The boulder in Kael's chest labeled "Roger's fate" had only just settled, and he barely got to enjoy a few days of calm before trouble arrived.
The Oro Jackson cruised at an easy pace, its deck alive with the usual good cheer.
Shanks and Buggy were in their daily spar, but this time they were no longer just swinging and blocking. They were trying to fold scraps of technique learned from Roger, Kael, and the others into their own styles.
"Take this, Red Nose!" Shanks barked, stamping hard as his speed kicked up a gear.
Buggy had been waiting for it. He yelped, slipped past, and carved a wicked arc with his daggers. "I am not falling for that twice. Your move doesn't even have a tenth of Kael-nii's punch!"
"Urusa— shut it!"
Steel rang against steel, a bright clatter across the deck.
Roger, peacocking in a loud pink shirt, perched on the figurehead swigging rum and cheering the brats at top volume. Rayleigh leaned on the mast with a book and a small smile. Kael lounged in a deck chair, orange juice swaying lazily in his cup.
It was all so peaceful it felt painted.
Until Dorlinger's urgent cry cut the calm from the lookout.
"Large silhouette at three o'clock, closing fast!"
The deck fell silent in an instant. Every head turned to the horizon.
Something vast was surging over the sea, its outline dwarfing any ordinary ship.
A moving mountain, its prow carved like a proud white whale. Even at a distance its presence pressed on the senses.
"You have got to be kidding me. What is that thing?" a crewmate gulped.
Buggy frowned, shielding Shanks without thinking. "Looks like it is gonna eat us."
Shanks was tense, sure, but more excited than afraid. He gripped his saber tight, eyes shining as the giant drew near.
As the distance shrank, the Jolly Roger came into focus: a skull with a crescent white mustache on a white field.
"Whitebeard, Edward Newgate," Rayleigh murmured, setting his book aside as his gaze sharpened.
"Kuhahahaha!" Roger stood on the figurehead, battle spirit blazing. "Newgate, long time no see!"
Kael rose and moved to the rail, golden eyes narrowing.
The Moby Dick.
The ship that would carry the strongest man of an era and his countless sons swept into view without warning.
At the prow stood the titan himself, the World's Strongest Man, Edward Newgate.
Though if we are being strict, a peak Roger tops him right now, and on certain metrics Gaban is the real authority on that title.
Kael's attention was not on Whitebeard alone.
There was a sleepy-looking teen with a pineapple tuft yawning over the rail behind Whitebeard, a sturdy square-jawed boy with folded arms and watchful eyes, and a young man with two neat mustaches chatting merrily with his mates, rapier at his hip.
Marco, Jozu, Vista.
Someday they would terrorize the New World and give Marine Headquarters a never-ending headache. Today they were just teens, still green, clustered around their "Old Man" and staring at the Roger Pirates with shining curiosity.
"Hey, Shanks, look," Buggy tugged at his sleeve, whispering, "their ship is huge. Think how much treasure is inside."
"Idiot, not the time," Shanks hissed, though he could not hide his grin. "That is the Whitebeard Pirates. Legends, same as Captain Roger. They have kids our age too."
The two brats' gazes met those of the boys on the opposite deck.
Invisible sparks snapped in the air, the first silent measure of a rivalry that would belong to a new generation.
The two legendary ships drifted closer, then stopped with less than a hundred meters of sea between them.
The wind tugged at two equally defiant flags.
"Gurararara…"
Whitebeard's laugh rolled across the water, rippling the sea. "Roger. You troublemaking fool. Couldn't stay in your rat's nest, and now you wander into my territory. For what?"
"Kuhahahaha! This ocean isn't your private garden, Newgate," Roger bellowed back, hands on hips and grin wide. "Heard there's a Food Island up ahead. I plan to eat like a king. What, you here to cut in on the feast?"
"Hmph. Then it suits me fine. My sons are hungry." Whitebeard tapped the deck with his Supreme Grade naginata, Murakumogiri, and the wood boomed under it. "But before that, how about we loosen up. Our last brawl ended early."
"Music to my ears."
Roger's blade Ace cleared its sheath as Whitebeard lifted Murakumogiri one-handed.
Their Conqueror's Haki slammed together and the heavens split.
Clouds coiled, lightning snarled, and the air over the sea turned heavy and viscous.
Kael watched from the rail, black and crimson fissures reflected in his eyes. He looked at the two men standing like gods, then at the ranks behind them, all crackling with battlelust, and at Shanks practically vibrating to jump in.
This was the scenery of the age.
No politicking. No schemes. The purest greeting in the world: throw hands first.
"Old Man, let us go too!" young Marco shouted, sleepiness gone from his eyes.
"Your boys look lively, Newgate," Rayleigh chuckled, drawing his sword.
Gaban hefted his twin axes and grinned. "Good timing. My joints and my blades have both gone rusty."
Weapons flashed out along both rails. A top-tier brawl about to swallow the sea was one heartbeat away.
Then Roger cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled across the gap, "Oi, Newgate. We feast after. I brought the best rum in the East Blue."
Whitebeard blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. "Gurararara! Then you better have the guts to win your food. My chef is a famed gourmand."
The tension blew away like mist, replaced by something hotter and far more pirate: the promise of a shared rampage.
"Boarding hooks ready. First one across drinks first!" Gaban roared.
"Sons, show them which crew rules this sea," Whitebeard thundered.
The two giants drifted together. Crews bent their knees, eager to leap the gap.
Kael took in the chaotic harmony of the moment, smiling despite himself, then downed the last of his orange juice.
No time for soft drinks now.
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