The Charlotte Angel cut through the waves of the New World, carrying the hope of Flevance—Dr. Acier, Olga, and the Pure Gold—toward Fausse Island. On the main deck, the air thrummed with the sound of rapid-fire combat.
Two figures faced off. One was a mountain of a man, nearly three meters tall, clad in a navy blue tank top and camouflage trousers.
The other was a lean teenager, barely 150cm, wearing steel leggings and heavy gauntlets. In his hands, he spun two steel-balled tonfas with practiced lethal grace.
"Alright, Gin. Come at me with everything you've got," I rumbled, bracing my stance.
"Right... here I come, Boss!"
Gin vanished. His speed, honed to a razor's edge by Zephyr's hellish training, was nearly invisible to the naked eye. He stayed low to the ground, a blurring streak of gray, before springing upward to drive his right tonfa toward my ribs.
I swept my left arm down to parry, impressed by the sheer force behind the strike, and countered with a rising palm toward his solar plexus.
Gin didn't panic; he crossed his tonfas to block the impact. Even so, the sheer weight of my blow launched his light frame into the air. He tucked into a tight mid-air roll, killed the momentum, and landed gracefully several meters away.
"I'm floored," I admitted. "You were fast before, but this is a different level. And that mid-air recovery? Perfect marks."
"The Instructor... he didn't give me much choice but to learn," Gin panted, a fierce glint in his eyes.
He lunged again, identical to the first move.
"Twice with the same trick is a mistake, Gin!" I barked, pulling back my right fist for a straight punch to intercept his trajectory.
"I know," Gin whispered.
His image flickered. My fist punched through empty air. Gin had performed a micro-backstep at the exact moment of my strike, causing me to overextend.
Before I could reset, he grabbed my extended arm, used his light weight to swing himself upward, and vaulted over my shoulder. In a flash, he was on my back, his arms locked around my neck in a tight chokehold.
"Ho... a footwork technique to break timing. Not bad."
Despite the grip on my throat, I spoke as if we were discussing the weather. Gin made a face that said, 'I knew this wouldn't work.'
"Excellent work. Zephyr-san really did a number on you," I said, reaching back to calmly pry his locking arms apart. "You've worked incredibly hard, Gin. That training must have been grueling."
"Well... I didn't think I'd actually drop you, Boss, but having it brushed off that easily is a bit depressing," Gin sighed, kicking off my back to create distance.
Just as he was about to reset for another round, the lookout's voice shattered the atmosphere.
"REAR ADMIRAL! PIRATE SHIP AHEAD! THE FLAG... CROSSBONES WITH A CRESCENT BEARD! IT'S WHITEBEARD! THE MOBY DICK IS IN SIGHT!!"
The training session ended instantly. I ordered the crew to battle stations but issued a strict command: "Do not fire. Raise the signal for a parley and prepare to pull alongside. No one attacks unless I give the word."
The Moby Dick, a massive vessel with a bow shaped like a white whale, loomed over us as it slowed to a crawl. It was a majestic, terrifying sight.
"Boss, are you sure about this?" Gin asked, his hand white-knuckled on his tonfas. "That's one of the Great Pirates..."
"I'm not going there to pick a fight. Don't worry," I said, ruffling his hair to ease his tension.
I strapped on my new gauntlets—just in case—but kept my overall attire light. I didn't want to look like I was looking for a war, but I wasn't going in defenseless.
With a final nod to the Captain, I used Moonwalk to leap across the gap, landing softly on the deck of the whale-ship.
I was immediately surrounded by pirates. But there was no jeering or drunken disorder. They stood in disciplined ranks, their eyes sharp and silent. Order and loyalty, I thought. This is going to be tricky.
I walked through the path opened by the ranks until I reached the center of the deck. There, seated upon a massive chair, was the man himself.
Edward Newgate. Whitebeard.
The Strongest Man in the World. The man closest to the One Piece. Even in his later years, the sheer pressure emanating from his giant frame was staggering. He was a "Tremor Human" who could crack the very atmosphere and drown the world if he so chose.
"Uh... Mr. Edward? Newgate-san?" I started, testing the waters.
He looked down at me with a disgruntled huff. "...'Whitebeard' is fine. Who are you, brat?"
"Nice to meet you, Whitebeard. I'm Krieg, a Rear Admiral from Marine Headquarters."
I kept my tone casual, but inside, I was sweating bullets. In the original story, he was weakened by age and illness, but here, over a decade before the war, he looked like a force of nature. Around him, I recognized several famous faces—Marco the Phoenix, Diamond Jozu, and other division commanders.
"Gurararara... I see. So you're the head of the Red Gulls."
The "Red Gulls" was the nickname the underworld had given my Independent Task Force about a year ago.
To the civilians, we were the "Seagull Sailors," but to pirates—due to our crimson Navy emblem and the blood we left behind in the North Blue—we were the Red Gulls.
"Yes. I also happen to be the Commander-in-Chief of said Task Force," I replied with a polite smile.
"Hmph. You don't look like the type to use honorifics normally," Whitebeard rumbled, his eyes seeing right through me. "Drop the act. Speak plainly."
I let out a breath and relaxed my posture. "...Fair enough. I've heard a lot about you, Whitebeard. But this is the first time we've met face-to-face."
"Gurararara! Naturally. There aren't many occasions for a Marine and a Pirate to share a drink. But I've heard plenty about your 'Red Gulls.' You caused quite a stir in the North Blue, didn't you?"
Damn, I thought. Even the Emperor of the Sea has been keeping tabs on me. I was just a Rear Admiral, yet here I was, being scouted by the strongest man alive.
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