The clash raged on.
Surrounded by the division commanders of the Whitebeard Pirates, Teach fought alone against the encirclement, their relentless attacks pressing down on him from every side.
Yet despite the storm, he did not falter. His body moved with purpose, his will unshaken. For Teach, this was more than a fight—it was a declaration. His decision had been made long ago: when the new era came, it would be his era.
Frost spread up one arm as Whitey bay's cold aura bit into him. At the same time, Jozu's diamond body slammed into his back while Marco's talons descended from above. Teach blocked with one arm, claws sparking against flame and ice alike. His body shook under the weight of their combined force.
He gritted his teeth, blood dripping from fresh cuts. It was too much, even for him. Facing so many of Pops's strongest sons alone was a trial beyond any he had known. Still, he would not yield.
With a roar, his frozen arm shattered free, lightning and fire dancing across his body, the searing energy forcing the chill away. Pain gnawed at his bones, but he forced it down. The battle was harsher than his fight with Ares, harsher than anything yet—but that only made the victory he sought all the more meaningful.
He knew them. He knew every one of them. Their habits, their strengths, their limits. That knowledge was both his edge and his curse, for he also understood how powerful they truly were.
Vista's swords carved arcs of crimson petals, beautiful yet deadly. Marco's phoenix flames made him near-immortal, his speed and strength honed in these recent years. Jozu's raw might could shatter mountains, his diamond body nearly unbreakable. Together, they were already the future pillars of the Whitebeard Pirates, men destined to stand at the level of Admirals.
And yet, Teach stood against them all.
The deck trembled as fists and blades collided. Jozu's strike fractured Teach's arm; Vista's blades left burning claw marks across his chest. Marco's talons grazed his face, crimson blood trailing down his cheek. Fossa's greatsword crashed against his Haki-clad back, forcing him forward.
Teach staggered, body battered, blood soaking his clothes. But his claws gleamed, his laughter echoing through the night. He struck back without hesitation, his blows filled with lightning, flame, and sheer will.
"Too slow, Marco!" he snarled, slamming the phoenix into the deck, sending him crashing across the planks.
Around them, the weaker pirates had already fallen unconscious, crushed beneath the sheer weight of Conqueror's Haki and the aftershocks of the battle. Those still standing were the strongest—men who would one day carry the Whitebeard name forward.
But Teach had already surpassed them.
The fight dragged on through the night. Ten hours of blood, fire, and steel. By dawn, the deck of the Moby Dick was soaked in sweat and blood, the air thick with exhaustion. One by one, Vista, Kingdew, Rakuyo, Fossa, and the others fell, beaten into the deck.
Teach himself was a wreck—his arm broken, his body covered in frostbite, claw marks, and deep cuts. His head had taken brutal blows, and blood still dripped from his mouth. But he remained standing, his laughter never once silenced.
Marco alone still fought, his flames healing his wounds, though his stamina was nearly gone. His recovery had slowed, his body trembling from the endless onslaught. The offensive he once had was long gone—he now clung only to survival.
From the sidelines, Ares and Mostima burned with the urge to join. Ares in particular trembled with fury, his aura spilling out as he clenched his fists. But Mostima barred his way, sword drawn.
"Didn't Teach say? No matter what happens, we can't interfere."
Ares snarled, eyes blazing. "But—!"
"Believe in him," Mostima cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Teach hasn't fallen yet. He won't."
Ares ground his teeth, forcing himself to still.
Mostima's own heart pounded. He knew if he faced Teach or Ares himself, his strength would not be enough. But that only steeled his resolve—he needed to grow stronger. Swordsmanship, Devil Fruit mastery, body—all of it. He would not remain this powerless.
On the deck, Teach drew a ragged breath, his vision swimming. His Observation Haki screamed at its limits. His body lagged behind, slowed by wounds. He set his fractured bones in place with brutal precision, then forced his body to obey through Life Return, restoring himself to peak combat state again and again at the cost of stamina.
And then—his vision blurred. For an instant, time itself seemed to fracture. Fragments of the future flashed before him, faint but real.
His eyes widened, then curved into a grin. So this is it…
It was only for moments—seconds at most. But he had glimpsed the future. This was the first step into a new world. The ability Katakuri wielded, the ultimate mastery of Observation Haki… Teach had unlocked its door.
At first, his "future sight" was unstable, inconsistent, and he took punishing blows whenever it failed. But under the pressure of battle, it grew sharper. Soon, he could see two, even three seconds ahead. Enough to shift his movements, enough to strike first.
With his monstrous soul and endless stamina, his mind did not tire. Unlike others, he could push this gift endlessly.
The tide turned. His attacks grew more precise, his defenses smoother. Though battered, he stood unyielding. Against all odds, against all his so-called brothers, Teach remained.
At last, the deck shook with the sound of a heavy step. Whitebeard rose from his seat, his Bisento striking the planks with a thunderous crack.
"Enough."
The word cut through the battlefield like lightning. At once, the commanders froze. The fight ceased. All eyes turned to their father.
Whitebeard stepped forward, his presence vast, his aura pressing down on all who still stood. He stopped before Teach, looking down at him.
"Teach," he rumbled, "do you still consider me your Pops?"
Teach met his gaze. His body screamed in pain, but his smile was steady. "Pops… I've never regretted joining the Whitebeard Pirates."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Whitebeard's booming laugh shook the air. "Gurararara! The fledgling has grown. A man must spread his wings someday. If you've chosen your path, Teach, I won't stop you."
"Pops?!" Marco and the others shouted, voices breaking with disbelief.
But Whitebeard only turned, his gaze sweeping across them. "The only rule of this family is not to harm your comrades. Teach has not broken this. The sea is freedom. If any of you wish to leave one day, I will not stop you either."
He grinned, pride glinting in his eyes. "But remember this—can you stop him? Teach has already surpassed you."
The words landed like cannon fire. Marco, Vista, Jozu, the others—they clenched their fists, unwilling but unable to deny it. Teach had endured them all. Teach had surpassed them.
Teach laughed, blood dripping from his mouth. "Zehahahahaha! Pops's peak will last ten more years, but after that, his body will collapse under the weight of his power. When that day comes, you'll regret leaning on him instead of standing on your own two feet."
He turned his back to them, Mostima and the others falling into step behind him. Halfway across the deck, he looked back one last time. His smile was sharp, cruel, but not without a hint of respect.
"Next time we meet, we'll be enemies. And by then, I won't be your only opponent."
With that, he walked away.
From the deck below, his crew greeted him with relief. "Boss Teach, you took forever! If we hadn't heard the racket, we'd have come up ourselves!"
Teach waved them on. "Back to White Sand Island."
As his ship drifted into the horizon, Whitebeard watched, silent for a long moment. Then he laughed, deep and thunderous. "Gurararara! Next time Teach returns, give him hell. We are the Whitebeard Pirates, after all."
Marco lifted his head, fire in his eyes. "That's right! Next time we'll beat him down!"
His shout rallied the others, but deep inside, none of them could deny it: Teach had changed something in them. The Whitebeard Pirates would never be the same again.