For the sake of the tavern's dignity,
Ronn stepped forward, scooped Yoruichi into his arms, and began smoothing her fur with practiced rhythm.
He'd done this so many times before that it was almost an art form — palm gliding, fingers circling, light pressure behind the ears.
Soon enough, the puffed-up ball of claws and fury melted into a purring loaf, tail swishing lazily.
Across the bar sat a new face.
A man in a pristine white haori.
Tall, poised, glasses resting neatly on the bridge of his nose — calm, polished, unthreatening.
His short brown hair framed a polite smile that could have belonged to a saint.
Ronn's gaze lingered.
He half-expected the man to suddenly slick his hair back, smirk, and announce:
"From now on, I alone stand at the top."
Thankfully, he didn't.
Ronn exhaled, gesturing toward the counter.
"Everyone, sit."
Lucoa beamed, motioning to the bar, where bottles of every color glimmered in neat rows.
"The drinks are ready."
Rayleigh and the Shendu father-son duo bowed deeply — a perfect ninety degrees.
"Thank you for your hospitality!"
"Next time, we'll handle the serving ourselves!"
They hustled to the counter, sitting like model guests.
Whitebeard blinked, dumbfounded.
Rayleigh — the Dark King — bowing?
Those two monsters — the ones who'd just flattened him, Garp, and Sengoku — now sitting meekly at a bar like schoolboys?
Still processing that, Whitebeard's gaze drifted to Ace, unconscious on the floor, with Marco working over him.
He ignored his own wounds entirely.
Soon, Ace's eyes fluttered open, a touch of color returning to his face.
He didn't even check his own injuries. His first words were urgent:
"Marco, heal Pops first! His wounds are worse!"
"Got it!" Marco nodded, summoning blue flames that wrapped around Whitebeard's body.
But phoenix fire could only mend flesh — not time.
Watching, Shendu sighed in envy.
"If my son had half his sense of duty, I'd have died a happy father."
He paused, rubbing the Heart-Softening Spray in his pocket with satisfaction.
"Still, I suppose that's what magic is for…"
Whitebeard, recovering a bit, gave a weary laugh.
"Didn't know you were saving Ace earlier… I… uh…"
He trailed off.
Because really — how do you politely say, 'You just look terrifying'?
Shendu sipped his drink, forcing a teardrop from his eye.
"You people didn't even ask — just went straight for the killing blow. It's heartbreaking."
The voice, the expression, the trembling hand wiping tears —
If you ignored the face, you'd swear he was a pitiful young maiden.
Everyone froze, eye-twitching. The image was too much.
Meanwhile, the Demon Dragon, freshly spritzed with Heart-Softening Mist, threw his arms around his father, bawling:
"Don't worry, Father! I'll never let anyone hurt you again!"
Shendu buried his snout in his son's shoulder, the corners of his mouth twitching up in smug triumph.
Ronn poured a drink, sliding it toward Whitebeard.
"Alright, misunderstandings cleared — drink.
I heard you like your liquor strong.
This one's called Burning Blade. Even Blackbeard drank it once."
Whitebeard paused mid-reach. The name hit hard.
His eyes darkened; old memories stirred.
Among the many sons he'd taken in, Teach was the only one he truly regretted.
"Gurararara…"
"He knelt before me once — asked to join the family. I hesitated… but I saw determination in his eyes."
"What I didn't see was the ambition festering behind them."
He uncorked the bottle and drank deep.
Gulp.
The aroma exploded in his mouth — rich, sharp, intoxicating.
But as it hit his throat, the taste turned to fire, slicing its way down to his gut.
It felt like swallowing molten blades.
Unlike Teach, Whitebeard didn't flinch.
He grinned, eyes glinting, and let out a deep laugh.
"Gurararara! Now this… this is real liquor!"
He poured another mouthful down.
Marco darted forward, snatching the bottle.
"Pops! You can't— not in your condition!"
From the floor, Ace croaked, voice cracking:
"Pops, please… take care of yourself. The Whitebeard Pirates need you."
Whitebeard's eyes softened.
He almost scolded them — almost.
Then stopped.
Because they were right.
His body wasn't what it used to be.
And this battle… might've been his last great storm.
Watching the father-son scene, Shendu sighed again — this time, genuinely.
So filial. So loving.
If only his own son—
He patted his potion again.
No, better not jinx it.
Whitebeard turned to Rem and Ram, the twin maids tidying up behind the counter.
"Originally, I wanted to invite those two girls into my crew. But I see that's unnecessary now."
Then his gaze flicked to Ronn.
"That man who beat Blackbeard's crew half to death — what about him? Has he joined another group? I'd like to make him my son."
Ronn raised a brow.
This guy was still collecting sons?
Was there a 12-step program for this?
"You'll have to ask Shendu," Ronn replied dryly.
"See if he wants to call you 'Dad' first."
Rayleigh couldn't resist stirring the pot.
"Go on, Pops. Ask him. Let's see how many lives you've got to spare."
Whitebeard froze.
Shendu didn't lash out — just chuckled, retelling the saga:
becoming mortal, getting kicked by Burgess, beaten by his son, ambushed by Akainu, and then mobbed by half the Navy.
By the end, Whitebeard, Marco, and Ace were chuckling and wincing all at once.
This guy's life was basically a tragicomedy.
Still, it ruined Whitebeard's "new son" plan.
Back to zero.
After a round of laughter, the old man's tone shifted.
"What about Teach? Did he escape, or did the Navy take him?"
Rayleigh's eyes narrowed.
He drained his glass before answering.
"I killed him. His body's still at the amusement park.
If you want to collect it, do it fast — the Navy will spin it into propaganda."
Whitebeard nodded slowly.
"We haven't fought in decades, have we?"
"Maybe—"
He didn't get to finish.
Rayleigh moved first — arm around Whitebeard's waist, bursting through the tavern doors in a blur.
Marco blinked.
"They were just drinking. Why are they fighting?"
Ronn leaned against the counter, expression unreadable.
"Probably needs to vent."
"Teach broke the code — but still, he called Whitebeard 'father' for thirty years."
"Even a dog you've raised for thirty years… you feel something when it dies."
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