Snow crunched beneath their boots as the two figures walked deeper into the frozen expanse.
Don Chinjao led the way with heavy, confident strides, his massive frame barely affected by the cold. Jack Sparrow followed a few steps behind, repeatedly brushing snow off his trousers with increasing irritation.
"This land," Jack muttered, flicking frost from his sleeve, "has a personal vendetta against my pants."
Chinjao glanced back briefly. "Your ship repairs—are they complete?"
Jack looked up, momentarily distracted from attacking the snow clinging to his coat. "Hm?" He thought for a second. "Ah. Yes. Finished. At least… that's what Gibbs told me."
Chinjao nodded. "Then you'll restock next."
"Apparently," Jack said with a shrug. "Food. Powder. Rum. Mostly rum."
They continued forward, the wind howling softly across the white plains.
Their conversation drifted naturally back to haki.
Chinjao spoke of the old days—of battles that shook seas, of clashes where willpower alone split the air. He spoke of Monkey D. Garp with an expression that hovered somewhere between resentment and respect.
"That fist," Chinjao growled, tapping his restored drill. "It crushed more than my head. It crushed an era."
Jack listened closely, unusually attentive. "And yet here you are," he said lightly. "Drill back in business."
Chinjao grunted. "Because of you."
Jack smiled faintly.
After a pause, Jack asked, "What will you do with Bege?"
Chinjao's lips curled into a dark grin.
Jack shuddered—not entirely sure whether it was from the cold or that smile.
"We will take his businesses," Chinjao said calmly. "His routes. His weapons. His influence. West Blue will no longer have five great families."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Only four?"
"Yes," Chinjao said. "And then we will kill him."
Jack slowed to a stop.
He lifted a finger. "If I may speak freely."
Chinjao stopped and turned, studying Jack.
Jack took it as permission.
He stepped ahead, boots sliding slightly on the snow as he spoke faster, excitement creeping into his voice. "Killing Bege is… efficient. But inefficient."
Chinjao's drill tilted slightly, an unconscious sign of curiosity.
"Four families," Jack continued, gesturing wildly, "means more competition among yourselves. Power struggles. Border disputes. Messy."
He spun around, walking backward now. "But five families—five is greater than four. Mathematically. Philosophically. Emotionally. Arithmathecally."
Chinjao crossed his arms.
"Everyone knows Bege is weak now," Jack said. "They'll circle him like sharks. You let that happen. But you keep him alive."
"A puppet," Chinjao murmured.
"Exactly!" Jack snapped his fingers. "He fights your battles. Earns for you. Bleeds for you. And if he ever steps out of line…"
Jack mimed snapping something.
Chinjao stared at him.
Then he burst into laughter, clapping a massive hand on Jack's back hard enough to nearly knock the air from his lungs.
Jack stumbled, barely keeping his footing.
"Ha!" Chinjao roared. "You are dangerous, boy."
Jack coughed. "I try."
"We are here," Chinjao said.
Jack's eyes widened as he took in the sight before them.
A massive hole yawned in the ice wall—smooth, circular, unmistakably shaped.
Jack looked at the hole.
Then at Chinjao's drill.
Then back at the hole.
He opened his mouth. "The drill is literally the—"
"Step aside," Chinjao said.
Jack complied eagerly.
Chinjao planted his feet, inhaled deeply, and bent forward. His body tensed. Muscles coiled.
Then he moved.
The ground shook as Chinjao unleashed his martial art, his drill spinning with terrifying force. Ice screamed as it split, the massive door sliding open with a thunderous groan.
Light spilled out.
Gold.
Mountains of it.
Coins, bars, jewels—piled high and glittering even in the dim cavern light. Treasure amassed across eleven generations of the Happo Navy.
Chinjao fell to his knees.
Tears streamed freely down his face.
"My life's work…" he whispered.
Jack, meanwhile, was very busy not drooling.
He walked slowly through the cavern, fingers brushing gold absentmindedly. His eyes darted everywhere.
Then he stopped.
Something caught his attention.
Nestled among the gold was a strange fruit—elongated, glossy, patterned with swirling designs. Its color shimmered oddly, like light bending across its surface.
Jack picked it up.
Chinjao looked over. "That's a devil fruit."
Jack tossed it lightly from hand to hand. "Any idea what it does?"
Chinjao shook his head. "You'd need an encyclopedia."
"I'll take both," Jack said immediately.
Chinjao nodded without hesitation. "You may."
As they turned to leave, Jack paused. "I saw another fruit."
Chinjao waved a hand. "Take it when you depart."
Jack smiled. "I will."
He hesitated, then added, "You don't need to come with me. Just… leave the door open."
Chinjao considered it. Then nodded. "No one will dare to come here anyway, so okay."
Jack tipped his hat. "Pleasure doing business."
____
The Caribbean Pirates departed the next day.
Hours later, Sai came running, breathless.
"Grandfather!" he shouted. "The treasure!"
Chinjao turned sharply.
"It's gone."