Somewhere on the Grand Line, en route to Alabasta...
"Did you double-check the surrounding sea?" Smoker asked, his brow furrowed and voice laced with irritation.
"We already swept the nearby waters, sir," the marine officer reported. "There's no sign of the Straw Clown Pirates' ship anywhere."
Smoker's grip on his jitte tightened. Frustration boiled beneath his usually stern exterior. That morning, he had discovered something infuriating—the pirate ship that had been secured to the Marine vessel overnight was gone. Even worse, Buggy the Clown, Luffy, and their entire crew had vanished from the prison cells.
They escaped.
"Where the hell did those damn clowns run off to?!" Smoker growled, thick clouds of smoke billowing more intensely from his body.
Standing nearby, Tashigi adjusted her glasses and spoke carefully, "Captain... what now? Should we continue the search or proceed to Alabasta as planned?"
Smoker paused for a moment, smoke curling around him like storm clouds.
"…We head for Alabasta," he finally decided, voice low. "We already lost too much time. Besides, we've got bigger fish to fry."
He held out a small dossier—one taken from the captured Baroque Works agent, Mr. 11.
"This troublemaker, Baroque Works… is worse than we thought."
Meanwhile… elsewhere on the sea...
A raucous celebration echoed from a small pirate ship drifting under the sun.
"Ha ha ha! What a brilliant escape!" Buggy the Clown declared, standing proudly at the helm, hands on hips. His signature red nose gleamed in the light.
"We really pulled it off!" Cabaji added, raising a mug of ale.
Luffy laughed heartily, swinging from the mast like a child on a playground. "That was awesome! I thought we were done for!"
Buggy grinned even wider. "And it's all thanks to Mohji's Devil Fruit."
Mohji puffed out his chest in pride. "The Chisana Chisana no Mi... the Tiny-Tiny Fruit! With this, no prison can hold us!"
Sometime during their journey to find treasure on Gaimon island, they found a devil fruit. Buggy had given the fruit to Mohji, believing his animal handler could make the best use of it.
With the fruit's power, Mohji had shrunk the entire crew small enough to slip through the prison bars and escape unseen. They even shrunk their ship temporarily, smuggling it off the Marine vessel and restoring it once they were safely away.
"Best decision I ever made," Buggy laughed, slapping Mohji on the back so hard he nearly fell over.
"Captain, we're drifting close to land!" A crew shouted from the crow's nest.
Everyone turned to look. A massive white island loomed on the horizon, covered in layers of snow and ice.
"A snow island?" Luffy's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Woooaahhh! Let's go check it out!"
Mohji hugged Richie, who looked less than thrilled at the idea of snow. "Don't worry, boy, we'll find you a blanket."
Buggy eyed the island carefully. "Could be useful. We need to restock, lay low, and head out again."
As the ship approached the snowy coast, the icy wind began to pick up, but the crew's spirits remained high.
"LAND HO!" someone shouted from the deck.
"Let's move! Time to see what this snow island has in store for the great Buggy-sama!" Buggy declared.
And so, the Straw Clown Pirates entered the Winter Island.
...
Rainbase, Alabasta — Inside Rain Dinners Casino
In the heavily guarded meeting room at the heart of Rain Dinners, the casino owned by Crocodile himself, a tense gathering was underway. Around a long, polished table sat the core numbered agents of Baroque Works—each an elite in their own right, and each growing increasingly impatient.
Mr. 1 leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes closed, as if conserving energy. Beside him, the sharp-eyed Miss Double Finger maintained perfect posture, legs crossed elegantly but her fingers tapping the armrest in quiet irritation.
"This ain't no joke!" Mr. 2 Bon Clay spun restlessly in his chair, arms flailing with dramatic flair. "How long are we gonna wait?! I've got performances to rehearse!"
"Quit spinning, you dolt!" Miss Merry Christmas snapped, slamming her fists on the table. "Your jabbering's making my back ache!"
"Everyone, calm down," Miss Double Finger said coolly, though her voice carried an edge.
Across from them, Mr. 3 sat with arms folded tightly, jaw clenched. Miss Goldenweek, as usual, doodled silently on her sketchpad, seemingly unbothered.
They had all been summoned without warning to Rainbase by Mr. 0 himself. But now, nearly two hours had passed—and there was still no sign of the elusive boss. The room, thick with distrust and ego, grew heavier by the minute.
Just then, the door clicked open.
"Well, well, what a lovely family reunion this is," came the silky voice of Miss All Sunday—Nico Robin.
She stepped into the room with that ever-mysterious smile playing on her lips, arms folded. "Fufufu… It seems expecting all of you to get along was perhaps too optimistic."
"Miss All Sunday!" several agents chorused, their attention snapping to her.
Robin strolled to the front of the room. "You've all been very patient, and for that, the boss appreciates it."
Mr. 1's eyes opened, focused. "Then where is he? Why summon us if he won't show?"
"Yes, what's the meaning of this?" Miss Merry Christmas grumbled. "We were told it was urgent!"
Even Mr. 4, usually silent, looked toward the front with vague curiosity. Lasso sneezed beside him.
Robin simply smiled again. "The time for secrecy is over. Until now, I have acted as the face of Mr. 0—relaying his will, shielding his identity. But now…" She stepped aside.
"It is no longer necessary."
Suddenly, the high-backed chair at the head of the table—which had been turned away from them the entire time—creaked as it slowly spun around.
The man now revealed was unmistakable.
A massive gold hook gleamed in the dim light. A fur-lined coat draped over broad shoulders. Cold, calculating eyes scanned the room.
"Welcome," said Crocodile—Mr. 0 himself. His voice was deep, calm, and commanding. "I see most of you haven't lost your tempers yet. Good."
The entire room fell dead silent.
"Now listen closely. The waiting is over. The phase we've long prepared for has arrived. No more games, no more distractions." His eyes narrowed. "The time has come…"
He stood, resting both hands on the table as a quiet but lethal energy filled the air.
"…for Operation Utopia."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room, not just from the shock of Operation Utopia, but from something even more startling—the true identity of Mr. 0 had just been revealed.
"Ehh?!" Mr. 2 Bon Clay jumped out of his seat, pointing dramatically. "S-Sir Crocodile?! You're Mr. 0?!"
Even the usually composed Mr. 1 narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "You're our boss…?"
"That's right," Miss All Sunday said with her usual composed tone, arms crossed. "Or at least, you all know him by his public face—Warlord of the Sea, Crocodile."
Miss Merry Christmas, who moments earlier had been complaining loudly, now spoke in a low, serious voice. "A real bigshot. A super VIP just showed up like it's nothing."
"I can't believe this…" Mr. 3 muttered, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "We're working under a Shichibukai…?"
Miss Goldenweek didn't react much—her brush calmly continued painting on her sketchpad—but she glanced toward Crocodile briefly, acknowledging the weight of the moment.
"We're actually henchmen for a pirate?!" Mr. 2 shouted again, flailing his arms in shock. "I thought this was a secret revolutionary movement or something classy!"
Crocodile narrowed his eyes and let out a cold breath through his nose. "What?" he said, voice low and edged with danger. "Disappointed?"
The room fell silent immediately. Nobody dared speak.
After a moment, Miss Doublefinger broke the silence. "Not disappointed. Just... confused." Her gaze was direct. "Why would a pirate allied with the World Government create this massive organization in the shadows?"
Crocodile didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a slow drag of his cigar. The ember at the tip glowed red.
"I'm not after money or reputation," he said, smoke curling from his lips.
He took another breath, letting the silence stretch.
"I want military might."
The agents looked at one another. Even the arrogant ones were listening now.
"Military might?" Mr. 4 repeated, his dull voice tinged with curiosity.
"I will now reveal to you the true purpose behind Baroque Works," Crocodile said calmly. "Everything you've done—all the deception, the infiltration, the chaos you've sown—was part of a single, focused objective."
He leaned forward, resting his hook on the table. "The complete destabilization… and conquest of the Kingdom of Alabasta."
A heavy pause followed.
Miss All Sunday stepped forward and opened a folder she had been carrying. "Here," she said, passing out packets of documents to each agent. "These are the details of Operation Utopia and your roles in it."
The agents flipped open the pages.
Charts. Schedules. Maps of Alabasta cities. Rebel troop movements. Government response times. Code names. Evacuation routes. Assassination targets.
One by one, expressions began to shift.
Mr. 3's mouth slowly opened in stunned realization. Miss Merry Christmas blinked in disbelief. Mr. 1 remained quiet but sat straighter, eyes narrowing. Even Mr. 2 fell uncharacteristically silent, scanning the documents with growing awe.
"This is…" Miss Doublefinger murmured, "...a full-scale civil collapse. You've orchestrated a rebellion from within."
"Exactly," Crocodile said, a cruel grin forming. "While the king and rebels destroy each other, we move in and take control. The people will be desperate for order. We'll give it to them—under my rule."
"And the World Government?" Miss Double Finger asked.
Crocodile chuckled. "They'll stay out of it. That's the beauty of being a Shichibukai. I operate under their banner… while I build my own kingdom behind their backs."
A long silence followed as the agents absorbed the weight of the plan... until Mr. 3 cautiously raised a hand.
"What about the Orca Pirates?" he asked. "And Princess Vivi… who, as we now know, is also Miss Wednesday?"
At the mention of her name, Crocodile's eyes narrowed into sharp slits. He turned his gaze toward Mr. 3, the temperature in the room seeming to drop.
"The spy princess, huh…" Crocodile muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, Mr. 3—what exactly did *you* find out about them?"
Mr. 3 felt a cold bead of sweat slide down his neck. Crocodile's piercing stare felt like it could slice him open. His mind scrambled for anything useful, anything to show he hadn't completely failed.
"The only real intel I received," Mr. 3 began, adjusting his glasses nervously, "was from the agents stationed at Whiskey Peak."
Crocodile said nothing, so he continued.
"They reported that Princess Vivi was last seen traveling with the Orca Pirates. It appears she officially abandoned her role as an infiltrator and joined their ranks."
He cleared his throat. "They also said… she intended to stop your plan."
The air in the room grew heavier. Some of the other agents glanced sideways, waiting for Crocodile's reaction.
Mr. 0 exhaled slowly, his jaw tense. "So... she's openly declared herself an enemy now."
Robin quietly stepped aside, watching the conversation unfold with mild interest, though her eyes remained sharp.
"So," Crocodile continued, leaning forward slightly, "why didn't you intercept them? You were sent out to deal with any threats to the plan, weren't you? Did you actually TRY to find them, Mr. 3?"
Mr. 3 straightened in his seat, forcing a confident tone. "I did, sir. I did my best to locate them."
He hesitated, then added, "But... after they left Whiskey Peak, the Orca Pirates completely vanished. They weren't at Little Garden, nor on any nearby islands. I even had patrols search possible alternative routes. It's like they disappeared off the map."
Crocodile's eyes narrowed. He didn't sense any deceit in the agent's voice—only confusion and frustration.
Robin, still silent, tapped her finger thoughtfully against her elbow. Her mind drifted back to when she had given that group the Eternal Pose to Alabasta. Based on that, their course should have been predictable. There was a high probability, almost guaranteed, that they'd encounter Mr. 3 or even Mr. 2 before arriving here.
So what had happened?
Her lips curled faintly, amused. Perhaps they'd been smarter than she thought… or simply lucky.
The other agents, meanwhile, were growing restless. Mr. 2 tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, while Mr. 1 watched Mr. 3 with a neutral, unreadable expression.
"They've gone quiet for too long," Miss Doublefinger said, frowning. "If they show up now, they could throw off the timing of the plan."
Crocodile leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his expression calm yet cold.
"It doesn't matter," he said, regarding the vanished Orca Pirates with growing disdain. "If they're not already dead, they'll walk straight into our trap."
He gave a faint smirk. "And if not… then I'll deal with them personally."
The agents around the table fell silent. The weight of their leader's words settled like a heavy fog. No one dared challenge him—not after what they had just seen and heard.
Crocodile then shifted his focus to the matter at hand. "We will begin Operation Utopia two days later, early in the morning. Each of you will follow your assigned roles. There will be no delays."
His tone left no room for negotiation.
"Now go," he ordered. "Prepare everything. And make sure you're all in position on time."
One by one, the agents nodded.
"Disperse."
The command was final. Chairs scraped against the floor as the Baroque Works agents stood and filed out of the room, their minds racing with thoughts of the chaos to come.
Crocodile watched them leave, his expression unreadable. As the door closed, he released a slow breath, eyes narrowing.
"Finally…" he murmured. "It's almost time—for the weapon to be mine."