Years of sailing had honed the instincts of the Whitebeard Pirates. The moment that black crack appeared above the deck, every man shot up from the banquet, weapons drawn, eyes sharp.
The captain of the Sixteenth Division stepped forward, shielding Whitebeard as the invisible barrier spread, wrapping the Moby Dick like a cage.
A splash followed — Namur, the merman captain of the Eighth Division, broke the surface moments later, water streaming down his shoulders.
"Dad, we're trapped. Even the seabed's blocked by that invisible thing," he said grimly.
A hush fell. The laughter and clinking mugs of moments ago felt like a distant dream.
"Gu la la la…"
Whitebeard rose, brushing aside the sons who'd moved to protect him. His gaze fixed on the dark screen forming in mid-air, his grin wide but his eyes sharp as steel.
"So, someone dares to take a shot at me, eh? Not since Ace came half a year ago have I felt this kind of excitement. Whoever you are—" his voice thundered across the deck, "—step out and fight me fair and square!"
But beneath that booming confidence, unease lingered. His Observation Haki spread wide — and yet, he sensed nothing. No presence. No heartbeat. Not even a whisper of intent.
That was what unsettled him most.
Not even I could feel when it began.
What he didn't know was that this phenomenon wasn't confined to the Moby Dick. Across every sea, from the New World to East Blue, the same shadowed screen had appeared — showing his ship to the world.
In villages, in castles, in the halls of the Marines — people looked up in disbelief.
"That's Whitebeard!"
"The world's strongest man… what's he doing there?"
The image spread like wildfire.
At Marineford, Sengoku stood before the main square's rising screen, face darkening. "Investigate it," he snapped. "Find out who's behind this."
"Yes, sir!"
Even the Four Emperors — Kaido, Big Mom, Red-Hair — and the Five Elders of the World Government, paused to watch the impossible.
And far away, on East Blue, at the floating restaurant Baratie, a boy in a straw hat stared up mid-battle, eyes widening.
"Ace?!"
…
Meanwhile, back on the Moby Dick, the black veil above them finally shifted.
A dimly lit room appeared, framed by faint, glowing runes crawling along its walls. Shadows breathed softly against the flicker of light, and in that half-dark, a man stepped into view.
He sat before a plain table, face hidden, yet the weight of his gaze seemed to pierce through the screen — through air, through distance, through the hearts of everyone watching.
A ripple of silence spread across the deck. Even the sea seemed to still.
And in that silence, a voice — low, steady, magnetic — filled the air:
"Welcome to the Q&A Live Room. I will ask the questions. You will answer them. Correct answers bring reward. Five questions. One chance each."
For a moment, no one spoke. The entire world seemed to be listening.
"When the sea itself holds its breath, the wise know that something vast is about to begin."