Mostima could feel danger creeping closer. His wings spread wide, feathers glimmering faintly as he unleashed his full speed. The air around him trembled.
"Feather Screen of Time!"
With that shout, a storm of silver-white feathers fell from the heavens, dancing through the air like snowflakes. For a moment, it looked like a miracle. The sunlight reflected off the metallic sheen, painting the Sabaody sky in silver.
People all across the Archipelago stopped to look up. Some gasped in awe, others cheered. Mostima—handsome, winged, and powerful—looked every bit the divine angel descending from legend. Women's eyes sparkled. Men shouted his name. His fame was already spreading faster than wildfire.
But beneath that beauty hid murder.
Each falling feather carried a lethal edge, aimed precisely at the surviving Marine cadets.
Zephyr's expression hardened. His body tensed to give chase but only for a heartbeat. He immediately understood what Mostima was doing. If he continued the pursuit, his students would die.
There was no choice.
He clenched his jaw and turned back, his face grim. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could still save them. Among the cadets were two true prodigies—potential monsters who could one day rival the rising stars of the next generation. He refused to lose them.
Above, Mostima saw Zephyr retreat and smiled faintly. "Good choice, old man," he murmured, twisting his fingers.
The silver rain began to fall faster.
Zephyr's heart dropped. "You bastard!"
He unleashed Life Return, muscles bulging, blood surging. His speed exploded.
The ground cracked under his feet as he shot forward, the air warping from the heat of his exertion.
At the battlefield, Gion and Tokikake watched helplessly. Gion was on one knee, her breath ragged; Tokikake was already too weak to stand. Around them, only a handful of cadets remained conscious.
The feathers shimmered above them like a curtain of death, their edges catching the light.
There was nowhere to run.
They had survived hell itself… only to face this final judgment.
The camera Den Den Mushi caught every moment. Across the world, audiences held their breath. Some of the visuals showed the cadets' faces—bloodied, hopeless—while others zoomed out to the deep craters torn into the ground, proof that Zephyr was sprinting back at full power.
Even at Marine Headquarters, silence hung thick. Every officer watching clenched their fists. These cadets represented the Marines' future. Losing them would be a wound the organization could never heal.
"Faster, faster!" Zephyr roared inwardly, steam rising from his body. His skin flushed crimson, his veins bulged, and white mist rolled off him. He was burning everything—stamina, blood, even life itself.
Then—
A beam of golden light streaked across the sky.
"Yata no Kagami!"
Countless light bullets burst outward like fireworks, splitting through the storm of falling feathers. Each beam curved, bending around the cadets below.
Borsalino had arrived.
The Glint-Glint Man himself shone like a second sun, his fingers flickering as he fired a ceaseless barrage. The battlefield turned gold.
Explosions rattled the air. Feathers were blasted apart mid-descent; half of the deadly storm disintegrated under the barrage.
But there were too many.
Even Borsalino couldn't shoot them all. A few slipped through—the ones that would decide life or death.
The audience gasped.
Gion looked up and froze. Silver blades, gleaming against the light, were falling straight toward them.
They closed their eyes.
And then—
The sound of feathers breaking.
When they opened their eyes, a broad figure stood before them, arms spread wide, blocking the storm.
Zephyr.
Sword-feathers shattered harmlessly against his body, sparks flying. His face was twisted with exhaustion but also relief.
Then, to everyone's shock, tears began to stream down his cheeks.
The great Marine hero was crying.
No one watching could speak.
This man had devoted his entire life to the Marines, to the academy, to the next generation. Since the tragedy that scarred him years ago, he had lived only for his students. Seeing them on the brink of death—and saving them at the cost of his own life—broke something deep within him.
Even Borsalino, hovering above, said nothing. The usual lazy grin was gone.
At Headquarters, every senior officer fell silent. They had all used Life Return before. They knew what it cost. Zephyr hadn't just spent stamina—he had burned his very life force.
That technique could transform energy into power—digesting food instantly for strength, or burning the body's reserves for speed. But once you crossed that line, there was no going back.
Zephyr's lifespan had been shortened. His decline had already begun.
But he didn't care.
He had saved his students.
And for that, even Sengoku and Garp bowed their heads.
The battle was over. Mostima had vanished without a trace. Pursuit was meaningless now.
What had begun as a routine suppression mission had turned into one of the worst Marine disasters in years.
And somewhere in the distance, Teach's plans were still unfolding.
At Headquarters, Sengoku looked grim. "What about Mostima's bounty?"
Fleet Admiral Kong rubbed his temples. "Raise it to 420 million Berries. Give him a name—something fitting. And the rest, too. Handle it."
The room fell silent. Everyone knew what that meant.
The Marines had been humiliated. A Vice Admiral dead. Over two thousand soldiers gone. Dozens of cadets—Zephyr's prized students—slain.
Their reputation had taken a blow that would echo across the seas.
Kong exhaled slowly. "That damned bird just made fools of us."
At the World Economic Journal, chaos reigned.
"Move, move, move! We publish before anyone else!" Morgans shouted, pen scratching furiously across his notepad.
"President, does it really matter that much?" a worker asked.
Morgans glared. "Idiot! Fish or meat—don't you know the difference between a triple raise and a quintuple raise?! Get writing!"
"YES, SIR!"
Feathers of ink flew across paper. Within hours, the presses thundered to life.
In a dark forest near Area 25, Mostima stood beside Teach. The sound of printing presses and distant Marine sirens drifted faintly on the wind.
Teach grinned beneath his coat. "Mostima, we're not done yet."
Mostima raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Teach's eyes gleamed. "Before we leave Sabaody… we're taking every Devil Fruit in the black market."
Mostima blinked. "You're insane."
"Zehahaha! Maybe. But I'm gonna be rich."
Mostima laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. One last night, then."
They both knew this would stir up a hornet's nest. But Teach didn't care—and Mostima found himself thrilled by the risk.
Half of the stolen fruits would be sold back into the black market to cover their tracks. The rest would be stored, waiting for the day Teach would need to reward his growing crew.
Soon, even if they were discovered, no one would dare to touch them.
Elsewhere, the newsbirds took flight.
Wanted posters fluttered across the seas.
On the Moby Dick, Marco whistled, reading the fresh paper. "Pops, it's that guy who came with Teach. The one with the wings. Didn't think he'd blow up this big."
Whitebeard grinned, his massive hand clutching his sake cup. "Gurararara! Seems Teach's little adventure reached Sabaody after all."
All across the New World, Mostima's name spread.
The world now knew the title the Marines had given him:
"Wisdom Angel" Mostima — 420,000,000 Berries.
And for the first time, the seas whispered his name with awe.
A storm was coming.