Reverse Mountain tried very hard to kill them.
It did not succeed for lack of effort.
The Black Pearl clawed her way up the roaring current like a furious animal, her hull screaming in protest as walls of water crashed against her from every direction.
Jack Sparrow clung to the railing with one hand, hat long gone, hair whipping wildly across his face as salt spray slapped his cheeks. His boots skidded across the soaked deck, his balance maintained only by instinct and luck in equal measure.
His eyes shone.
"This is brilliant!" he yelled over the thunder of water, laughter bubbling out of him as if he were on the world's most violent amusement ride.
Gibbs did not agree.
Gibbs leaned over the side the moment the ship tilted forward, gripping the rail with white knuckles as his stomach finally surrendered. He emptied its contents into the raging waters below, cursing between retches with a vocabulary that would have made seasoned pirates nod in appreciation.
"You—ghrk—lunatic—hrrk—this is not—blegh—brilliant!"
The Pearl surged upward one final time, the current roaring like a dragon denied its prey, and then—
They crested.
For one heart-stopping moment, the ship hung in the air.
Jack threw both hands up. "Wheeeee—!"
Gravity reclaimed them.
The Black Pearl plunged down the other side, racing along the descending current at breakneck speed. The mast rattled. Barrels rolled. Loose ropes snapped like snakes. Jack laughed, which made Gibbs think he hit his head on a crate.
Then suddenly—
Calm.
The water smoothed. The roar faded. The sky opened into something blue and deceptively peaceful, as if Reverse Mountain itself were pretending innocence.
They had survived.
Gibbs collapsed onto the deck like a man freshly returned from the dead, pale, drenched, chest heaving as he sucked in air. He stared at the sky, blinking rapidly, whispering a prayer to any god still listening.
Jack stood proudly at the bow, arms spread wide, chest lifted, soaking in the moment like a conquering hero.
"See?" he said cheerfully. "Perfectly safe."
Gibbs did not respond.
When Gibbs wasn't looking, Jack leaned over the opposite railing and vomited quietly.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, straightened, and adjusted his posture as if nothing had happened.
That, too, never needed to be discussed.
His stomach growled almost immediately afterward, offended by the brief betrayal.
Thankfully, land lay ahead.
Loguetown.
By Jack's careful calculations—performed mostly in his head, aided by optimism and a deep distrust of clocks—they still had a full day before the execution. Plenty of time. Time to eat properly. Time to rest. Time to stop the ship from actively trying to kill them.
But as the Black Pearl drifted closer to Loguetown's harbor, something felt… wrong.
Ships filled the waters.
Not just local vessels or merchant craft, but pirate ships of every size and make. Flags from every sea snapped in the wind—skulls, beasts, symbols of crews that had already made names for themselves or were desperate to do so.
Marine warships lined the docks in rigid formation, cannons angled outward, crews standing at attention. White coats fluttered like warning signs.
Jack frowned.
"That's… busy," he said.
Gibbs squinted, eyes narrowing. "Execution's today."
Jack froze. "No."
"That's very much today."
Jack considered this, then smiled again. "Well. That's inconvenient."
They docked quietly amid the chaos, tying the battered Pearl alongside ships that looked far better maintained—and far better crewed. No one spared their vessel a second glance. The Pearl looked like she had fought the sea and lost spectacularly. Torn sails. Scorched planks. A deck that bore the scars of a near-death experience.
No one would steal that.
Loguetown itself pulsed with tension.
Marines stood on every corner, hands resting near hilts and rifles, eyes sharp and unblinking. Conversations were hushed, carried out in murmurs. The name whispered across the streets carried weight heavier than cannon fire.
Gold Roger.
The Pirate King. The man who conquered the Grand Line. The man who would die here, in the town where his piracy had begun.
A perfect circle.
Influential figures crowded the streets. Pirates pretending to be civilians. Civilians pretending not to notice pirates. Merchants watching nervously. Somewhere in the crowd, a hawk-eyed swordsman leaned against a wall, massive blade strapped to his back, eyes half-lidded but alert. Nearby, a broad-shouldered man with a golden hook for a hand observed silently, interest cold and calculating.
A red-haired boy laughed loudly as his clown-faced friend juggled knives for spare change, blissfully unaware of how history brushed past them.
And watching it all, looming like inevitability itself, were Marine legends—Sengoku, stern and imposing, and Monkey D. Garp, arms crossed, expression unreadable but heavy.
Their presence promised only one thing.
No one would disrupt today and live.
Inside the tavern, Jack and Gibbs forgot all of that.
They attacked their food like starving beasts.
Plates vanished as quickly as they arrived. Meat piled up, then disappeared. Bones clattered onto the table. Grease coated fingers, faces, sleeves. Jack barely reached the tabletop, but his appetite made up for the difference.
Onlookers stared openly.
Who were these two?
The boy ate like a demon, eyes shining with feral delight. The older pirate beside him matched him bite for bite, jaw working furiously.
That damn uncle, eating so much.
"Who are you calling uncle?!" Gibbs suddenly roared, slamming his fist onto the table.
The tavern went dead silent.
"I'm thirty-five!" he barked. "Still young!"
Someone coughed.
People quickly looked away.
Jack leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach. For the first time in days, he felt full again.
"Right," he said. "What else do pirates do?"
Gibbs eyed him carefully. "Drink."
Jack tilted his head. "What kind?"
Gibbs smiled. It was not a friendly smile. "Rum. A whole bottle. Initiation."
Jack hesitated. "That sounds excessive."
"Tradition," Gibbs said solemnly.
The tradition had been invented moments ago, out of spite.
When the bottle arrived, Jack stared at it, took a deep breath, and lifted it to his lips. Gibbs watched closely, smug.
"You're supposed to drink slowly," Gibbs said. "Enjoy it."
Jack did not.
He downed the entire bottle in one go.
The tavern went silent.
Jack slammed it down, exhaled loudly, and wiped his mouth. "Tastes… warm."
Then he stood.
"I have to meet the Pirate King," Jack announced. "Ask him about his treasure."
He took one step. Staggered. Turned the wrong way. Corrected himself. Walked straight out.
Gibbs stared.
Then his eyes widened.
He checked his pockets.
Empty.
"Oh no."