The waves churned violently as Whitebeard's ship gradually steadied in the aftermath of the clash.
Marco folded his blue-flamed wings and landed beside Whitebeard, a trace of confusion and unease lingering between his brows.
"Dad," he finally spoke, unable to hold it back anymore. "That strike just now… you could've turned that Marine ship into dust. Why did you stop?"
"Hm?" Whitebeard leaned his bisento against the deck and burst into his signature booming laugh."Gurararara! Marco, didn't you hear what that brat said?"
"When he shouted his name…""That kid said—his name would one day echo across the seas!"
Whitebeard repeated it with thunderous conviction, his eyes blazing like twin suns.
"And you know what?" he continued, voice rumbling with excitement."I believe him. What surprised me even more is that his strength… was nearly on par with mine when I was young."
Seeing that familiar expression—the same one Whitebeard wore when he'd first taken Marco in as family—Marco felt a chill crawl up his spine.
He instinctively rubbed his temple, dread creeping into his voice."Hey… Dad. You're not seriously thinking—"
He inhaled deeply before forcing out the words:
"You're not thinking of taking that Marine in as your son, are you?!"
"…!"
The air froze.
Whitebeard's broad grin stiffened, then slowly morphed into something resembling embarrassment. He scratched his iconic crescent mustache and laughed loudly to cover it up.
"Gurararara! You caught me, didn't you?!"
"Dad!!" Marco groaned, rubbing his face in defeat."I knew it! Every time you meet someone interesting, you pull this nonsense!"
Whitebeard, entirely unbothered, slapped Marco on the shoulder cheerfully.
"What? You jealous? Don't worry—you'll always be my finest son!"
"Who's jealous?!" Marco snapped, swatting his hand away."I'm saying that guy is a Marine! A Marine!And one who can clash head-on with you using nothing but raw strength and Devil Fruit power!"
"And his Devil Fruit is basically—"
"Ahaha!" Whitebeard cut him off with a grin, gazing toward the distant sea."So what if he's a Marine? Roger wore a Marine uniform once too, didn't he?"
"That was because he stormed a Marine base and stole it!" Marco snapped back.
"Eh? Was it?" Whitebeard blinked."Anyway—tell me, Marco. Do you believe in fate?"
"Dad, you haven't even been drinking!"
"Gurararara! Same thing!"
He chuckled, eyes glowing with anticipation.
"But I really am looking forward to that kid named Gern."
Marco sighed deeply, shaking his head, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"…Honestly. I can never win with you."
He turned and walked toward the railing, preparing to oversee repairs.
But the moment his back turned—
Whitebeard's smile vanished.
His brows furrowed deeply, eyes fixed on the turbulent sea.
"That sword…"
In his mind, the image rose clearly—A black blade, dark as the abyss, veined with crimson cracks, vibrating with an oppressive power.
Beyond the vibration itself…That ominous red pattern…That overwhelming pressure forged by a familiar, hateful will—
"…There's no mistaking it."
Whitebeard's voice dropped to a murmur, heavy with emotion.
"That was Rocks' blade."
The weapon of the man who once ruled the seas.The one who made even the World Government tremble—Rocks D. Xebec.
"…Why does that blade rest in the hands of that Marine brat?"
His grip tightened unconsciously around Murakumogiri, the handle humming faintly.
Countless thoughts flashed through his mind before he finally exhaled.
"…How ironic."
"Of all people… the man who hated the Marines and the World Government most…"
"…now his blade shakes the seas in the hands of a Marine."
Three days later.A Marine warship infirmary.
Gern Reginald Sigmar slowly opened his eyes.
The sharp scent of disinfectant filled his nostrils as dull pain pulsed through every inch of his body, reminding him vividly of the battle.
He twitched his fingers.
Good. Still there.
"…That was reckless."
Staring at the ceiling, he calmly replayed the fight in his mind.
Facing Whitebeard at his peak head-on had been nothing short of suicide.
If it had been someone like Shiki—someone cruel and ruthless—he'd already be dead.
But…
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
He'd won the gamble.
Outside the ward, hushed voices carried through the door.
"Did you hear? Lieutenant Gern clashed with Whitebeard—three whole exchanges!"
"I saw it myself! Whitebeard even acknowledged him!"
"That guy… he's definitely future admiral material."
"I swear he's even scarier than those three monsters at HQ…"
Gern's eyes sharpened.
Compared to slaughtering nameless pirates in the West Blue, this—This was the kind of battle that carved one's name into history.
Every Marine present had witnessed it.
The news would spread through Marineford like wildfire.
Slowly, he sat up.Black Blade: Bahuang rested beside his bed, its dark surface reflecting his sharp gaze.
"'Skyquake Gern'…" he murmured, wrapping the blade carefully in white cloth.
"That name will define me from now on."
No longer a nameless "pirate hunter" from the West Blue.
But a name acknowledged by the World Government, the Marines, and the monsters of the sea alike.
"Without background or bloodline… reputation is my only weapon."
Tying the final wrap tight, he clenched his fist.
If he was stepping onto the chessboard of the world—
Then he had to secure a high enough starting position.
That battle had already reached the Fleet Admiral's desk.
The generals who once sneered at the West Blue recruit who skipped the academy were now forced to reassess him.
"…But it's still not enough."
Gern looked out the porthole at the surging sea.
Whitebeard's final strike—coated in overwhelming Conqueror's Haki—replayed vividly in his mind.
That crushing presence…That absolute dominion…
"Heh…"
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"I really can't wait… to master Haki."