The battle lurched again the moment Imu rode Gunzi's body back into play.
"Roger—turn around! Chase them!" Jabba barked.
The three Holy Knights had no intention of letting that happen. They dove as one, their teamwork snapping tight.
That wasn't Gunzi anymore—that was Lord Imu.
All three felt the weight of it; fear sharpened effort. Their strikes grew cleaner, harder.
Rayleigh parried, calm as a horizon. "Eyes front, Jabba. These three aren't pushovers. As for Roger… trust him."
On the Oro Jackson, the rule was simple: the captain's word is law.
"I know," Jabba said through his teeth. "But that woman is… off."
The crew split their focus—shield the ship, fend the Knights.
Fish-man Sunbell whistled. Two black shapes rolled under the surface ahead—then erupted into daylight: two colossal sea beasts.
"Halen! Har! Lines up—haul us!"
Both beasts—seahorse-shaped and mountain-sized—bit down on ropes. The other ends were already knotted to the ship's cleats.
"Go!"
Their tails kicked; the Oro Jackson surged away, arrowing for the Gate of Justice.
"So that's the trick," Dimon said, exhaling. Now he saw how Roger had slipped the Gate before—coated hull from below, raw beast muscle through the three-way current. With Sunbell aboard, it was almost… practical.
"Those three Knights won't hold them. But Roger… he's not getting away this time."
Imu on open water. In Dimon's view, Roger's defeat was inevitable.
Sengoku dropped from the sky and landed beside him. "Why didn't you stop Roger's men?"
"Spent too much juice on that bowl-cut earlier," Dimon lied without blinking.
Sengoku grimaced and glanced seaward. Roger and Imu were only dots now, but the crash of their Conqueror's clashed in constant thunder.
He hadn't clocked Imu—only assumed the overseer Knight had finally joined the fight.
"Protect Enies Lobby first. Clear the debris!"
"On it," Dimon said—then actually helped, if only to keep up appearances.
By the time they'd pulverized the last falling slab, the Roger Pirates had already rounded the Gate and vanished into the Triangle Current.
With hands free, the Marines wheeled on the Golden Lion—
—who promptly realized Shakky wasn't at the courthouse. The moment he smelled the trap, he refused to stick around and peeled off into the sky, skiffs banking hard.
Judging by his course, he'd chase Roger instead.
A flying pirate is hard to pin; Sengoku didn't bother with a full pursuit.
And just like that, a war that had threatened to shake the world… ended in the weirdest shape imaginable.
—
The next day, a single headline detonated across the seas:
[Pirate King Gol D. Roger Captured at Enies Lobby by the Marines!]
It hit like thunder on a cloudless day. The message laced itself through every port, every tavern, every ship.
Roger had only just been crowned—and the world was still roaring over the discovery of the Final Island. Now this?
No one expected it. No one could have.
"The Pirate King's been nabbed!"
"Justice wins!"
"About time! Ever since Roger found Laugh Tale, pirates are crawling out of every barrel!"
"Three street punks vanished from our town yesterday—'wealth and eternal life,' they said. Idiots."
—
New World — Whole Cake Island.
"Ma-ma-ma! Today's paper."
Katakuri handed the news to his mother. Ten years had turned the once-squat boy from Hachinosu into a wall of a man.
Charlotte Linlin scanned a line and snorted.
"Hmph. He stole from me and still ends up a fool, that Roger. And the Golden Lion? Did they catch him?"
The article named both the Roger Pirates and the Flying Pirates as attackers.
Reason for the raid? Not a word.
Linlin narrowed her eyes. Why was Roger attacking the Government's island in the first place? Something he found on Laugh Tale?
"Forget it. Not my business." She smiled, sweet and terrible. "What matters is…"
"Katakuri—keep collecting Devil Fruits. Once we have enough, the Charlotte Family will be undying—everyone—and then…"
"We'll build an eternal kingdom."
When the Rocks crew disbanded, Linlin had received Dimon's phone number. She'd spent the years stockpiling fruits—to trade for the Immortality Wine in bulk. Not just for her own brood, either. The Wine would be a prize to draw every race beneath her flag.
She hadn't forgotten the first dream:
a country where all races share the table.
—
New World — somewhere at sea.
The Moby Dick rode the swell, white as the whale it was named for.
On the deck, a younger Marco stood beside his Old Man, reading the same headline with the others.
"Didn't he just become Pirate King? And now—captured? And attacking a Government island?" Jozu frowned.
The Whitebeard Pirates weren't yet the sprawling family they'd become; there were no "division commanders," only sons around a single father.
"Must be a reason we don't know," Marco murmured. "What do you think, Pops?"
Whitebeard looked unchanged by time—youthful, but steadier than during the Rocks era; the full weight of a patriarch sat easily on his shoulders.
"What about the brewer?" someone asked. "He was in the photo when Roger got crowned."
"Gurararara… that one?" Whitebeard grinned. "Even if I got caught, he wouldn't."
He remembered Dimon's face. Eight years since Shakky's bar. Eight years he'd kept a slip of paper safe in a pocket—the brewer's Den Den number.
"Marco. You boys. Who's up for a drink?"
Across the world, crews and kings and shadowed cabals all reeled at the headline—and wondered:
Why attack Enies Lobby?
Why did the Golden Lion appear?
Mysteries for history to chew—answers only the players themselves would ever know.
—
Midnight. Impel Down, Level Six.
In the deepest cell, Gol D. Roger hung by chained wrists, legs folded, head bowed. Hair tangled. His presence, muted.
A glimmer crawled across the bars outside.
"Hn? Garp?"
Roger lifted his head, voice hoarse. The glare made the silhouette indistinct.
"Too tired to sense a presence?" The voice was familiar—and amused.
Roger blinked, then squinted until the shape resolved.
"Dimon? You? How did you—?"
"This place is my back garden," Dimon smiled. "I come and go as I please."
Something else occurred to him. He touched the power of the Sui-Sui Fruit he'd stashed away for a rainy day—
Twisted Future — Silent Man.
For a moment, he wore the power of the Silence Paramecia.
"Soundproof Wall."
He snapped his fingers. Air thickened—an unseen dome ballooned out from him and swallowed the hall and cell, sealing every syllable.
"Good. Now we can talk."
Dimon sat, cross-legged, watching the Pirate King through the bars.
He could end this now. One needle. One hand to the head. Devour.
But yesterday's "meal" needed days to digest.
And before any of that… there was something else to do.
Roger's lips cracked into a dry smile. "Chat later—how about you get me out first?"
Dimon's smile thinned—then sharpened.
—To be continued…
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