The first sign that something had gone terribly wrong was the screaming.
It cut through the disciplined noise of cannon fire and shouted orders like a knife, sharp and panicked, the sound of a man watching certainty collapse in real time.
On the deck of the Happosai, a subordinate stared through a spyglass, his knuckles white, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Where there should have been seven Ipposai ships moving in confident formation, there were now six—and one of those six was already burning.
"No… no, no—"
He lowered the spyglass, eyes wide, face drained of color.
Behind him, the deck was calm in that uniquely terrifying way only powerful men could afford. Sailors moved with routine efficiency.
Don Chinjao sat beneath the canopy, massive arms folded, eyes half-lidded. Sai stood beside him, posture straight, attention sharp.
The subordinate turned and ran.
He didn't knock. He burst through the doors, slamming them open so hard they rattled on their hinges.
"DON CHINJAO!"
The old pirate's brow twitched.
"What," Chinjao said, voice heavy and irritated, "is so important that you forget how doors work?"
The man swallowed, hard. "The Ipposai—one of them—it's been sunk!"
Sai's head snapped toward him. "Sunk?"
Chinjao's eyes opened fully now, sharp and cutting. "Explain."
"A second ship appeared," the man said rapidly, words tumbling over each other. "From behind them. Not the black ship—the other one. Bigger. Heavier. It opened fire and—"
He gestured helplessly with both hands.
"—it destroyed them. Two ships, Don Chinjao. Two of ours are gone."
The deck seemed to grow colder.
Sai looked from the man to his grandfather. "Grandfather?"
Chinjao rose slowly.
When he stood, the air changed. It always did.
The man felt it immediately—pressure, dense and suffocating, like standing too close to a mountain deciding whether or not to move. Chinjao stepped past him without another word and strode out onto the deck.
The sea stretched before him, wide and unforgiving.
Smoke rose in the distance.
Chinjao's eyes narrowed.
He didn't need a spyglass.
With practiced ease, his Observation Haki unfurled, reaching out across the water. He felt the battle—the rhythm of cannon fire, the panic of men, the aggressive confidence of a ship that had come prepared to kill.
His gaze fixed on the source.
A bulky vessel, bristling with guns, tearing through the Ipposai formation like a butcher through livestock.
Recognition struck like a hammer.
"…Bege."
His jaw tightened.
Sai stared at him. "You know that ship? Wait, Bege?"
Chinjao's voice was low, bitter. "He's alive."
The memories surfaced unbidden: underworld deals, broken agreements, assassins hired and sent. One name stood out above the rest.
Van Augur.
The sniper he had sent. The sniper who had failed.
Chinjao's hands curled into fists. "The marksman didn't finish the job."
Sai followed his gaze, then looked again—past the warship, to the black-sailed vessel racing ahead.
"Grandfather… the black ship. It's moving fast."
Chinjao's eyes shifted.
The direction.
His expression hardened.
"That ship isn't fleeing," he said slowly. "It's heading somewhere."
Sai's eyes widened. "You think it's planned?"
"It has to be," Chinjao growled. "Bege doesn't gamble without stacking the deck."
He turned sharply. "Forget the Ipposai. They can delay Bege's ship."
Sai hesitated. "But our brothers—"
"There were seven ships. They are five-," Chinjao snapped. "Now there are four. They'll hold long enough."
He pointed toward the black sails cutting toward the horizon.
"That ship is the real danger. Follow it."
Sai stared. "You think that is Bege too?"
"No," Chinjao said, a dark certainty settling in his chest. "I think that ship is his trump card."
On Bege's warship, Capone Bege watched the Happosai turn.
His lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk.
"Well now," he murmured, cigar glowing faintly. "You are sharper than you look."
Enoy approached, shouting over the thunder of cannon fire. "Boss! The flagship is moving! They're ignoring us!"
Bege chuckled. "Good."
He turned back toward the battle unfolding around him.
The remaining Ipposai ships, realizing their flagship had abandoned them, panicked. Their formation shattered as captains tried to decide whether to pursue, flee, or fight.
Bege's ship gave them no time.
"Fire!"
Cannons roared again.
The third Ipposai ship took a direct hit to its side, the explosion ripping through its midsection. Men were thrown screaming into the sea. Another volley followed, snapping the mast clean in half.
One desperate pirate leapt from the Ipposai onto Bege's deck, landing in a crouch, eyes wild.
He roared and surged forward, fist cocked.
"HASSHOKEN!"
The air vibrated.
The shockwave slammed into Bege's coat—and stopped.
Bege's coat shifted, plates sliding beneath fabric, absorbing the force with a dull, metallic groan.
The pirate stared, stunned.
Bege looked down at him, unimpressed. "Cute trick."
A gun barrel slid out from Bege's torso.
The shot was deafening.
The pirate vanished in a spray of blood and smoke.
Enoy winced. "Boss—"
"Reload," Bege said calmly.
The warship became a furnace of noise.
One by one, the Ipposai fell.
The fourth ship tried to ram, desperate and furious. Bege's men fired into its bow until it split like wet wood, then kept firing until it stopped moving entirely.
The fifth attempted retreat.
Bege allowed himself a small nod.
"Finish it."
By the time the sea fell silent, burning wreckage bobbed amid oil and bodies. The water itself seemed exhausted, waves rolling lazily through debris.
Bege's ship was scarred—gun barrels glowing red, hull dented, smoke pouring from vents—but it still floated.
Enoy barked orders, men scrambling to count losses, check ammunition, extinguish small fires before they grew ambitious.
Bege stepped to the edge of the deck and stared out at the distance.
The Happosai was gone.
So was the black ship.
His smile returned.
"They'll be at the jewel iceberg by now," he murmured. "Good."
He turned to Enoy. "Set course. Full speed. Ready the bombs."
Enoy hesitated. "Boss… what about Sparrow?"
Bege shrugged slightly. "If he survives Chinjao, he's useful."
"And if he doesn't?"
Bege exhaled smoke. "Then it's bad luck."
He watched the horizon, eyes gleaming.