Chapter 137: Meeting
The Navy Encampment — Prisoner Transfer
"It's truly unexpected, Vice Admiral Tsuru. You came personally to collect me."
Doflamingo sat on the stone floor of the temporary holding cell, his body wrapped in enough Seastone chains to immobilize a Sea King. The heavy links clinked with every breath he took, sapping his strength, suppressing his Devil Fruit abilities. And yet his grin remained. Faded at the edges, perhaps. Weary in a way it had never been before. But still present.
"Fuffuffuffu. Is it just my imagination... or have you aged considerably?"
Tsuru stood before the cell, her weathered face betraying nothing. The years had carved deep lines around her eyes and mouth, but her posture was as straight as it had been when she first donned the Marine coat decades ago. Behind her, a phalanx of female officers stood at attention, their expressions uniformly impassive.
"It seems your era has come to an end, Doflamingo."
"Yes." The grin flickered. "It's over."
He tilted his head back, his hidden eyes tracking something beyond the canvas ceiling of the holding tent.
"But a new storm is about to break. Bigger than anything that came before."
Tsuru followed his gaze. Through a gap in the tent flaps, she could see a shape moving against the morning sky—a crow of black fire, its dark wings trailing embers as it soared over the naval camp and banked eastward.
"What is that?"
"Fuffuffu." Doflamingo's chains clinked as he shifted. "Uchiha Itachi."
Tsuru watched the black fire recede into the distance. Her expression did not change, but something in her eyes sharpened.
At the central command post, Vice Admiral Bastille had just finished outlining the assault plan for the palace's rear courtyard. His massive hand was poised over the tactical map, ready to assign squad positions, when the shout went up.
"UCHIHA ITACHI! IN THE SKY!"
The camp erupted. Marines scrambled for rifles. Lookouts trained their binoculars on the fleeing crow. The carefully organized assault formation dissolved into chaos as every head turned skyward.
"Second squad! Third squad! Pursue Uchiha Itachi! Don't let him—"
"I will go as well."
Fujitora rose, his staff-sword already in hand. But before he could take a step, Bastille moved to block his path.
"Admiral. Intelligence reports a significant concentration of pirates still entrenched behind the palace. I believe your presence would be more effective there—coordinating the main assault."
Fujitora paused. His blind eyes studied Bastille's face with an intensity that made the larger man shift uncomfortably.
"Uchiha Itachi can be dealt with by my forces," Bastille continued. "I've been wanting to test my blade against him since the moment he escaped our perimeter at the colosseum."
"...Is that so." Fujitora's voice was unreadable. "Very well. The pirate concentration behind the palace will be my responsibility."
Bastille raised his shark-toothed sword and charged eastward, bellowing orders to his subordinates.
Sengoku, who had finished his noodles, rose with a satisfied sigh. "I'll check on Doflamingo's situation first. Make sure Tsuru hasn't decided to drown him in the harbor. Then I'll join the pursuit." He paused, his goat-bearded face creasing with something that might have been concern. "Be careful out there, Smile."
"Of course."
Fujitora turned toward the palace, his staff-sword tapping against the earth. The faintest trace of a smile touched his scarred lips.
Good luck, Vice Admiral Bastille. You will need it.
The Southeast Port — Simultaneously
"The Navy's already blockaded the entire harbor."
Robin pressed herself against the crumbled wall of a warehouse, peering through a gap in the stonework. Marines were everywhere—patrolling the docks, checking cargo manifests, questioning anyone who so much as looked at a ship. The window for undetected departure had shrunk to almost nothing.
"Don't worry about that." Sabo had his Den Den Mushi out, the snail's features shifting into the calm, aquatic visage of a fishman. "Haku's handling our extraction. He's already in position."
In the water below the harbor's edge, Haku glided through the shadows of the dock pilings with the silent grace of a creature born to the sea. His fishman senses tracked the Marine patrols above—their footsteps on the wooden planks, their voices muffled by the water, the rhythmic sweep of their searchlights.
Sabo. The extraction point is clear. Thirty meters east of the main pier. I can have you underwater and away before the next patrol cycle.
"I see it! Over there—!"
Robin's exclamation cut through the tense silence. Sabo's head snapped up. A Marine on the far dock was pointing skyward, his rifle raised, his voice carrying across the water.
"UCHIHA ITACHI OF THE STRAW HATS! HE'S HEADING FOR THE PORT!"
"FIRE! FIRE! DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"
The Black Fire Crow swept low over the harbor, black flames trailing behind it like a comet's tail. Every Marine on the dock opened fire. Rifles cracked. Bullets tore through the air. The crow banked hard, avoiding the worst of the barrage, and shot eastward over the open sea.
And the Marines chased it.
Within seconds, the harbor that had been crawling with patrols was nearly empty. The soldiers who had been checking cargo and questioning civilians had abandoned their posts to join the pursuit, their officers shouting orders that grew fainter and fainter as they streamed eastward along the coast.
"Now!" Sabo was already moving toward the water—
"Itachi!"
A hand caught his collar. Sabo stumbled backward as Itachi emerged from the shadows of the ruined warehouse, his real body stepping out from behind a stack of shattered crates. The Black Fire Crow in the sky—the one drawing the entire Marine garrison away from the harbor—was a Wood Clone construct. A decoy. A ghost.
"Robin. Sabo." Itachi's hands were already moving through seals. A second Black Fire Crow materialized on the dock before him, its wooden frame solidifying from chakra and timber. "Get on."
"Wait—Itachi was here the whole time?!" Sabo's jaw dropped. "Then the one the Marines are chasing—"
"A diversion. We need to move before they realize their mistake."
Robin didn't hesitate. She stepped onto the crow's back with the practiced ease of someone who had long ago learned to trust Itachi's plans without question. Sabo, still processing, scrambled up behind her.
Sabo? Sabo, are you there? Haku's voice crackled through the Den Den Mushi. The extraction point is ready. I'm waiting for your signal.
"Haku." Sabo raised the snail with an apologetic grimace. "Change of plans. Sorry for making you swim out here for nothing."
...What?
"Tell you later!" Sabo snapped the snail shut as the Black Fire Crow launched skyward.
Below them, Haku surfaced beside the dock, his fishman eyes blinking in confusion. He looked left. He looked right. The harbor was empty. The extraction point was clear. His primary—the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army—was nowhere to be found.
"...Sabo?"
The Black Fire Crow was already a speck on the horizon.
Forty Nautical Miles Northwest of Dressrosa
The sea stretched endless in every direction, a vast expanse of deep blue broken only by the distant whitecaps of the New World's unpredictable currents. Itachi's Black Fire Crow cut through the morning air at speeds that made Sabo clutch his hat with both hands.
"Which way?"
"Keep heading northwest! The rendezvous coordinates should be—"
Sabo squinted against the wind. The crow's speed was absurd. It wasn't just fast—it was shinobi fast, the kind of speed that came from chakra-enhanced propulsion rather than natural flight dynamics. The ocean blurred beneath them.
"There!" Sabo pointed downward. "See that? The sub!"
A vessel had surfaced in the water below—a submarine of unusual design, its black hull gleaming in the morning light. The Revolutionary Army's colors were visible on its conning tower.
"Understood."
Itachi banked the crow into a steep dive. The wind screamed past them. Sabo's hat nearly tore from his head. Robin's dark hair streamed behind her like a banner.
"Hey Itachi! Don't you think this speed is a LITTLE—!"
"We're landing."
The Black Fire Crow touched down on the submarine's deck with barely a shudder. Itachi's chakra dispersed the construct before the flames could damage the vessel's hull, leaving the three of them standing on the salt-wet metal as if they had simply materialized from the air itself.
"That was... fast." Sabo stumbled forward, his legs still adjusting to solid ground after the rapid descent. "Really fast. Unnecessarily fast. Is all your transportation that—"
His foot met open air.
"OH—!"
SPLASH.
The seawater swallowed Sabo whole. His Devil Fruit powers evaporated instantly—the Mera-Mera Fruit's fire extinguished, his strength drained, his limbs turning to lead. He sank like a stone.
"Ah." Robin covered her mouth, but her eyes were laughing. "He forgot."
Itachi was already moving. His feet touched the water's surface—chakra spreading across the soles of his sandals—and he reached down, seizing Sabo by the collar and hauling him out of the sea in one fluid motion.
Sabo hung from Itachi's grip like a drowned cat. His gentleman's hat was gone. His coat was soaked. His hair was plastered across his face in wet, miserable strands.
"I forgot," he wheezed. "I completely forgot. I used to be able to swim. I was a GREAT swimmer. And now—"
"You ate a Devil Fruit."
"I ATE A DEVIL FRUIT."
"Indeed." Robin's smile was serene. "The Mera-Mera Fruit. Fire Fist Ace's legacy. You did seem quite pleased with it yesterday."
"I WAS PLEASED. I AM STILL PLEASED. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY PLEASED AND DROWNING."
The deck hatch swung open. Kerla emerged, her orange hair bright against the submarine's dark hull. She took in the scene before her—Sabo dripping seawater onto the deck, Robin standing serenely beside a pile of dissolving black feathers, Itachi still holding the Revolutionary Chief of Staff by his sodden collar—and sighed.
"Sabo. You arrived so quickly. I'm almost impressed."
"Thank you." Sabo's voice was very small.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." He forced himself upright, seawater still streaming from his coat. "Perfectly fine. Never better."
Kerla shook her head with the resigned affection of someone who had long ago accepted that her commanding officer was an idiot. She turned to Itachi and extended her hand.
"Mr. Itachi. We meet again."
"Kerla." Itachi shook her hand firmly. "Thank you for arranging this."
"Time is limited, so I'll skip the formalities. Our leader is waiting for you below." She gestured toward the open hatch. "Please, follow me. Both of you."
The Submarine — Interior
The corridor stretched ahead of them, narrow and functional, lined with pipes and conduits that hummed with the submarine's life support systems. Revolutionary soldiers moved through the passageways with the brisk efficiency of people who had urgent business and no time to waste. Communications officers shouted updates across crowded rooms. Tactical analysts huddled over maps marked with troop movements and supply routes. Logistics coordinators argued about shipping manifests in three different languages simultaneously.
"It's busy," Robin observed.
"Always," Sabo agreed. "There's a rebellion happening somewhere in the world every single day. The Revolutionary Army is the backbone that keeps those rebellions from being crushed."
He waved to a passing officer, exchanged a quick word with a staffer who needed his signature, and nearly collided with a cart full of intelligence reports before Kerla steered him out of the way.
"Compared to everyone else," Robin noted, "you seem remarkably relaxed."
"Chief of Staff privilege. I do the fighting. They do the paperwork." Sabo grinned. "It's a fair division of labor."
"Very similar to our crew dynamics," Robin murmured to Itachi.
"Very similar," Itachi agreed.
Kerla stopped before a door at the end of the main corridor. Unlike the other compartments, this one was closed—a solid bulkhead with a single porthole window that revealed nothing of the room beyond.
"Sister Robin. Mr. Itachi." She gestured toward the door. "Commander Dragon is waiting for you inside."
"Thank you, Kerla."
She pushed open the door.
The room beyond was no less busy than the corridor they had just left. Maps covered every wall—some marked with pins and string, others annotated in a dozen different hands. Staff officers huddled around a central table, debating strategy in low, urgent voices. Communications specialists relayed reports from field agents across the Grand Line. The nerve center of the Revolutionary Army pulsed with controlled, purposeful energy.
And at the center of it all, moving through the chaos with the swift, deliberate stride of a man who had learned to command hurricanes, was Monkey D. Dragon.
He was taller than Itachi had expected. Broader in the shoulders. His dark green cloak swept behind him as he walked, and the red tattoo that traced across his face—a pattern of angular lines that might have been tribal markings or might have been something else entirely—gave his features a fierce, almost elemental quality. His eyes, when they found Itachi's, were sharp with intelligence and heavy with the weight of a war that had been raging for decades.
"Robin." Dragon's voice was deep, resonant. It carried the same quality as Luffy's laughter—something warm and unshakeable beneath the surface. "It's been too long."
"Commander." Robin smiled and clasped his extended hand. "Far too long."
Dragon released her hand and turned to face Itachi.
The two men regarded each other in silence. Dragon's gaze was assessing—not hostile, but thorough. The kind of look a man gave a weapon he was considering adding to his arsenal, only to realize he was not looking at a weapon at all.
When Dragon spoke, his voice was quiet. Respectful. The voice of a man addressing an equal.
"Uchiha Itachi."
He extended his hand.
"Thank you for coming."
(End of Chapter)
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