Meanwhile, out on the open sea, Hawk-Eye's iconic coffin-shaped boat glided forward once more, silent as a ghost.
Perona sat atop the mast shaped like a cross, puffing out her cheeks in a deep sulk. Propping herself up with her wine-red parasol, she muttered nonstop under her breath—complaints spilling out one after another: "barbarian," "rude old man," "not cute at all."
On the deck below, Hawk-Eye drew his gaze back from the distant horizon and let it settle on Gern, who stood at the bow, staring thoughtfully at the rolling sea.
After a moment of silence, he stepped forward of his own accord and stood beside him, speaking evenly.
"You seem… unusually interested in that Straw Hat boy."
"Do I?" Gern replied casually.
"Heh." Hawk-Eye let out a faint chuckle. "Defeating two of the Seven Warlords in succession—his performance is certainly impressive among rookies.
But at the end of the day, he's still just a pirate with a three-hundred-million-berry bounty.
There are plenty like that on the Grand Line."
Hearing this, Gern slowly turned his head. A faintly inscrutable smile spread across his face.
Instead of answering directly, he tossed out a question so absurd it almost sounded like a joke.
"Hey, Mihawk…" Gern's lips curved upward. "Do you believe… in 'becoming an Emperor in two years'?"
"..."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Hawk-Eye's glacier-like expression froze—just for an instant.
He even shifted slightly, turning his body toward Gern, eyeing him as if to say, Are you feeling alright?
"Becoming an Emperor in two years? Are you joking?
Do you even understand what you're saying?"
What did it mean to become one of the Four Emperors of the sea?
It wasn't merely reaching the pinnacle of individual strength. It required an enormous force under one's command, influence vast enough to shake the world's balance, and years—no, decades—of accumulation.
Even someone as powerful as Dracule Mihawk had reached the summit of swordsmanship only after countless trials and battles.
And someone as overwhelming as Gern himself had carved his way up from the West Blue as the original "Pirate Hunter," fought through rivers of blood, ended the era of Roger, clashed with legends like Whitebeard and Kaido—
It had taken him over a decade to forge the fearsome name of "Heaven-Shaker," to amass the capital necessary to contend with—甚至压制—the Four Emperors of the New World.
Two years?
From a three-hundred-million bounty to ruling the New World as an Emperor?
That was pure fantasy.
There had never been such a ridiculous precedent in the entire history of the seas. Roger sailing for two years was nothing special. Garp spending two years in Marine training was child's play.
And now you're telling me—two years to become an Emperor?
You might as well say that the title of "World's Greatest Swordsman," which I earned through a lifetime of hardship, is a complete joke.
So Hawk-Eye chose silence.
Even complaining felt like a waste of breath.
In his mind, Gern was either joking—or his brain had been rattled loose by Zoro's slash earlier.
Seeing Hawk-Eye shut down entirely, Gern couldn't help but burst out laughing, slapping him hard on the shoulder.
"Hahahaha! Hey, look at that face!
You think it sounds fake as hell too, right?"
He laughed so hard his eyes nearly watered.
"Honestly, I think it's bullshit too! Total pipe dream!
Especially considering how hard my road was."
Then, abruptly, Gern's laughter faded. He turned his eyes back to the sea and spoke softly.
"But…"
"Who told you… this wasn't a 'new era'?"
The words new era made Hawk-Eye's resolve to ignore the topic falter.
He turned his head toward Gern.
A staggering thought flashed through his mind like lightning.
That absurd idea—becoming an Emperor in two years—
The person Gern was referring to… could it be—
"Gern, the one you mean…" Hawk-Eye's voice grew heavier, a gravity he hadn't noticed himself creeping in.
"Don't tell me it's… Roronoa Zoro?"
"The hell are you—!"
"I'm talking about the Straw Hat kid!"
"The Straw Hat kid, he—"
Gern didn't let him finish.
He withdrew his gaze from the sea, that unfathomable smile returning as he cut Hawk-Eye off.
"Who knows?"
He neither confirmed nor denied it.
But that deliberate evasion, that meaningful smile—
It was answer enough.
Hawk-Eye fell silent.
He too looked toward the distance, toward the direction where the Straw Hats were.
Because if… if that kind of possibility truly existed—
Then a lot of people had spent their entire lives amounting to nothing at all.
(By the way, the reason I didn't kick Sanji is because if I did, one kick might've made him evolve early. Hahaha!)
...
The small boat sailed on in silence for a while longer.
Suddenly, Gern stretched lazily.
"Alright, Mihawk. Drop me off at the next inhabited island up ahead."
Then he pointed at Perona, who was still puffed up like an overinflated pufferfish, radiating pure I am not happy energy.
"As for you~ take this little ghost back to the New World.
From now on, she's your responsibility."
"What?" Hawk-Eye's brows instantly knit together, his eyes filled with undisguised displeasure.
He was used to living alone. And the mere thought of returning to his aristocratic, Western-style home in G-10 with a noisy, chatterbox girl whose powers were especially irritating already gave him a headache.
"I refuse. You picked her up—you deal with her."
Gern looked completely unsurprised. A knowing smile spread across his face as he raised a finger and casually drew an "X" in the air.
"Sorry—objection denied~" His tone turned dangerously pleasant.
"This is a 'friendly suggestion' from a Marine Admiral."
Seeing Gern's smiling, thinly veiled threat, Hawk-Eye knew resistance was pointless.
Suppressing his irritation, he asked instead, "So what are you planning to do now?"
"Me?" Gern's lips curled. "I'm heading to the East Blue."
"The East Blue?" Hawk-Eye was genuinely surprised. "Vice Admiral Garp shouldn't be on leave back in the East Blue right now."
He assumed Gern was going to visit an old friend—or perhaps provoke the Marine hero.
"I'm not going to see Vice Admiral Garp." Gern shook his head, his gaze passing beyond Hawk-Eye toward the distant sky.
Toward the direction of the sea long labeled the weakest.
His eyes narrowed slightly, amusement flickering within.
"I'm going to find…" He paused, his voice dropping just a little.
"…an old acquaintance."
"An old acquaintance?" Hawk-Eye repeated.
Anyone in the East Blue worthy of being called that by Gern Reginald Sigmar was no ordinary figure.
Yet no matter how quickly Hawk-Eye sifted through the names in his mind, none fit.
Gern offered no further explanation.
He simply gazed up at the vast blue sky.
"You—" Hawk-Eye was about to press him again, but Gern cut him off outright.
"That's enough. I'll be back after a while.
When the time comes, you'll know."
And with that—
The matter was closed.