The silence inside the infirmary was suffocating.
It wasn't the peaceful kind—the kind that lets you breathe and think. It was heavy, dense, pressing down on my chest until every inhale felt like work. Even the torches along the stone walls burned quietly, their flames low, as if the room itself didn't dare make a sound.
Hajrudin stood near the stone archway, his massive frame cutting off the pale morning light. The giant captain didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscles in his face strain. It looked less like shame and more like grief—too heavy for words.
Slowly, he reached into his belt.
Without ceremony, he tossed a bundle of papers toward me.
They fluttered through the air, drifting down like wounded birds before landing across my lap in a messy pile.
I didn't touch them at first.
Seconds passed. Maybe minutes.
Finally, my left hand—still shaking—reached out and smoothed the top page.
My heart didn't skip.
It stopped.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE
"THE GHOST OF MARINEFORD"
PORTGAS D. ACE
฿ 550,000,000
The world tilted.
The photo was wrong. Horribly wrong.
It was a grainy, long-distance shot taken from the docks. I was unconscious, wrapped in white bandages so thick they looked like burial cloth. My head was tilted slightly, face exposed just enough for the camera to catch it.
Without my eyes open…
Without expression…
The resemblance wasn't close.
It was perfect.
"They released it ten days ago… only ten days after that night—resu."
Spruce's voice trembled from the foot of the bed.
I looked down.
The tiny Tontatta stood there shaking, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles had turned silver. Beneath his feet lay another poster—crumpled, dirt-stained.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE
"THE MERCURY TERROR" — SPRUCE
฿ 80,000,000
The image barely looked real.
It caught Spruce mid-leap, mouth open in a furious cry, his arms transformed into jagged, shimmering mercury spikes. The zoom was so harsh that Elbaf's towering stone and fallen ruins behind him looked like a graveyard built for giants.
"The News Coos…" Spruce swallowed hard. "They're dropping them everywhere. All over the New World—resu. Everyone thinks you're your late brother—resu."
I stared at the name again.
Portgas D. Ace.
The World Government was so afraid of bloodlines that they'd rather believe in ghosts than face the truth.
A rasping chuckle cut through the room.
"Well, well," a seasoned voice said calmly. "Looks like you finally decided to wake up."
I lifted my gaze.
In the corner of the infirmary, seated casually atop a massive piece of giant-sized furniture like it was a throne, sat Scopper Gaban. One leg crossed over the other. Circular glasses reflecting the torchlight. One of his twin axes rested against his shoulder while he methodically cleaned the blade of the other.
He didn't look worried.
He looked… tired.
"So," Gaban continued, finally meeting my eyes, "what's the plan, kid?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Should I call you 'Ace'?"
A pause.
"Or is it 'Ash'?"
The room felt colder.
"Because right now," he went on, voice steady, "the Marines are mobilizing every ship in this sector. They're desperate to correct a mistake they think they made two months ago."
He tapped his axe against the stone floor.
"We've hidden you here, sure. But Elbaf isn't big enough to hide a dead man forever."
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
"I don't know," I finally said.
The words sounded like stone grinding together.
My gaze drifted down to my right arm.
My right arm was dull now, lifeless. The limb hung uselessly at my side, heavy and cold, like it didn't belong to me anymore. And beneath that numbness—deeper than pain—I felt it.
The absence lingered.
A wolf's howl.
A sea cat's cry.
"I know Gray isn't dead."
My voice wasn't weak anymore.
It was sharp.
"He won't die," I said firmly. "He made a vow. Said he'd be the one to kill me if I ever made a single mistake."
My fingers curled slowly.
"He's still waiting for that mistake."
I turned my head toward the window, toward the distant sea—still stained faintly red in my memory.
"And Ripple…" My jaw tightened. "She hasn't missed a shot yet. Not once."
I inhaled.
"I'll find them."
The air around me seemed to shift.
"And I'll kill every single one of those masked freaks."
I forced my right hand into a fist.
The bandages pulled and protested, tightening around my right arm like chains. I ignored it.
I reached for Gray's coat.
Long. Dark. Heavy.
Black as a starless night.
It still carried Gray's scent.
I draped it over my shoulders, the fur mantle settling against my back like a crown of shadows, hiding my dead arm beneath its weight.
I turned to Spruce.
The little warrior was a mess—tear-streaked face, silver stains smeared across his hands.
"Spruce," I said quietly, authority vibrating beneath my voice. "Let's go."
He froze.
"We have a demon to find."
For a moment, he just stared at me.
Then he nodded fiercely.
"Yes… YES-RESU!"
He wiped his face, leapt upward, and landed firmly on my shoulder.
I started toward the door.
My boots echoed against the stone.
"Hey, kid," Gaban called.
I paused.
"The Underworld doesn't care about your bounty," he said. "It only cares about your will."
His voice hardened.
"If you walk out that door, you stop being a victim. You become the ghost they're afraid of."
A beat.
"You ready for that?"
I didn't turn back.
I gripped the stone doorframe with my left hand.
The rock cracked.
"I died on that dock," I said quietly, blue-orange flame flickering deep within my right hand.
"Everything walking out of this room now…"
A pause.
"…is just a haunting."