New World — A Remote Island.
Towering trees blanketed the land, their emerald canopies blotting out the sun. Mist clung to the roots, thick as smoke, and the cries of unseen beasts echoed through the dense jungle.
Bang!
A wounded Marine Rear Admiral crashed to the ground, blood gushing from his chest as Gol D. Roger loomed over him, grinning like a wild beast.
"If you want to capture me," Roger said, planting his blade into the dirt, "then bring Garp and Sengoku next time."
The Rear Admiral coughed violently, his vision blurring. Around him lay the shattered remains of his subordinates and the flaming wreckage of a Marine Battleship, slowly sinking beneath the waves.
"You… damn it…" he hissed, struggling to lift his head. "Don't think you'll get away with this for long… We don't even need Garp or Sengoku anymore… Vice Admiral Darren could crush you all!"
With that, his head slumped to the side, consciousness fading into the dark.
Roger's grin froze. Then his brow twitched, his expression darkening.
"Tch! That damn Marine brat again!" He kicked a rock, irritation flashing across his face. "Ever since he took down Shiki, that kid's been making waves everywhere I go."
As he grumbled, his hand absently brushed the worn belt buckle at his waist. The smooth, cheap plastic texture gave him an odd sense of comfort—an old habit that his crewmates had long since grown used to.
Rayleigh chuckled, pushing his glasses up with one finger. "You can't deny it, Captain. That kid earned his fame. Golden Lion's no pushover. For the Marines, this is the biggest victory since God Valley."
Gaban crossed his arms, frowning. "And now every Marine in the New World's puffing their chests out. That Rear Admiral wouldn't have had the guts to challenge us otherwise."
He spat to the side, grimacing. "The World Government's stirring up more chaos, too. That new system they've been pushing—the Shichibukai—even Bullet joined them."
Rayleigh smirked. "So Bullet's working for the government now? Hah! Never thought I'd see the day."
Their laughter filled the air—until all three suddenly fell silent.
Their relaxed expressions hardened. Their gazes snapped toward the jungle, eyes narrowing, pupils flashing with a faint crimson gleam.
"Captain!" Buggy's shrill voice broke through the tension. "Captain, something's coming! Fast!"
He stood atop a rock, spyglass trembling in his hands. "It's—It's a person! A samurai!"
At those words, the Roger Pirates' eyes lit up.
A samurai from Wano—the one they'd been searching for.
Roger's grin returned, fierce and hungry. "Finally… he's here."
Leaves exploded outward as a figure burst through the treeline. His wild black hair was tied high into a flat knot, his orange kimono emblazoned with a crescent crest. Massive purple shimenawa ropes hung from his shoulders and waist.
But what caught Roger's eye was the missing arm.
"You must be Roger!" the man bellowed, his voice echoing across the island. "I am Kozuki Oden, retainer of Wano and sworn brother to Whitebeard!"
He stood tall amidst the shadows of the jungle, his lone arm gripping a sheathed sword that shimmered faintly with Haki. His presence radiated heat and power, and a feral grin split his face.
Oden's Observation Haki had already locked onto Roger.
For weeks, Oden had been haunted by newspaper stories—tales of a rising Marine who had shattered legends, slain the Golden Lion, and even crippled Wano's rumored "unkillable beast."
That Marine's name: Rogers Darren.
But all that noise vanished the instant he laid eyes on Roger himself.
Whitebeard's words echoed in his head—That man is the only one I could never surpass.
And now, Kozuki Oden would test that truth himself.
"Come on!" he roared, drawing his sword in a flash. "Let's fight!"
Clang!
The gleam of a Great Grade Blade filled the air—Ame no Habakiri, forged by Wano's finest smiths.
Violet-black Ryuo surged like a living current, coiling around the sword like fire.
In a single motion, Oden charged forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet.
"Hahahaha! Excellent!" Roger roared in return, his own blade already crackling with black-red lightning.
Zzzzzzzz…
Conqueror's Haki collided mid-air as Roger swung his sword in a wide arc.
"Divine Departure!"
A blade of energy—pure, condensed destruction—ripped through the jungle.
Oden's eyes widened.
The attack didn't even touch him. Yet in the same instant, agony tore across his chest—a deep, searing wound erupting in a spray of blood.
He flew backward, crashing through tree after tree, before slamming into the side of a mountain. The forest shook with the impact.
As rubble and dust fell around him, Oden's breath came in ragged bursts. "H…His sword never even touched me…"
He stared down at the gash in disbelief. "And yet it cut me apart!"
Roger's grin widened as he prepared to strike again. "Come on, samurai! You're not done already, are you?!"
But before he could move—
The ground trembled.
A familiar, earth-shaking aura exploded from behind him.
"Gurararara!"
A massive shadow loomed—golden hair blazing in the sunlight, a white coat billowing like wings. The bisento in his hands shimmered with the same black-red lightning.
"The world's strongest man," Roger muttered, grinning from ear to ear. "So you've come, Newgate."
Whitebeard planted his feet, raising his weapon. "Hah! How could I not, hearing all that racket?"
"Let's see who breaks first this time!" Roger roared, laughing madly.
They charged—two titans born of the same era, tearing across the mountains.
Their eyes met, and for a single heartbeat, the world fell silent.
Then—
BOOOOOOM!
Their weapons collided, unleashing a blinding shockwave that split the heavens themselves. Lightning raged through the clouds as the sea beyond the island convulsed under the force.
The clash of legends had begun.
---
Three days later, the grueling three-day, three-night battle between the Roger Pirates and the Whitebeard Pirates finally came to an end. Now, both crews were gathered around a massive bonfire, celebrating with a grand feast.
They devoured steaming grilled meat, threw their arms around each other's necks, and roared with laughter as they drank themselves into a drunken stupor. There was no trace of the deadly, cutthroat conflict they had endured just hours before.
Buggy, however, seemed preoccupied. Clutching a grilled chicken leg, he quietly sidled up to Shanks and nudged him in the side. "Hey, Shanks," he whispered, "look at that kid with the hat."
Shanks frowned, following Buggy's gaze. The youth appeared to be fifteen or sixteen, wearing a brown leather hat and sporting dark skin. He was bent over, meticulously polishing his weapon-a set of razor-sharp iron claws.
"He didn't sleep a wink during the ceasefires these past two nights!" Buggy's voice dripped with astonishment.
"Hmm? Why do you say that?" Shanks asked, his curiosity piqued.
"How should I know!" Buggy muttered, a hint of wariness in his eyes. "I just get a weird vibe from that guy."
He leaned in and whispered, "Anyway, if we run into him again, we need to be careful. I just feel like he's dangerous."
Shanks chuckled dismissively. "You're overthinking it, Buggy. He's just an apprentice on Captain Whitebeard's crew. Besides, even if he is dangerous, could he be more dangerous than that Marine?"
That Marine...
Buggy shuddered violently, as if reliving a terrible memory. "You're right... Still, I never expected that powerful Samurai to have his arm broken by that Marine too.
Wait, why did I say 'too'?"
Shanks: "..."
To be continued...