The Whitebeard Pirates had made their stand on their old man's homeland, defending the peaceful island with everything they had amid the chaos raging across the New World.
Today, the Red-Haired Pirates were there as well. They had just finished paying their respects to Fire Fist Ace, to the five division commanders slain by Saint Nasuro, and to the allied captains who'd fallen in the same battle.
Nearly a month had passed since then. The remnants of Whitebeard's crew still hadn't recovered their captain's body, so they buried their fallen "family" first.
"Marco… are you seriously thinking of negotiating with Souta Kiryuu?"
Shanks' usually relaxed face was drawn with fatigue, his expression grim as he looked at the pineapple-headed man he'd known for years. He hated the idea of seeing the Whitebeard Pirates become subordinates of the Kiryuu Pirates. If that happened, Souta's forces would become even more overwhelming—and the Red-Haired Pirates' position in the New World would grow that much more precarious.
Over the past weeks, Shanks' crew had buried Howling Gab back in his hometown and spent precious time tending to the wounded Lucky Roux. Meanwhile, the Kiryuu Pirates and the Beasts Pirates had carved up their territories like hungry wolves.
The Red-Haired Pirates had been targeted by both powerful crews, forcing Shanks into the role of a "Wandering Emperor," reverting to the same freedom—and loneliness—he'd known before he rose to become one of the Yonko four years ago.
Now, finally, he'd managed to reach the remnants of Whitebeard's crew, hoping to invite Marco and his men aboard or at least form a defensive alliance.
But instead, he learned Marco intended to negotiate with Souta Kiryuu—offering what was left of Whitebeard's forces as leverage to redeem their captain's body.
That news drained him.
Shanks knew his strength alone could no longer keep the New World in balance, nor could he prevent the inevitable war between Souta's growing power and the World Government.
Still, there was one small relief: the young man who'd inherited Roger's will—Straw Hat Luffy—hadn't rushed headlong into the New World. He'd chosen to train under Silvers Rayleigh, learning the three forms of Haki.
If the Straw Hats had entered now, their rookie strength would have been erased in minutes.
That bit of restraint was the only good news Shanks had heard all month.
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"For the old man to rest in peace, I'll pay whatever price it takes."
Marco, the usually clean-cut Phoenix, had let a short beard grow over the past few weeks. The exhaustion showed in his face and posture. At forty-five, he was six years older than Shanks, and now even Shanks had grown a beard of his own—one that made him look both mature and commanding.
Marco no longer had the carefree air of the man who'd once basked under Whitebeard's protection. To hold the crew together, he'd been forced to grow up fast.
That was the necessary change of a man now carrying the fate of the entire Whitebeard Pirates on his shoulders.
Of the more than twenty allied captains who had survived the battle at G-18 Fortress, nearly half had already withdrawn their support. Only about a dozen allied crews still stood by Marco, vowing to help recover their father's body.
Whether they'd stay after that… no one knew.
"Have you all forgotten who kidnapped Fire Fist Ace? Who among you forgot that Souta's subordinate, Blackbeard Teach, murdered your Fourth Division Captain, Thatch?"
Yasopp stepped forward, his voice rising in frustration. He couldn't stand by and watch the Whitebeard remnants join Souta Kiryuu. If that happened, the Red-Haired Pirates' future would be even darker.
"We'll handle our own affairs," Bista, the Flower Swordsman, shot back coldly, stepping in with eyes sharp as blades. He glared hard at Yasopp, clearly irritated.
Those two had a history—old grudges carried over from countless clashes between their crews.
Whitebeard had never liked Roger's apprentice, and Bista had never liked Yasopp, the arrogant sniper who followed him.
They had fought countless times—swordsman versus marksman, pride versus pride.
Before Ace joined Whitebeard's crew, Marco, Jozu, and Bista had been the three great commanders, counterparts to Beckman, Lucky Roux, and Yasopp among Shanks' men.
Each knew the others well. All of them had once seen Shanks as that brash kid from Roger's ship—no one had expected him to rise above them and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Whitebeard as one of the Four Emperors.
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The tension between the "Flower Swordsman" and the "Chaser" grew sharp enough to split the air.
"Yasopp, enough," Beckman muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette as he pulled the sniper back. There was no point making things worse. He already knew this meeting would end without success.
If Shanks were anything like Kaido or Big Mom, there'd already be a battle here, a forced submission of the Whitebeard remnants.
But they weren't those kinds of pirates.
"I won't interfere with your decision," Shanks said quietly. "But think carefully. Souta Kiryuu is a ruthless man driven by ambition. He's not someone worth following."
He sighed deeply, the weight of it sinking into the wind. Shanks had no intention of raising his sword against Whitebeard's sons. Every one of his crewmates had come aboard willingly—brothers bound by trust, not fear.
He would never force another crew into his flag.
"We'll think about it," Marco answered solemnly. He respected Shanks' sincerity but didn't want the Red-Haired Pirates meddling in their internal matters—especially not Shanks, who had looked after Ace when few others would.
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"Let's go."
Shanks' sigh trailed behind him as he turned away, leading his men back to the Red Force. Beckman, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux followed in silence.
The last to leave was Rockstar, who had officially risen to officer rank, filling the space Gab had left behind.
When the Red-Haired Pirates were gone, Marco let out a long breath. He turned to the Ice Witch, Whitey Bay, to discuss how they'd approach Souta Kiryuu—what conditions, what boundaries, and what lines couldn't be crossed.
They spent the evening debating where to draw the red line in their negotiations.
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Meanwhile, on Hive Island, Souta Kiryuu was in the middle of a roaring banquet when he finally received a reply from Dragon.
"I'll allow you to use our blood for your artificial Devil Fruit research," Dragon said flatly. "But I don't ever want to see a Seraphim that looks like us."
His tone was hard as iron; if Souta refused, he'd abandon the plan entirely and find another way to save Garp.
"…Fine. I accept."
Souta paused for a few seconds, already understanding Dragon's meaning. A "Seraphim Dragon" walking the world would be no different from Garp suddenly finding himself a twin brother.
"Then start pressuring Big Mom," Dragon said. His voice softened just a little, relief hidden beneath his steel. If Souta had refused, he and Aokiji would have had to take matters into their own hands.
Souta smiled faintly. If Dragon didn't want Seraphim that resembled him, that could easily be arranged.
The Seraphim of Dragon and the others could simply remain stationed on the moon or in the sky islands—perhaps with new faces or masks.
There were always ways around problems.
And in the end, Dragon couldn't stop him anyway.
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