In the New World—upon the vast deck of the Moby Dick.
The atmosphere was utterly unlike its usual raucous, heroic bustle…
The man hailed as the "Strongest Man in the World",Whitebeard—Edward Newgate,was seated upon a specially made, massive chair.
For the first time anyone could remember, a thin blanket was draped over his broad shoulders.
The back that had once borne an entire era now seemed, ever so slightly, to have grown hunched.
Several young women in pink nurse uniforms stood quietly to one side. Most conspicuous of all was the IV bottle hanging nearby, its clear liquid steadily dripping into Whitebeard's body through translucent tubing.
This sight—set beneath the banner that symbolized Whitebeard's once unquestioned invincibility—laid bare another, far crueler truth.
This man, who had risen in the era of Rocks, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with Roger and the Golden Lion to forge a legendary age—
His body was now, irreversibly, marching toward decline.
"Heh…"
Whitebeard's rough fingers pinched the World Economy News, his deep-set eyes—still sharp, yet unmistakably weary—slowly scanning the front-page headline and the shocking photograph beneath it.
After a long while, a low laugh finally rumbled from his chest.
"Gurararara… that red-haired brat from Roger's ship… guess he finally needed to learn a lesson."
"Gern… after all, he's someone who clawed his way out of our era."
A faint snort escaped him.
"That red-haired kid underestimated the true weight of the 'old era's' leftovers!"
Nearby, Marco watched his old man with unconcealed concern.
Lately, he had noticed something deeply troubling—
Whitebeard had begun to fight without even using Haki.
Though worry gnawed at him, Marco still glanced at the newspaper, then at the life-support tubes running into Whitebeard's body, and finally spoke.
"Pops… I get what you're saying, but Red-Hair is still one of the Yonko."
"Gern's victory this time—so overwhelming, even humiliating—won't it completely reshape the New World's balance?"
"What about us…?"
"It won't," Whitebeard cut him off.
He let out a deep sigh, his thick crescent mustache trembling with it.
An obvious fatigue washed over him, forcing him to close his eyes briefly before he could continue.
"Marco… as unwilling as I am to admit it…"
"…your old man is already past his prime."
He opened his eyes again, his gaze seeming to pierce through time itself, returning to that storm-tossed age of legends.
"Back when that brat Gern first stormed into the New World, sharp as a drawn blade…"
"I could fight him from spring to winter—an entire year. More than fifty battles, and not once did either of us come out on top."
"At the time, he was strong… but he still carried the rawness of youth. That restless hunger to prove himself."
At this point, Whitebeard paused.
A wave of weakness surged through his body, accompanied by dull, persistent pain. He shook his head slowly.
"But now… it's no longer possible."
"This body of mine… can't endure battles like that anymore."
His gaze shifted to Marco, then to the division commanders who had gathered around, their faces etched with concern and reluctant acceptance.
Whitebeard's tone hardened.
"So pass my orders down. Tell every one of my sons…"
"From today onward, put away unnecessary curiosity—and any ambitions of expansion."
"We'll stay right where we are. On our own territory."
"The era has changed. We can't act as freely as we once did."
With that, Whitebeard lifted the newspaper again.
He stared at the image of Gern—standing there with the same domineering presence Whitebeard himself had once possessed in his youth—and spoke slowly, deliberately.
"The Gern of today… is no longer the man who needed to challenge me just to prove his worth in the New World."
"The man he is now is…"
"Someone who possesses Roger's peak-era, top-tier Haki…"
"…the full destructive power of my prime…"
"And on top of that—fists honed to their absolute limit, like that old monster Garp's…"
"A monster."
Whitebeard's voice echoed across the deck.
There was loneliness in it—hard to put into words—but also a calm acceptance of reality.
"This era… gurararara… this magnificent, turbulent era…"
"It truly belongs to him now."
...…
The heavy orders spread across the Moby Dick with the sea wind. The crew gradually dispersed.
Whitebeard was helped back to the captain's quarters by Marco and the nurses, to rest.
Only then did a large, dark-skinned, thickset figure quietly make his way to a deserted corner at the stern.
Teach leaned against the railing, fingers clenched tightly around the newspaper, his gaze locked onto the front-page photograph.
—Gern holding the bandage-wrapped black blade Bahuang, its tip pressed disdainfully beneath Red-Haired Shanks' chin.
Teach's brows knitted together, his thick lips pressed into a thin line.
"Bahuang…"The name slipped from between his teeth, heavy with a near-obsessive sense of possession.
"It should've been mine…"
"That was… what he left for me…"
That sword carried an unspoken fixation buried deep within Teach's heart—something he had long marked as his by right within his ambitions.
Seeing it now in Gern's hands, unleashing such terrifying power, gnawed at him like a precious treasure being sullied by another.
After all, in the entire world, there were only two black blades.
One was Bahuang—once Rocks' weapon, now wielded by Gern.
The other was the black blade Yoru.
But as quickly as that emotion flared, it was swallowed by a far greater calculation.
Teach drew his gaze back, a shadowy glint flashing in his eyes.
He began to coolly weigh the pros and cons—like a gambler studying the two largest piles of chips on the table.
"Whitebeard's Gura Gura no Mi… or Gern's Heavenquake Fruit?"
"What a painful—and delightful—choice!"
"Zehahahaha…"Teach laughed inwardly.
Right now, he felt like a man fantasizing about how to spend his winnings before he'd even bought the ticket.
According to his original—and safest—plan, the first step was obvious:
Obtain the long-coveted Logia-type Dark-Dark Fruit, capable of attracting and nullifying other Devil Fruit abilities.
That fruit was the foundation of all his schemes—the key to the summit of power.
But…
Gern's Heavenquake Fruit was also among the very pinnacle of Logia abilities.
A power that created vibration at its core—one that commanded natural disasters themselves—
Its absolute might was being broadcast to the entire world through this single newspaper.
But could two top-tier Logia powers truly coexist within one body?
Would they conflict… or annihilate each other?
It was uncharted territory—seductive, yet riddled with enormous risk.
Teach wasn't ready to place that bet.
He needed more certainty—or a safer path.
With that thought, his eyes drifted once more toward Whitebeard's cabin.
This time, his gaze turned brutally realistic.
By comparison, seizing the old man's Gura Gura no Mi seemed like the most reliable option.
It was a known quantity—power proven capable of destroying the world.
And most importantly…
Teach's mouth curled into a cruel arc as he crumpled the newspaper in his hand.
"Pops…"
"He really is old now."
So old he needed IV drips and nurses.
So old he had to order his entire pirate crew to retreat and lie low.
The once-invincible strongest man was steadily weakening with the passage of life itself.
And that—
That was Teach's opportunity.
Taking the Gura Gura no Mi might not be as "perfect" as seizing the Heavenquake Fruit—
But the risks were lower. The odds far better.
If he succeeded—
Marshall D. Teach would instantly rise into the top echelon of power on the seas.
And after that…
Scheming for even greater prizes would be far from impossible.