✨ A Special Message to All Our Amazing Readers ✨
We've made it—Chapter 500!What an incredible milestone, and it's all thanks to you. Whether you've been here since chapter one or joined somewhere along the Grand Line, your enthusiasm, comments, theories, and unwavering support have kept this fanfic alive and sailing strong.
Every chapter written is fueled by your passion for this world, these characters, and the journey we've all embarked on together. Hitting 500 isn't just a number—it's a testament to a shared adventure, a thousand imagined waves, countless emotional moments, and a community that feels like a crew.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for cheering.And thank you for sticking with this story through storms, calm seas, and everything in between.
Here's to the next chapters of our voyage—may they be even more epic.Set sail, nakama!
*****
On the massive deck of the Moby Dick, right beside the hastily patched main mast, stood a newly built throne-like chair—a crude but sturdy construct of ironwood and steel braces. And seated atop it was Edward Newgate, Whitebeard, the once-mighty "Strongest Man in the World."
But now... he looked more like a wounded titan than the invincible force of nature he had always been.
His massive frame was wrapped in layers of tight, blood-soaked bandages, several parts of his torso and limbs reinforced with splints and braces. No fewer than a dozen IV lines snaked into his arms and neck, carrying a mixture of nutrients, sedatives, painkillers, and potent medicinal concoctions—some even infused with Marco's phoenix flames in an attempt to accelerate recovery.
His skin, once sun-bronzed and scarred with pride, was now pallid. His breath rattled with a harsh wheeze that betrayed the damage within. Still, despite Marco's vehement protests, Whitebeard had refused to be treated lying down.
"Marco… that's enough." His voice was hoarse but defiant. "I don't think your phoenix flames can fix what's been done to my insides."
The truth hung in the air like an executioner's blade.
Even Marco—commander of the First Division and wielder of the Mythical Zoan-type Tori Tori no Mi: Model Phoenix—couldn't fully mend the devastation wrought upon Whitebeard's body. The damage wasn't just physical. It was... unnatural.
"As potent as your flames may be," came a gravelly voice from the side, "they can't cleanse wounds like the ones he left behind."
It was Shiki the Golden Lion, leaning against the mast with a bottle of rum in one hand. Though conscious and mobile again, one of his legs had been replaced with a newly-carved peg — the result of a grisly wound suffered during the battle. Unlike Whitebeard, Shiki hadn't been on the frontlines against Rocks for the majority of the fight. He had spent most of his energy keeping Charlotte Linlin and other threats from interfering.
Still, the battle had taken its toll.
"Your old man might need something stronger than regeneration, Marco…" Shiki added, taking a swig. "Like the Ope Ope no Mi. That's the only thing that comes to mind. Its power goes beyond normal medicine — it rewrites the laws of life itself."
Whitebeard let out a deep, rumbling laugh, shaking the deck beneath him.
"Gurararara… Shiki, you bastard! You really think a few bruised ribs and a punctured lung are enough to put me in the grave?" he roared, but even his booming voice carried a hollow echo of what it once was. "And now you're sending my sons chasing after some fruit that may or may not even exist?! Have you forgotten who I am?!"
His Conqueror's Haki pulsed for a moment — a flicker of the old titan still alive beneath the bandages. But Shiki's face remained unmoved, his gaze narrowing into something colder… something real.
"That pride is gonna get you killed, Newgate." He stepped forward, rum forgotten.
"You think this is just another scratch? You think the world's the same as it was twenty years ago?" Shiki's own Haoshoku Haki flared, storm-like, clashing with Whitebeard's in midair like unseen thunder. The sky itself dimmed for a moment, and the crew members nearby collapsed to their knees, unconscious from the sheer force of their wills.
"Shihahaha…. So tell me, O Mighty Whitebeard," Shiki growled, his voice now sharp as a blade, "what are you going to do when he comes back?"
The deck was silent.
"You might be able to drag your broken body through another battle, maybe even survive it. But what about your crew? What about your children?" Shiki's words twisted like knives. "You saw what he did last time. You saw their bodies — strung up like trophies, their blood drying in the sun."
Whitebeard's knuckles cracked as his hands clenched the throne. His eyes reddened, veins pulsing in his forehead. That memory — the lifeless faces of his fallen sons — was a wound no flame could heal.
And Shiki had just torn it open. Their Conqueror's Haki erupted again simultaneously, raging like twin typhoons caught in a death spiral.
"Enough!" Marco shouted, stepping between the two titans, his own aura flaring like molten gold. His usually calm demeanor was gone — replaced by frustration, anger, and exhaustion.
"Do either of you realize your current condition? It's a miracle you two are still standing! And neither of you has even told us who this enemy is—the one who broke you both!"
Whitebeard glared at Marco for a long moment, breathing heavily, before letting out a low grunt and releasing his haki.
"Tch. Jozu!" he barked. "Bring me the finest sake we've got onboard—"
"If anyone gives this old man a drop of alcohol," Marco snarled, rounding on the crew, "I'll personally throw you off this damn ship."
The entire deck froze. Even Whitebeard blinked, caught off guard. His calm, goofy son — the ever-reliable Marco — now stood like a captain of legends, every inch a man who'd fought through hell and come out burning.
Whitebeard exhaled in quiet amusement, a hint of pride flickering in his pale face. Marco turned next to Shiki, who had finally calmed down as well.
"Shiki-san, we don't even know where the Ope Ope no Mi is. The last confirmed user was captured by the World Government years ago. For all we know, it's locked away in Mariejois… or it's already been reincarnated somewhere in the world, lost among millions."
Shiki went silent, his golden-blonde hair swaying in the sea breeze, fingers pausing mid-motion. Marco's words made sense. If finding a Devil Fruit was simple, the seas of the New World would be crawling with gods. But power like that — the kind that defies fate and cheats death — didn't lie around waiting to be found.
His eyes narrowed. A memory stirred — distant, yet sharp enough to cut bone. He remembered the void.
A year of silence. Of stillness. Of being alive and yet not. His body had survived an encounter with an Ancient Weapon, one of the world's lost nightmares — its wrath so absolute that it had reduced islands to dust and Shiki the Golden Lion to a hollow shell.
For over a year, he had slept unmoving, vacant… forgotten. A living legend reduced to a vegetative husk — his will extinguished, his spirit buried beneath wreckage. Everyone else from his old crew was either dead or had given up.
Except Jack.
His vice captain. His brother, who he owed this second chance in life to in its entirety. The one man who had sailed beneath Shiki's flag for only a few years but was the most loyal and had given up everything for his sake.
Jack had refused to let him go. Carried him. Dragged him. Fought off bounty hunters, Marines, pirates, even Warlords — hauling Shiki's lifeless form halfway across the Grand Line. Bruised, broken, bleeding... but relentless.
And then, finally — he found it. The Heal-Heal Fruit user. Not just a panacea… but a miracle. A fruit that could revive the fading flame of a dying soul, at the cost of another. And without hesitation… Jack made the trade.
His life… for Shiki's.
A searing silence filled Shiki's chest as the memory washed over him — the moment he awoke, gasping for breath, Jack's body still like a drained husk beside him… and lifeless.
He clenched his jaw. Compared to what he had been, Whitebeard's wounds were nothing. His old crewmate was cracked, yes, but not broken. His spirit roared even now. If that power could bring him back, it could restore Whitebeard to his prime.
"I've seen it," Shiki murmured, mostly to himself. "I've lived it."
His fists tightened.
"We don't need the Ope Ope no Mi…" he said, louder now, turning toward Marco and the others.
"There's another way. There's someone out there with the Heal-Heal Fruit—and if we can convince her, she might just be able to pull your old man back together. Even his hidden ailments can be cured completely. I can guarantee you that… that little girl can even bring the dead back to life."
He looked at Whitebeard, eyes burning.
"Is that how..." Whitebeard started, but Shiki gave a sharp nod — short, curt, and final. He didn't want to relive it.
For a man as prideful as Shiki, that day wasn't just a wound — it was a scar across his very soul. The memory of Jack, his second-in-command, dragging his broken body across the world… sacrificing his life to bring him back from a vegetative state — it wasn't a story he ever wished to speak of again. Because on that day, he had lost more than just a friend — he had lost his right hand, his shadow, his brother-in-arms.
Jozu, who had been silent all this time, instinctively stepped forward the moment Shiki's connection to the Heal-Heal Fruit became clear. The fact that he had been treated by its current user... meant Shiki knew exactly who could save Whitebeard.
"Tell us who it is... No matter who they are, we'll find them and bring them here to help Pops!") Jozu's voice thundered with resolve.
Vista joined in, his tone calm but unyielding.
"Even if they're at the ends of the world — even if they demand a king's ransom — we'll pay it. Whatever it takes, no price is too high for saving Pops."
But Marco, ever the sharpest mind in the crew, wasn't swept up in emotion like the others. He noticed something the others missed — Shiki's tone. The way he said "convince" rather than "take" meant one thing: force was off the table.
And if even Shiki—the Golden Lion—said they had to convince the other party, it could only mean that this individual was protected. Powerfully.
"Are they under the protection of the World Government...?" Marco asked, a thread of unease in his voice. If that were the case, things would already be complicated. But if they had to infiltrate the Government's grasp, it might even mean war.
"Shi-hahaha… If only it were that simple, brat." Shiki smirked, amused by the naivety. "You might've had a decent shot if the Heal-Heal fruit user served the World Government… but no." He leaned in slightly, his golden mane catching the fading sunlight. "They're under someone far more troublesome."
Even Whitebeard's eyes narrowed. To him, few were more dangerous than the World Government. But from the weight in Shiki's voice… this opponent wasn't a force to take lightly.
"It doesn't matter who it is…!" Jozu barked with conviction. ("For Pops' sake, we're ready to turn the New World upside down!")
Shiki grinned at that, the old pirate flame flickering in his eyes.
"Then tell me, are you boys ready to take down the Donquixote Family...?"
The deck went dead silent.
"What...?" Marco's voice was low.
"The current Heal-Heal Fruit user…" Shiki said, savoring every word, "...is under the direct protection of the Donquixote brothers. Unless Newgate himself shows up and demands it, forget about taking her from Dressrosa by force. That island's a fortress now, ruled by monsters."
Shiki's gaze scanned the deck. He knew exactly how both crews operated. Whitebeard's crew — bound by love and loyalty, yes — but also too reliant on one man. The moment Whitebeard fell, they turtled in retreat, unsure, hesitant. And now… look at them.
Yes, they had numbers. But quality? Potential? Ruthlessness? That belonged to the Donquixotes. And then there was Rosinante.
That devil of a younger brother. Shiki had only glimpsed his power in the younger days, but even then, he'd stood out like a blade in the dark. A year ago, he had clashed with Garp at Sabaody and lived to tell the tale. Since then? No one had seen him. But Shiki knew… monsters like that don't just disappear. They evolve. Somewhere out there, Rosinante was still breathing. And still growing.
"The Donquixote Pirates...?" Whitebeard repeated, as if confirming it aloud. His brow furrowed, the weight of memory creeping in. "Those two little brats..."
He remembered them. Two brothers—one smiling like a snake, the other quiet like a reaper. They had risen like demons, carving out their empire in the heart of the New World. Young, yes. But tenacious. Merciless. Even the World Government had failed to tame them.
And then... the day the world changed. When the younger brother killed Charlotte Linlin in open battle. That had surprised even him.
"So tell me..." Shiki sneered, stepping closer. "Are you confident you can take on the Donquixote brothers without your father?"
His words weren't just doubt — they were daggers. To Shiki, Whitebeard's sons were soft. A family built on whim and sentiment. Without Newgate standing at the helm, they were just lost sheep in a sea full of wolves. Strong? Maybe. But compared to the fire-forged demons of the Donquixote family? They were lambs on a blood-soaked altar.
But Marco didn't waver. In fact, he smiled. He turned to Whitebeard, and already, the old man had a knowing glint in his eye. Marco's voice rose, edged with hope.
"Pops… doesn't the Donquixote family owe us a favor? From back then? Maybe it's time we call in that debt..."
Jozu's eyes widened. He remembered now. That moment, years ago—something they'd done to keep the world government at bay from attacking the heart of Donquixote territory when it was left unguarded. Something they had done when the other party had come to them for help. A favor important enough to bind even pirates like the Donquixote brothers, who, like them, took their promises seriously.
"That's right!" Jozu grinned. "They owe us. We don't need to fight… not if they remember what we did for them."
Shiki's eyes narrowed slightly, genuinely surprised for the first time. He hadn't expected that. There was more history here than he'd known — threads of loyalty and favors stretching deeper than even he had imagined.
Marco and the rest of the commanders turned their hopeful eyes toward Whitebeard, waiting for his response. The air was heavy with unspoken anticipation. Yet, the man known as the Strongest in the World sat unmoving, his massive frame cloaked in silence. His expression was conflicted — storm clouds of pride and duty battling within him.
Even if it was just calling in a favor… Whitebeard hated the idea of asking for help from anyone outside his family — his crew. His pride as a captain, as a father, wouldn't allow it. That was the
kind of man he was.
But then… he met Marco's eyes.
The First Division Commander didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His gaze pleaded silently — "Don't do this alone. Let us protect you this time." Marco understood Whitebeard's heart more than anyone. He knew the old man would rather bleed out than lean on others. But there was no time for pride now.
Just as Whitebeard was about to dismiss the matter entirely, Shiki's earlier words echoed in his mind.
"What if the next time… that monster goes after your sons instead?"
The thought hit like a cannonball to the chest. Last time, Whitebeard had been lucky. Shiki had been there. He had dragged him back from the brink of death — again. But what if next time Rocks didn't come for him? What if that beast turned his wrath on his sons — just to watch Whitebeard suffer?
No.
He couldn't allow that.
He had seen enough tragedy. Lost enough brothers. To keep the past from repeating… he would have to do what he never wanted to. Set aside his pride.
"Gurararara... Fine then, Marco." Whitebeard finally broke the silence, his voice deep and thunderous, yet laced with resolve. "Send a word to those two brats. Let's see if they've got the spine to repay the kindness they once received..."
A weight seemed to lift from the deck. Marco exhaled in visible relief.
"I'll personally make the trip to Dressrosa and bring the Heal-Heal Fruit user back with me, Pops." Marco said with conviction, already preparing himself to leave. He didn't want to risk Whitebeard changing his mind — not after they had come this far.
"I'll come with you, Marco." Vista stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "At a time like this, with an unknown enemy stalking us... it's dangerous to go alone."
But Marco shook his head. His tone left no room for argument.
"No. I want all of you to return to Sphinx Island." His voice was calm, but firm. "With my ability, I can travel faster and safer alone."
Even Whitebeard seemed reluctant, his expression hardening. Letting Marco fly into uncertain danger alone didn't sit right with him — not while the shadow of Rocks loomed above them. They had no idea what other cursed abilities that demon had hidden up his sleeve.
"It's okay." Shiki's voice broke through. He had remained quiet, but now he stepped forward. "I'll accompany the brat to Dressrosa."
It was his way of saying goodbye. He had overstayed his welcome here. Despite having fought side by side with Whitebeard once again, the reality remained: they were still rivals. But even more than that… Shiki understood something critical now.
His last fight with Rocks had shown him just how outmatched he was. If it had been one-on-one, he would've died. No questions asked. Twice now, he had escaped death's grip. But he wasn't going to test his luck a third time. He had to change his strategy.
He had plans — bigger than anyone could imagine. Plans to topple both Rocks and the World Government. Because even after all this, even after everything he had lost...
Shiki had never given up on his dream of ruling the world.
"You sure you want to leave in your current condition...?" Whitebeard asked, his voice gruff, caught somewhere between concern and amusement. After all, Shiki had saved his life. That counted for something.
"Well, staying here's not exactly going to help me conquer the world now, is it? And have you forgotten who I am…?" Shiki grinned and turned to Marco. "Let's go, brat."
"Right away...?" Marco blinked, surprised by the abruptness.
"Time and tide wait for none little brat." Shiki flashed a grin, then with a surge of wind, his body lifted effortlessly into the sky — defiant, wild, and free. Marco turned to Whitebeard one last time.
The old man gave him a silent nod — a gesture of trust… and farewell. Jozu tossed a set of transponder snails and a log pose across the deck. Marco caught them midair with ease.
And then — the transformation.
His body shimmered, flames of blue and gold erupting from his back. In an instant, Marco's form exploded into divine majesty. Wings of fire, vast and radiant, unfurled behind him like a mythical being reborn. Feathers of phoenix flame drifted through the air, illuminating the deck in soft hues of azure light.
He flapped once — and the wind howled.
With a few powerful beats of those blazing wings, Marco soared into the heavens. His massive form shimmered against the clouds, trailing embers in his wake, a celestial force hurtling across the sky.
Far ahead, Shiki was already a golden speck on the horizon. But Marco — the Phoenix — caught up in seconds, his form a streak of burning beauty across the endless blue. The Whitebeard Fleet below watched in silence, awe mirrored in every gaze.