliating Ace; it was humiliating every last member of the Roger Pirates.
But worse still… there was nothing Buggy or the other remnants of the crew could do about it.
Together, they had once been a blazing flame. Scattered, they were but countless stars. Such was the Roger Pirates.
But the past could never be reclaimed. Scattered was scattered.
And the one man who truly had the strength and influence to stand against the Marines—Red-Haired Shanks—Buggy was convinced he would never lift a hand, even if he knew Ace's true identity.
Buggy seethed at the thought.
Even now, he still bore deep resentment toward Shanks—not only for the endless teasing, not only because Shanks was the reason he had eaten the Chop-Chop Fruit.
More importantly, after Roger's death, Buggy had once considered supporting Shanks to become the next Pirate King. But Shanks had refused to inherit Roger's will, choosing instead to walk his own path.
That had infuriated Buggy. Their friendship ended there, and they had gone their separate ways.
Because of that, Buggy stubbornly believed Shanks would never risk himself to save Ace, no matter what.
As for Rayleigh and the others? Their whereabouts were unknown—perhaps they weren't even alive anymore.
That left only one man in all the seas who might stand up for Ace: Roger's greatest friend—Whitebeard, Edward Newgate.
Of course, Buggy knew Newgate's reasons would be many, and not solely about his ties to Roger or Ace. But the fact that he was willing to act at all was already remarkable.
Still, all of this was just Buggy's conjecture—nothing had yet been proven.
He wanted to hear more. But Kuma refused to continue.
"I will report today's events truthfully to Marine Headquarters,"
said Kuma, removing his gloves to reveal the paw pads on his palms.
"However, at this moment Marine Headquarters is in chaos. They won't spare the time for you. Use this chance to head into the New World."
He raised his hand, ready to vanish with the power of the Paw-Paw Fruit.
"Wait." Crocodile's voice stopped him.
"Kuma, as far as I know, among the Shichibukai you're the one most loyal to the Marines. You follow their orders without question—you hardly act like a pirate at all. So why tell us all this now?"
Kuma paused. His opaque glasses hid whatever thoughts lay in his eyes.
A long silence. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"This should be the last time we meet. Very likely the last time I act of my own free will. So… I don't mind leaving you with some truth, so you can be prepared."
After those cryptic words, he turned his gaze toward Davy Jones.
"There are those who spoke very highly of you—believing the world would be reshaped by your arrival. Now, I believe it too. It's a pity I won't be able to see it. But I hope… the world will eventually turn toward a better path."
He swung his massive paw.
Boom!
In an instant, the hulking body of Bartholomew Kuma vanished, leaving behind only a massive paw print gouged deep into the ground.
"Ghost Princess" Perona sat in a daze for a long time before realizing that the "Tyrant" Kuma had left, and the "Lord of the Deep" Davy Jones had gone after Moria.
Once again, she had a chance to escape. This time it even looked safer than before.
Yet her body and spirit were so drained she couldn't summon the will to act.
If even Moria had been cast aside and couldn't hold off Davy Jones, then even if she escaped the mansion—where could she possibly go? Could she alone cross the seas and leave the Florian Triangle?
Still, she forced herself to her feet.
She wandered to the window, only to see the fallen body of the giant Oars in the distance.
Another bad sign. Tonight had been nothing but bad news.
If Oars had fallen… what of Moria?
Her eyes scanned the ruined forest and shattered graveyard. No Moria. No Davy Jones.
What had happened? Who had won?
Perona wanted to believe it was Moria—but deep inside, she already knew the answer.
Descending the stairs to the lower floor, she found herself in the corridor where her beloved "zombie dolls" lay.
But though Crocodile had torn them apart, they shouldn't die so long as their shadows remained. A fresh body could always be made.
Yet now, every one of them lay lifeless and cold.
Perona's heart sank. Their shadows had fled. And such a mass release could not have been caused by salt—it could only mean that Moria himself had released the contract.
Why would he do that?
She needed no further thought. The truth was clear enough.
Curling into the corner, her eyes stared blankly forward.
Every hope had been dashed. She no longer even had the courage to run.
And just then—Davy Jones's figure appeared at the far end of the hall.
He had come.
So… this was how she would die? By strangling tentacles? By drowning in the sea? Or by having her head torn off, her heart ripped out?
So terrifying. Truly terrifying…
As he drew nearer, Perona's face crumpled into despair.
On the brink of death, she discovered she could not accept it calmly.
Her black-and-white stockinged legs kicked helplessly against the floor as she broke down, screaming like a child.
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die! Please, don't kill me!"
Davy Jones paused. The question he had meant to ask her had already been answered.
"If you enter a contract with me, serve aboard my ship for one hundred years, you may live."
"Eh?"
Perona choked, stunned. She hadn't expected such a turn. But slowly, the meaning of his words sank in.
"One… one hundred years?" Her eyes widened, still wet with tears.
Could she even live to see one hundred years? By then she'd be nothing but an old crone.
But if it meant survival, even such a bizarre contract was worth it.
Clutching at this new hope, she awkwardly wiped away her tears and snot. Hesitantly, she asked:
"You… you'd really let me live?"
"So long as you honor the contract, nothing is impossible."
"Then… could I at least dig a grave for Moria? He found me when I was just an orphan. I can't leave him to rot in the open… unless you refuse, of course…"
Davy Jones thought of Moria's massive size and replied plainly:
"I'll have some of my crew help you dig the pit."
Perona let out a long breath and nodded.
Only after forming the contract did she feel the strange relief of one who had just survived death itself.
As for the changes the contract wrought upon her body, she didn't even notice. The pressure of Davy Jones's presence was so overwhelming it made her oblivious to anything else.
She had never been loyal enough to Moria to die for him. Long ago, she had prepared herself—if Moria ever ran into an enemy too strong, she would take the island's treasure and flee.
Now, she was merely the captive of a rival pirate. That, too, was part of the life of pirates. Nothing unusual.
If Moria still lived, perhaps she might someday try to free him. But if he was already dead, then she could only think of her own survival.
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