Stepping out of the shogun's manor, Dimon glanced up just in time to see Barrett and Abel trading meteors in mid-air. Armament collided on armament—the crack like a sky-splitting thunderclap—sending a shiver through all of Flower Capital.
"You're the one who serves by Kaido's side… what business?" Abel shielded the Immortality Wine with one arm and caught Barrett's iron fist with the other.
"Douglas Barrett," the youth grinned. "Beat you, and I earn the right to challenge Lord Dimon!"
At that, a shard of cold light flashed behind Abel's eyes. His lip curled.
"With just you? Know your place when you speak my lord's name."
Sacred fire bloomed behind him. In a breath, he tore into the sky as a Toothless Pterosaur, the conic beak drilling forward—boom!—and sent Barrett pinwheeling from the heavens, cratering into a merchant street below.
"Take it outside," Dimon called, catching the bottle one-handed. "Repairs are a pain. The wine—I'll deliver it myself."
"My apologies, Lord Dimon!"
Abel's wings snapped wide; he stooped like a hawk, seized the newly-risen Barrett in both talons, and the two of them arrowed out beyond the city walls.
"Who wins?" Dimon rolled the bottle in his palm, watching their silhouettes shrink against the green of Wano.
Hard to call. Barrett had Conqueror's aptitude already awakened, and the Combine-Combine Fruit was no trinket. But Abel was no slouch—a Lunarian's racial gifts were a fortress, even if the Ancient Zoan he bore wasn't mythical grade.
"Maybe I swap his fruit… Goro Goro?" Dimon mused. For Abel, loyal since childhood, a Logia was pocket change. Still—his choice to make. Let the bout finish first.
With that thought, Dimon lifted off toward Kuri, wine in hand… and a certain baby girl to tease.
Yamato, uncle's coming~
That very afternoon, the World Economy News splashed a name across every front page: "Yamamoto Genryūsai."
Morgans would never pass a feast like this—Rocks' remnant Wang Zhi bloodied and missing on Hachinosu after clashing with a mysterious centenarian swordsman. By dusk, "Yamamoto Genryūsai" rang from tavern to dockyard.
Famed atop Wang Zhi's shoulders.
A hundred years old—and terrifying.
Grand Line — Gourmet Island, Gourmet City.
The Oro Jackson rode at anchor. On deck, Rayleigh and Jabba held a broadsheet between them, the print still smelling of ink.
"A hundred-year-old codger beating Wang Zhi?" Jabba gaped. "Who the hell is that?"
"This sea doesn't reward assumptions," Rayleigh chuckled. "And a body that old with power like that… hardly 'normal.'"
"You mean—Immortal?" Jabba's eyes narrowed. A regular elder grows soft; haki rusts; bodies fail. To steamroll an immortal like Wang Zhi, you'd likely be one yourself.
"If you're curious, ask Dimon. He might know."
"Right—got his number?" Jabba deadpanned.
Rayleigh only smiled—then both men turned as one toward the pier. Footfalls approached: a cloaked man with a pack over his shoulder.
"Captain Roger! A hurry up, aye? Marines will sniff us here any minute!" Fisherman Sunbell waved from the gangplank.
Three days ago they'd set this rendezvous. Roger stopped below the bow, looking up at those weathered faces. A slow smile.
"Everyone's here… hmm, no Shanks, no Buggy…"
He drew a breath. "Then—an announcement."
Rayleigh and Jabba traded a glance. They knew.
"The Roger Pirates… disband here."
A Marine warship knifed through the first half of the Grand Line, born from Loguetown spray, climbed Reverse Mountain, and slid into Paradise. In a curtained sickbay, Sengoku stood over half a man.
"How's Zephyr?"
"Up to the neck," the surgeon murmured. "Heart's back. Another day or two, and the head should… grow in."
The old man still looked faintly disturbed—even a veteran had never seen half a body regrow. The Immortality Wine—legend with a pulse.
Sengoku exhaled. "Dimon's strength exceeded expectations. That man's become another Rocks-class headache."
The doctor gave a wry smile. "And yet, thanks to his wine, Zephyr still draws breath."
A knock. "Admiral Sengoku—priority bulletin."
He cracked the file, and his brows climbed. Hachinosu. A brief, brutal clash. Wang Zhi missing. The attacker—Yamamoto Genryūsai. A centenarian. A swordsman. Gone without a trace.
Even sending Zephyr, Sengoku thought, that wouldn't be… this easy.
Below, the Fleet Admiral's orders continued: Five Elders had approved a new institution—The Seven Warlords of the Sea. Compile candidates. Submit at once.
"To leash the rampage of this Great Pirate Era…" Sengoku muttered. His mind clicked. Yamamoto—strength enough to flatten Wang Zhi, and now a name rolling across the world. If he could recruit that old man first, the rest of the list would come easier.
Power, and a banner to cow the rabble. A centenarian who toppled a Founder—perfect.
"Helm—return to Marineford!" Sengoku strode from the ward. "Intelligence—tear the seas apart if you must. I want everything on Yamamoto Genryūsai."
"Sir!"
Wano, Kuri — Hundred Beasts Fortress.
Dimon handed over the wine. Kaido's grin was all tusks and thunder.
"Another bottle once I sort out the fruits," Dimon said—and pinched a drowsy Yamato's cheek till she squeaked.
Outside, the sky over the foothills tore with a fresh boom. Abel and Barrett blurred, one trailed by holy flame, the other by an iron-black aura.
Far away, presses clattered, headlines flew, and warships turned their bows.
Who finds "Yamamoto Genryūsai" first—Marine Headquarters… or the man behind the name?
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