The biting wind and snow tore through the vast cavity.
It was as if a killer whale, its jaws agape with fangs, had swallowed the wind and snow whole. A gunshot rang out, and the pirate with the bloodied face was violently thrown to the ground, plowing a long furrow in the snow.
Corazon's frostbitten hands trembled as faint wisps of smoke rose from his gloves. Snow resumed falling heavily.
Thump!
The surrounding pirates all rolled their eyes back and collapsed unconscious one after another.
Corazon pulled the harpoon stuck in his feathered coat, staggered up from the snowdrift, shook his head vigorously, and—his usual clownish smile twitching—murmured, "Conqueror's Haki…?"
Familiar face… different presence.
Conrad turned around, his handsome features shadowed by exhaustion, his Haki already oppressive.
He bared his teeth in a grimace that barely passed for a smile—chilling, yet oddly gentle.
"Thank you very much!" Corazon carefully cradled the Ope Ope no Mi in his arms, bowed slightly, and subtly tightened his grip on the handle of the pistol hidden beneath his coat.
When he looked up again, Conrad was already sprinting down the mountainside.
Corazon exhaled in relief and hurried after him, heading west toward Ghost Town.
Trafalgar Law—suffering from the terminal Amber Lead Disease—awaited him there.
For nearly three years, they'd wandered the North Blue, seeking a cure. Every doctor had failed. Law's time was running out.
That's why Corazon risked everything—defying pirates, the Navy, and even Donquixote Doflamingo himself—to steal the Ope Ope no Mi.
They hadn't gotten far.
Barreus, half-carried from the burning house by his crewmates, surveyed the unconscious pirates strewn across the snow. Veins bulged on his bloodied forehead as he roared:
"Drake! You damn fool—where were you?! You're the strongest among us! Coward!"
"My injury doesn't matter! Go! Get back that 5 billion berry prize—the Ope Ope Fruit!"
"Yes, sir!" The pirate crew raised torches, guns, and swords, giving chase.
Night fell. The snow thickened, swiftly erasing every footprint.
...
...
On the edge of Ghost Town, Conrad slumped against a stone wall, dragging his leg from the snow. His steps were leaden.
His first uncontrolled burst of Conqueror's Haki had drained him completely.
"Are you a child taken by pirates? Where's your home?" Corazon caught up, slipping off his feathered coat and draping it over Conrad's shoulders.
Conrad's face burned with fever. He exhaled a thick cloud of white vapor and pressed onward without a word.
Corazon reached out to feel his forehead—and jerked back as if scalded. "You're burning up!"
He forced a strained smile. "Don't worry… I'll get you to the Marines."
Conrad trudged forward in silence.
"Mr. Corazon… could he be deaf?" asked the small boy beside him—pale skin etched with white mineral-like patterns, wearing a snow leopard–spotted fur hat.
"Maybe," Corazon replied gently.
He was Donquixote Rosinante—the family's second-in-command, codenamed Corazon. To most, he was a bumbling mute, thanks to his use of the Nagu Nagu no Mi (Silence-Silence Fruit). But his muteness was an act.
In truth, at age eight, he'd fled in horror after watching Doflamingo execute their father. He'd been found by Marine Admiral Sengoku, who took him in. For fourteen years, he lived as a Marine—until he returned to infiltrate his brother's crew as a spy.
Now, to save Law, he'd stolen the Ope Ope no Mi—the fruit capable of performing the "Perennial Youth Operation," a surgery granting immortality at the cost of the user's life. There would be no return to the Marines after this.
"Law," he said firmly, "wait for me on the ship. I'll take him to the west coast and come find you right away."
A Navy surveillance vessel was anchored there. He needed to deliver his final intelligence dossier—names of world nobles and underworld figures who'd traded with Doflamingo, plus the location of his next planned assault.
Trafalgar Law stared at Conrad's retreating figure. His eyes—small, dark-rimmed, and nearly white—narrowed with quiet suspicion.
He'd heard from Rosinante—Corazon—that this boy had saved him: the one who'd secured the Ope Ope no Mi and forced it into his mouth, sacrificing the fruit to preserve his life.
"Okay… hurry back," the boy murmured, pulling his sweater tighter against the biting wind before turning and walking quickly away.
Rosinante nodded. He jogged over, knelt beside the boy—Conrad—and gave his shoulder a light pat, chuckling in that odd, strained way he sometimes did. "Get on."
Conrad didn't understand the words, but he understood the gesture.
Before he could protest, Rosinante grabbed the collar of his black, feather-trimmed coat and hoisted him onto his back with surprising ease. Though slender, Rosinante stood tall—nearly twice Conrad's height—and his long legs carried them swiftly through the snow.
"So hot… how long's he had this fever?" Rosinante muttered.
Conrad blinked, staring up at the swirling snowflakes.
He wasn't sick. He was thinking—reliving the chaos that had just unfolded.
When the mind races, the brain heats up.
Zhang Sanfeng of Wudang once said that in Tai Chi swordsmanship, the highest mastery comes when one forgets half, then most, then everything—for true victory lies not in technique, but in formlessness.
Conrad had always been gifted that way: able to discard what he'd just learned the moment he saw something new. But now, that very gift had become his curse. The memories he needed—the details—slipped through his fingers like mist.
When did the Donquixote Family land on this island?
Which direction were the Marine warships anchored?
Who was leading the operation?
His temples throbbed. The answers hovered just beyond reach.
Rosinante felt the heat radiating from his back and quickened his pace. "Almost there. Hold on—there are doctors on the Marine ship. They'll fix you."
Thump!
Conrad shoved him—hard—and rolled off into the snow, his face flushed crimson.
"Impossible!" he shouted, voice cracking. "These are my memories—how could I forget?!"
He threw his head back and laughed—a wild, desperate sound. No fever would rob him of this.
"I am the master of this body!"
His palm slammed onto the Baihui point atop his skull, pressing inward as if to pry open his own mind. "Memory—obey me! Appear!"
Boom!
Darkness. Whiteness. A ringing hum.
Then—clarity.
His inner vision snapped open. Countless scenes unfolded like shelves in a vast library. The pages of One Piece turned at lightning speed. The nutrients from his last meal surged through his veins, feeding his brain like fuel to a fire.
Every detail sharpened: the rustle of grass, the tone of a voice, the arc of a sword swing—he saw it all as if standing there again.
Watching Conrad mutter and tremble, Rosinante's stomach dropped. Has the fever broken his mind?
Ahead, past the slope, the masts of Marine surveillance ships peeked over the distant cliffs. Beneath snow-laden trees, a small Marine squad trudged ashore—rifles slung, cloaks flapping, binoculars scanning the island.
Rosinante gripped Conrad's wrist to drag him toward safety—but the boy wouldn't budge.
Fine. So close… I'll just deliver the intel myself and send help back.
He'd only taken a few steps when a voice cut through the howling wind—calm, sharp, and utterly clear:
"Don't go any further. Come back."
Rosinante spun around.
Conrad stood upright, color drained from his face—but his eyes? Crystal clear. Focused. Awake.
"You can… talk?" Rosinante whispered.
"Now I can."
Conrad twirled a harpoon in his hand, raised it high, exhaled—and hurled it.
The weapon sliced through the blizzard, whistling past Rosinante, aimed like a spear of fate at a Marine officer uphill—mushroom-shaped head, sunglasses glinting despite the storm.
CLANG!
The impact rang like a gong.
The Marine hadn't flinched. His forearm—coated in a dull, metallic sheen—swung sideways and blocked the harpoon clean.
It shattered on impact. Shards flew, piercing three Marines standing nearby before embedding deep into a frozen oak.
Red bloomed across the white snow. Three bodies collapsed.
From the hill, the sunglasses-wearing man tilted his head, voice smooth with dark amusement:
"Corazon…? You can talk now?"