Under the dark canopy of the New World, the massive beluga figurehead of the Moby Dick gently rose and fell with the rolling waves. The sprawling deck was bathed in lantern light. The Whitebeard Pirates were in the middle of a roaring banquet.
Wooden barrels of liquor were hoisted onto the deck one after another, and the rich aroma of roasting meat mingled with the salty sea breeze. The division commanders sat gathered around a massive table, passing crumpled newspapers back and forth between drinking and laughing.
Recently, every conversation inevitably drifted toward a single name. Portgas D. Ace.
"Still no sightings of that rookie?" Jozu asked, resting a massive keg of ale on his shoulder as he glanced toward Marco.
"Rumor has it their black dreadnought can take to the sky. The Marines cannot even track their wake." Marco leaned against the mainmast, casually twirling a rolled-up newspaper. "They have been off the grid for months. Likely resting at a hidden port."
Vista stroked his curled mustache, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "To cause an uproar of that magnitude and simply vanish into the clouds. The rookies of this era are certainly full of surprises."
At the head of the gathering, Whitebeard hoisted a colossal wooden bowl, downing gallons of alcohol in a single gulp.
"Gurararara!" His booming laughter rattled the empty bottles on the tables. "Roger's son. Turning the World Government completely upside down. It seems he hasn't disgraced that old bastard's legacy."
The boisterous noise across the deck quieted for a fraction of a second. Numerous eyes drifted toward the towering captain.
Seemingly oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, Whitebeard casually tossed the newspaper onto a nearby barrel. "However, a man's worth on these waters is never defined by a piece of paper." A fierce, unyielding light flickered in the old monster's eyes. "If that brat truly has the capability, let him sail into the New World and carve out his territory himself."
Marco offered a faint smile. He knew his father held no ill will toward the boy simply for carrying Roger's blood. Roger had never been just an enemy. They were men who had clashed, drank, and carved their names into the same era.
But as Marco's gaze drifted across the subordinate captains lining the outer decks, his smile faded. Not everyone possessed the old man's magnanimity. For some, the mere mention of Roger drained the warmth from their faces.
The Great Vortex Spider, Squard, being one of them.
At the edge of the deck, Squard sat isolated in the shadows. He kept his head bowed, rhythmically dragging a whetstone down the edge of his longsword. The roar of the banquet carried on behind him, but to him, the cheers sounded muted, buried beneath a thick layer of sea fog.
His eyes remained locked on the cold, sharp steel of his blade. It reflected a memory of an ocean dyed entirely in blood.
"Zehahaha!"
A hearty laugh broke his focus. Marshall D. Teach wobbled over, balancing a massive plate of cherry pies in one hand.
"Hey Squard, polishing your blade all by your lonesome?"
Squard barely raised his head. "What do you want?"
"Nothing, nothing." Teach dropped heavily onto a wooden crate next to him. He grabbed a slice of pie and shoved it into his mouth, red jam smearing across his thick beard. "It is just too loud over there. Thought I would find a quiet corner to enjoy my snack."
Squard offered no response, turning his attention back to his sword.
Unfazed, Teach continued chewing loudly. "The seas have been completely wild lately. That rookie, Ace, is truly making a name for himself."
The whetstone paused for a fraction of a second against the steel.
Teach, seemingly oblivious, kept grinning. "Zehahaha. Less than a year on the water and he has already bagged a three-billion Beli bounty. Slaughtering Celestial Dragons, plundering the World Government, and making a fool out of an Admiral. The kids these days are outright terrifying."
Squard's voice dripped with frost. "What does that have to do with me?"
"True, true." Teach scratched the back of his head, offering a sheepish grin. "But I heard the kid is not just some random upstart. Rumor has it he is the biological son of Gol D. Roger."
The whetstone stopped completely. Squard's knuckles turned white around the grip of his sword.
Teach leaned forward, taking another massive bite of pie, his tone casual and conversational. "They say he even wears Roger's personal blade on his hip. What was the name of it again. Ace?" He let out a low chuckle. "Honestly, just hearing about that sword makes me think of all the good men who died at Roger's hands."
Squard's head snapped up. Blood vessels strained furiously against the whites of his eyes.
"Roger's bastard brat."
Teach jolted back, waving his free hand frantically. "Hey, Squard, calm down. I was just thinking out loud. Pops is a generous man. He definitely does not care about all that ancient history. Roger is Roger, and his son is his son, right?"
Every word out of Teach's mouth only twisted Squard's features tighter. To the rest of the world, Gol D. Roger was a legend. The Pirate King. The man who ignited the Great Era.
But to Squard, that name meant slaughtered brothers. It meant a shattered fleet. It meant a bone-deep hatred that could never be washed away.
"That cursed bloodline." Squard's words ground through his teeth like crushed glass. "How dare they sail so arrogantly across these waters."
Teach lowered his gaze toward his plate. A chilling, calculating smirk flashed across his lips. When he looked back up, his expression had morphed seamlessly back into that of a simple, honest crewmate.
"Squard, keep your voice down. If Pops hears you talking like that, he will be furious. Pops and Roger were old drinking buddies. We cannot go causing trouble for the old man."
Squard clamped his jaw shut. The veins on his forearms bulged as his grip on the hilt tightened further.
Teach swallowed his food and tilted his head. "Still, you have to admit the kid is a massive threat. Roger's blood. Roger's blade. The papers are already crowning him the next big ruler of the seas. And with that Dark-Dark Fruit he ate."
Squard's brow furrowed. "The Dark-Dark Fruit?"
Teach's pupils contracted into tiny, ravenous pinpricks. He immediately ducked his head, hiding his eyes behind the rim of his plate. "I hear it is a nightmare to deal with. The power to completely suppress the abilities of other Devil Fruit users. Terrifying, Zehahaha."
His laughter died down, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What happens if that brat really makes a play for the throne? If Pops ends up standing in his way."
Teach let the sentence hang in the cold air. The silence that followed was infinitely more toxic than any spoken word.
Squard's face drained of color. Whitebeard was his savior. The man he called Father. If Roger's son inherited everything from the Pirate King, a clash for absolute supremacy was inevitable. Roger had already stolen his first family. Was Roger's bloodline now coming to threaten his new father?
Teach slapped his own forehead as if realizing a mistake. "Ah, listen to me rambling. Pops is the strongest man alive. Why would he fear a rookie? Forget I said anything, Squard."
Squard kept his eyes pinned to the deck. His chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged breaths.
"What are you two plotting over here in the dark?" A lazy voice drifted over from behind them.
The manipulative shadow vanished from Teach's demeanor instantly. He spun around, flashing a wide, gap-toothed grin. "Zehahaha. Commander Marco."
Marco approached with a cup of liquor in hand. He glanced at Teach, then let his eyes settle on Squard's rigid posture and pale complexion. A slight frown creased Marco's forehead.
"Were you two discussing the Ace kid?"
Teach waved his hands dismissively. "Just shooting the breeze about the recent news. A three-billion bounty on a rookie is enough to make a regular guy like me shake in his boots, Zehahaha."
Marco stared quietly at Teach. The large man maintained his foolish, good-natured smile without a single flinch or twitch. Finding nothing outwardly suspicious, Marco shifted his attention entirely to Squard.
"Squard." Marco's voice carried a gentle but firm weight. "Pops hates seeing his sons chained down by ghosts of the past."
Squard's breathing hitched for a moment. "I know."
Marco relaxed his shoulders. "Roger is Roger. That boy is his own man. Even carrying that blood, he is not responsible for the debts of the previous generation."
Squard did not argue. He simply gave a stiff nod, his hand refusing to leave his sword.
Marco studied him for another second, a faint trace of unease lingering in his gut. But a chorus of cheers erupted from the center tables, demanding the First Commander's presence. He reached out and clapped a hand onto Squard's shoulder.
"Do not let it eat at you."
With that, Marco turned and walked back into the light.
Teach watched him leave, his goofy smile firmly in place. "Commander Marco is absolutely right. We shouldn't overthink these things. Want a piece of pie?"
Squard remained silent, staring blankly at his reflection in the steel.
Teach shrugged, pushing his massive frame off the crate. "Guess I will go eat over by the railing. Zehahaha."
He lumbered away, stepping deeper into the shadows near the ship's stern. As soon as he was completely out of sight, the warmth drained from his face, leaving behind something utterly cold and venomous.
The Dark-Dark Fruit. It was supposed to be his destiny.
He had anchored himself to the Whitebeard Pirates for twenty agonizing years. Not because he lacked the ambition to forge his own path, but because he calculated that remaining on the ship of the world's strongest man offered the highest probability of encountering that specific fruit. If the Dark-Dark Fruit never surfaced, he was prepared to bury his dreams in the dark forever, playing the role of a loyal, unremarkable son until the day he died.
But it did surface. And he was not the one who consumed it. Portgas D. Ace had stolen it.
Teach's massive hand slowly clenched into a fist. The cherry pie crumbled, thick red jam oozing between his thick fingers like blood.
He could accept the cruelty of fate if the fruit never appeared. He absolutely refused to accept some arrogant brat snatching away his twenty-year dream after less than a year on the sea.
Yet, he could not act rashly. The current Eclipse Pirates were monstrously powerful. Ace had already secured a place at the absolute peak of the world. Furthermore, Teach could not abandon the safety of the Whitebeard Pirates yet. Without the Dark-Dark Fruit, he lacked the foundation to walk his own path of conquest.
He had to wait. He had to borrow a blade to slay a titan. Someone else needed to drag Ace down from his throne.
The moment Ace died, the Dark-Dark Fruit would reincarnate. It did not matter where it spawned. As long as it returned to the cycle, his dream lived on.
Teach glanced back through the darkness toward Squard, who was still obsessively grinding his whetstone against his blade.
Squard was merely the first nail. The Moby Dick was filled with veterans of the old era. Men who hated Roger. Men terrified of the Pirate King's bloodline. Men who would eventually realize that a monster wielding Roger's blade and the Dark-Dark Fruit was a fatal threat to their beloved Father.
Right now, those fears were buried beneath alcohol and brotherhood. But they only needed to be pried apart, inch by inch. Given enough time, the wounds would fester and bleed.
"Patience." Teach whispered to the crashing waves, licking the sweet, sticky jam from his knuckles. "Apply the venom too quickly, and they will smell it. One drop at a time. Let them convince themselves that Ace has to die."
The missing teeth in his mouth showed as his lips pulled back into a grotesque, chilling grin.
"Zehahaha."
As long as Ace fell. As long as the Dark-Dark Fruit returned to the currents of the world. His twenty-year gamble was not over. The road to absolute supremacy remained open.