Wano Country, Onigashima.
"I'm sorry, Brother Kaido. I failed to complete the task you gave me."
King knelt on one knee, his head lowered in a rare display of public contrition. His voice was flat, but the tension in the room was brittle enough to snap. Kaido, looming over him with a massive gourd of sake, didn't roar. He simply stared, his eyes tracking the fresh bandages wrapped tightly around King's chest.
It was a sight that demanded an explanation. King was a wildfire made flesh—a Lunarian whose racial traits granted him a defense that few in the New World could hope to bypass. While Yamato's strength was respectable, the odds of her marking King in open water should have been non-existent.
"King," Kaido rumbled, the sound vibrating through the stone floors of the palace. "Tell me exactly what happened. How did you come back looking like you've been through a grinder?"
King didn't hold back. He recounted the encounter on the sea—the sudden, artificial storm clouds, the lightning, and the overwhelming interference of the Whitebeard Pirates. But it wasn't the mention of Marco or even Whitebeard himself that made Kaido's golden eyes narrow. It was the description of the boy standing beside Yamato.
"So, my idiot son has been traveling with another Mythical Zoan brat?" Kaido murmured. "No wonder I couldn't find a trace of them for a month. They weren't hiding; they were being shielded."
King, sensing the direction of his captain's thoughts, spoke up. "Do you want me to verify his identity? Holdem was stationed in Bakura Town. I suspect the boy originated from the local foundries."
"No," Kaido denied, a dark, predatory intelligence gleaming in his gaze. "Don't forget that Yamato left Onigashima after her handcuffs were removed. Those locks were high-level craft. They weren't broken by force; they were solved by a master."
He turned his gaze toward the massive factory chimneys in the distance, their black smoke choking the sky. "The craftsmen who tried to escape are all rotting in Udon. Quinn—check the records. Cross-reference the shifts. Find out exactly who is missing from the forge lines."
The gears of the Beasts Pirates turned with terrifying efficiency. In less than half a day, a detailed file was slammed onto Kaido's desk.
"Batty brought him in?" Kaido's voice erupted in a growl that shook the rafters. "Is the man blind? He captured a Mythical Zoan capable of channeling magma and registered him as a common goat?"
Kaido's fury was a physical weight in the room. The current 'Drought,' a man named Batty, had been a conquered pirate captain from years ago. He was strong enough to hold his rank, but since rising to the seat of an All-Star, he had grown arrogant, frequently ignoring orders and extorting Kaido's own partners.
Kaido didn't tolerate useful fools, and Batty had just become useless.
"Demote Batty to the Tobi Roppo immediately," Kaido barked. "Let Jack take over the position of 'Drought.' As for that waste of skin, Batty... tell him he has six months to bring Yamato and the boy back to me. If he succeeds, he keeps his life. If he fails, he won't need to worry about his rank—or his head—ever again."
...
Ornn and Yamato were blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon of Onigashima.
The Moby Dick was a hive of activity, but they were focused on their own small corner of the deck. They were currently busy hauling supplies—fresh water, salted meat, and sacks of grain—from the Whitebeard Pirates' stores onto a medium-sized sailing vessel. In thirty minutes, they would depart under the escort of the Sun Pirates, heading toward the currents of Fish-Man Island.
In the captain's quarters, Marco stood by the porthole, watching the two runaways work through the glass. He turned back to the massive figure sitting in the center of the room, surrounded by medical equipment and IV bags.
"Pops, why let them go? They're green, yoi, but the talent is visible to the naked eye. Give them a year on this ship and they'd be leading the 15th or 16th divisions."
Whitebeard, currently undergoing his daily check-up, opened one eye and chuckled. "Marco, you've grown. You're actually starting to question my judgment."
Marco stiffened, his hand going to his hair. "Pops, I didn't mean—"
"I'm not angry," Whitebeard interrupted, his voice a warm rumble that made the medical monitors beep in protest. "In fact, I'm glad. I'm old, Marco. The future belongs to the brats who can think for themselves. You'll need that mental edge when I'm gone, if you're to keep our flag flying over the New World."
"Pops, don't talk like that," Marco muttered, his eyes stinging.
Whitebeard reached out and patted his son's head with a hand the size of a shield. "Birth, aging, sickness... it's just the nature of the sea. As for that boy, Ornn... you noticed it, didn't you? He stood before me without a shred of awe. Not out of disrespect, but because he sees the world as something to be shaped, not feared."
Marco nodded. It was true. Ornn hadn't been arrogant, but he had been remarkably... sharp. Unyielding.
"He has the eyes of a king, even if he hasn't awakened the Color of the Conqueror yet," Whitebeard said, closing his eyes again. "He has no intention of being my son. He is a builder, not a follower. So, why not make an investment while he's still weak? Taking them to Fish-Man Island is a small gesture for me, but the reward I'll reap when that boy grows up? It will be immeasurable."
Marco looked at the legend before him, but his mind wasn't on Ornn. He only had one thought: Pops, you aren't old yet. Not by a long shot.
...
Two weeks later. Paradise — The waters near the Twin Capes.
The sailboat was modest but sturdy, its hull cutting through the relatively calm waters of the Grand Line's first half. Ornn stood at the small, improvised anvil he'd bolted to the deck, the rhythm of his hammer finally slowing as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. He looked up, catching the silhouette of the massive lighthouse in the distance, and the red, towering walls of the Red Line that seemed to pierce the very clouds.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, his skin still radiating a faint, subterranean heat. He walked into the cabin, where the air was thick with the scent of salt and old wood.
"We're near the Twin Capes," Ornn said to Yamato, who was slumped on a bunk looking decidedly miserable. "Beyond the Capes is the mouth of the mountain. Take the seasickness medicine Marco left you now. All of it. The ride ahead is going to be violent, and I can't steer this thing through the Reverse Mountain currents if I'm also dragging you off the floor."
Yamato, who had been a portrait of gloom for the last few days, suddenly sat upright. Her eyes sparked with an intensity that had been missing since they left the Moby Dick. "We're finally here? I thought I was going to die of boredom!"
Boredom? Ornn glanced out the porthole at the Sun Pirates' flag fluttering on the mast. Jinbe had given it to them as a parting gift—a token of the Seven Warlords' authority. It was that flag, and the silent threat it carried, that had kept the Navy and every two-bit pirate captain at bay during their journey through Paradise. Without it, their trip wouldn't have been 'boring'; it would have been a non-stop bloodbath.
He reached up, untied the flag, and folded it carefully, tucking it into his storage. They didn't need a protector's shadow where they were going.
"Don't worry," Ornn said, a rare, dry smile touching his lips as he looked toward the horizon. "Once we pass the mountain and reach the Blue Seas, your father's reach will be effectively gone. I guarantee the next leg of this journey will be as exciting as you want it to be. We're going to see it all, Yamato. From the ground up."