While Mihawk and Shanks battled fiercely…
The instigator himself—Mike—stood imposingly at the helm of a Marine warship, leading an elite squad from headquarters as they prepared to dock at Loguetown.
'Patter—'
A light drizzle fell silently, gently tapping against the rooftops and streets of Loguetown, enveloping the town in a hazy, damp mist.
Inside the Marine branch at Loguetown, tension hung thick in the air.
"Hurry up! That bastard who got promoted through connections is about to arrive!"
Smoker's voice was low and urgent, his teeth clenched so tightly his cigar nearly slipped from his mouth.
"All of you, show some spirit! Let that guy see the pride of Loguetown's branch!"
The Marines behind him stood seriously, quickly straightening their uniforms and checking their weapons before marching in formation toward the docks under Smoker's lead.
As they approached, the massive, imposing Marine warship gradually came into view, inspiring an instinctive sense of awe.
Mike stood at the bow, a cigar dangling from his lips, his expression was relaxed with a faint smirk of nonchalance.
His "Justice" cloak billowed dramatically in the sea breeze, exuding an air of effortless arrogance.
A lieutenant commander followed closely behind, dutifully holding up a large black umbrella to shield Mike from the drizzling rain.
Kuro, meanwhile, remained aboard the ship on guard duty, not accompanying them ashore.
During this time, he had only one goal in his heart—to become stronger.
Ever since Kuro talents got enhanced to the level of a Elite Vice Admiral through the "Demon God Conduit," he had set an extremely rigorous training regimen for himself, pushing his limits day after day without slacking.
He was well aware of Mike's unfathomable methods, which had elevated his talents to such heights.
For a more stable life and greater strength, he was determined to keep surpassing himself, striving to become Mike's most powerful right-hand man and eliminate all potential obstacles in his path.
"Let him keep at it."
Mike glanced at Kuro, who was still training relentlessly on the deck, narrowing his eyes slightly with a trace of satisfaction.
The stronger Kuro became, the fewer times Mike would need to intervene personally.
He could focus more on enjoying a carefree life—letting his subordinates handle all the troublesome work while he lounged in the background.
Wasn't that the ideal life?
The thought made him smirk, the corners of his lips curling higher as smoke drifted lazily from his mouth.
"Move out!"
With a wave of his hand, Mike led the elite Marines from headquarters down the gangway toward the docks.
The onlookers at the pier turned their heads, some even holding their breaths despite the drizzle.
"That lazy bastard!"
Smoker spotted the familiar figure from afar, and his anger flared instantly.
His teeth clenched tighter around his cigar, the smoke around him thickening.
"Thud—thud—thud—"
The elite Marines marched in perfect unison, their imposing aura overshadowing even the most elite soldiers from the East Blue's Roguetown branch.
The crowd murmured among themselves, their curiosity piqued by the soldiers disembarking from the warship.
"Wow, wasn't Loguetown's Marine branch supposed to be the strongest in the East Blue?"
"Why do these soldiers from the warship seem even more stronger?"
"Yeah, Captain Smoker is the 'White Hunter,' one of the East Blue's strongest."
"But that man leading them off the ship... he looks even more composed and striking than Captain Smoker..."
One sharp-eyed bystander noticed the large character on the ship's mainsail and gasped.
"'Kizaru'... No way..."
Hidden among the crowd, Monkey D. Dragon's eyes flickered slightly.
When he saw the character "Kizaru" fluttering in the wind, a quiet sigh of relief escaped him.
"Good, it's just Kizaru's ship."
Dragon allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
This meant Luffy still had a chance to leave the East Blue safely and embark on his own Grand Line adventure, facing the unknown challenges ahead.
Had it been Akainu's ship, Loguetown would likely have turned into a battlefield drenched in blood and flames—a scenario Dragon absolutely wanted to avoid.
Still, even with Kizaru's ship, caution was necessary.
Dragon's thoughts raced as he studied the massive warship, a bold idea forming in his mind.
If the ship were attacked at the right moment, forcing it to remain docked for repairs, the elite Marines would be unable to stop Luffy from setting sail.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Dragon had his plan.
He took a deep breath, savoring the damp, cool sea breeze, and waited patiently for the perfect opportunity to arrive.
When Luffy was ready to set sail, he would create chaos to ensure his son had a smooth passage to the Grand Line, no matter what.
****
The New World.
"BOOM—!"
The world became a maelstrom of fire and crimson light.
Flames and Haki clashed violently in the sky, and the resulting explosion was not just a sound, but a physical concussion that warped the very air.
For a fleeting, terrifying moment, time itself seemed to freeze.
A colossal fire dragon and a spectral red griffin were locked in a death struggle, their energies tearing a hole in the sky.
Then the shockwave hit.
It wasn't a gust of wind; it was a solid wall of force that flattened trees and tore buildings from their foundations.
The entire island became the eye of a hurricane forged by two men, with debris, supplies, and screaming pirates caught in the powerful currents and flung into the air like weightless kites.
The sea around the island boiled and churned, thrown back as if by the hand of a god.
The air grew thick with a scorching, oppressive energy, as if the sky itself was being torn apart.
Mihawk, using the repelling force of Shanks's own "Divine Departure," retreated with an effortless grace.
His toes tapped lightly on a flying piece of rubble, his figure a black phantom leaping through the chaos before landing silently on the deck of his Coffin Boat.
He looked up at Shanks, who was still hovering in the scorched sky, his expression unreadably calm.
"To think you'd need to infuse your blade with Conqueror's Haki just to block it," Mihawk murmured, his voice carrying easily over the storm's dying roar.
There was a hint of teasing in his tone.
"I haven't even fully grasped this technique yet. Allow me to go home, get some sleep, and master it properly. We can continue this another time."
"..."
Shanks slowly descended, landing softly in the trench their clash had carved into the island.
His expression was the gravest anyone had seen it in years.
His heart was still pounding in his chest.
The raw, untamed power of that strike had far exceeded his wildest expectations.
It wasn't just strong; it was elemental.
It felt less like a sword technique and more like blocking a solar flare.
"Sun Halo Dragon Head Dance."
This move, which Mihawk admitted was just a flawed imitation of the original, already possessed such terrifying destructive force.
Shanks was one of the Four Emperors, a man who had climbed to the pinnacle of the world through sheer swordsmanship and Haki.
He understood power.
And he could see, with terrifying clarity, the monstrous potential contained within that single slash.
At first, he had thought the "Breathing Style" was just a joke, a tall tale Mihawk was spinning to pass time.
But now, having faced it himself, he knew he had been wrong.
Dead wrong.
"Mike..." Shanks muttered the name under his breath, a flicker of profound unease and burning curiosity in his eyes.
That Marine Captain.
That mysterious figure from the weakest sea.
Just how strong was he, to be the creator of a style like this? What secrets did this "Breathing Style" hold, to earn such respect from the World's Greatest Swordsman?
Mihawk said nothing more.
He sheathed his Black Blade, "Yoru," the sound echoing in the sudden silence.
He stood steadily on his Coffin Boat and gave Shanks a final wave.
"Shanks," he called out, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Next time we meet, I'll bring you the complete 'Sun Halo Dragon Head Dance.'"
Shanks watched Mihawk's retreating figure, his heart still unsettled.
He stood there, his one hand resting on the hilt of "Gryphon," his red hair fluttering in the wind.
The cheering and celebrations for Luffy's bounty were forgotten.
The feast was the last thing on his mind.
All he could think about was the implication of what he had just witnessed.
A power that could rival—or even surpass—the strongest fighters in the world was not in the hands of a Warlord or a fellow Emperor.
It was in the hands of a Marine.
A Marine Captain from the East Blue who, by all accounts, was nothing more than a lazy slacker.
The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
The laziness, the posting in the weakest sea... it was all a cover.
A perfect camouflage for a creature of unimaginable power to grow, unnoticed.
His eyes, for the first time in a long time, held a rare and serious weight.
He looked out over the horizon, in the direction of the Grand Line, where both a rubber boy with his treasured hat and this mysterious Marine were now sailing.
Benn Beckman walked up beside him, lighting a cigarette with a slightly trembling hand.
"Shanks," he said, his voice low. "What the fuck was that?"
Shanks didn't look at him.
He just stared at the sea, his mind a whirlwind.
After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice quiet, heavy, and filled with a certainty that chilled his first mate to the bone.
"The Marines... they've gave birth to a real monster."