I. Beehive Island — The Hall of Monsters
The air in the Rocks Pirate fortress was thick with ego and ambition.
The grand hall, chiseled from obsidian rock and lit by caged fire spirits, held only the most dangerous pirates on the sea. Kaido, breathing steam, leaned against a pillar. Shiki floated in meditation. Whitebeard, still youthful and unscarred, reclined against a bulkhead, humming.
And in the center of it all—on a throne of broken blades and spinal remains—sat Rocks D. Xebec, chin in his palm, eyes narrowed like a man watching fate unfold.
Then the doors creaked.
And Rakan entered.
Silence.
Every eye in the room turned toward him.
The man who walked through the storm was no longer just a hybrid. No longer just a cadre. His body exuded pressure like a dying star—compact, coiled, alive. Blue-black draconic scales rippled beneath a sleeveless cloak, and his eyes burned low, like coals beneath ash.
For a second, the room forgot to breathe.
Then—
"Captain," a voice broke the silence.
It was Kaido.
He stepped forward, muscles taut, kanabo resting on his shoulder.
"You said I'd be the next cadre."
Rocks didn't even blink. "And yet you're still crying about it."
Kaido's jaw tensed. He turned to Rakan, fire flaring in his chest.
"Then I'll take it myself."
No warning.
The kanabo swung down like a meteor—
CRACK
And stopped midair.
Rakan hadn't moved.
The weapon was wedged between his teeth.
Steel groaned, then snapped in two like kindling.
Kaido's eyes widened. He didn't even see the follow-up.
A hand pressed lightly against his chest—just above his heart.
Not pushing. Not striking.
But Kaido felt it.
The tension. The command. The threat.
One wrong move, and his lungs would be pulp.
He stepped back, not from fear, but recognition.
"Gurururara…" Whitebeard laughed, folding his arms. "Looks like the runt learned how to growl."
Shiki grinned. "He broke your toy, Kaido."
Kaido said nothing.
Linlin, from her sweet-slicked throne, stared at Rakan with undeniable intensity.
II. Assignment
Rocks rose.
He tossed sealed envelopes to each of them.
"New contracts. Quiet ones. We don't burn flags this time—we burn legacies."
Rakan caught his envelope mid-air.
"Your mark," Rocks said, "is a retired admiral. Erik the Blue Flame. He's camped near the Red Line. Find him. Kill him. Take his Pose."
Rakan nodded.
"You're going with Linlin."
A pause.
Rakan looked sideways.
So did she.
"Try not to eat each other," Rocks said, grinning darkly.
III. Aboard Linlin's Flagship
Her ship was a floating monstrosity—part war vessel, part feast hall. The sails were stitched with the faces of past enemies, and the air buzzed with the laughter of animated homies.
Rakan stood at the bow, arms folded, cloak fluttering.
Linlin approached from behind, silent for once.
"You've changed," she said quietly. "You weren't like this before."
He didn't turn.
"Neither were you."
She stepped beside him. Her scent was sharp—cinnamon and stormwater. Not unpleasant. Just… old.
"Those scales…" she reached forward but stopped herself. "They're not from a Devil Fruit, are they?"
"No."
"Then what did you do?"
"I devoured what this world buried."
She laughed, a little too slowly.
"Mamamama... You speak like a king now. You used to be just an angry boy."
He met her eyes—slowly.
"And you used to be a mystery."
They stood like that. Not touching. Not speaking.
Letting tension bleed through the quiet.
Then she took a half step closer. Just enough to let the light catch the gleam in her eye.
"Tell me, Rakan," she murmured. "What's your dream?"
"Freedom. Then dominion."
"Mamama… You and Rocks sound so alike."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And you?"
She didn't hesitate.
"A kingdom. A real one. Where races don't hate. Where everyone eats together. No judgment. No pain."
He tilted his head.
"Is that idealism… or delusion?"
She smiled.
"It's ownership."
A gust of wind swept across the deck.
Then, slowly, she stepped forward—just enough to enter his personal space. Not touching, but close. Her shadow stretched past his shoulders. She was still taller, broader. But now… only just.
"You're almost my size now."
Her gaze flicked downward, unapologetic.
"Stronger, too."
He didn't flinch.
"Don't mistake fascination for invitation."
She leaned in—barely—and whispered near his ear:
"Don't mistake fear for restraint."
He turned to meet her gaze head-on.
Neither moved.
And for a moment, the ship's wind didn't dare breathe between them.
Then—
"Mama!" Zeus called from above. "We're approaching the island!"
Linlin straightened, chuckling under her breath.
"Back to business."
Rakan stepped past her.
"I'll take point."
She watched him move, her expression unreadable.