Crocodile would not be in danger for the time being. Maybe she even liked the atmosphere of Impel Down. Ozz could not say.
What he did know was this: under his name, as long as Little Sand agreed to become one of the Seven Warlords, the Marines would not take her life. Stubbornness could last only so long before common sense set in.
He accepted Mihawk's invitation first.
As expected, in a contest of pure swordsmanship, Ozz was not Mihawk's match. After a handful of meaningful exchanges he slid Ace back into its sheath and stepped away.
"Enough. You are the world's greatest swordsman. The bout ends here."
Dark lines seemed to drop down Mihawk's face. "Hey. Ozz, you bastard."
He was genuinely displeased. Haki was part of a man's strength. He had never asked Ozz to hold back. Ozz, however, found this particular chore tiresome. The title of world's greatest swordsman had never tempted him from the moment he first picked up a blade. He had learned swordwork and Divine Departure because both were efficient and looked good. At heart he was a marksman.
Claim that title, and swordsmen would swarm him like fish in a river, all wanting to cut him down to write their own legend. He would rather hand that honor to Mihawk. There were entirely too many swordsmen in the world. Becoming the number one sniper had a much better return on effort.
Still, seeing the refusal in Mihawk's eyes and the itch in his fingers, Ozz sighed. "All right. I will find you another opponent. Cross blades with him. Our sword paths share a root. If we are speaking of sword talent alone, I am not much above him. Beat him and you can count it as beating me."
Mihawk studied Ozz with a trace of suspicion, then relaxed when he saw no hint of teasing. "And this swordsman who shares your source is who exactly?"
"A former crewmate from our years on the Roger Pirates. Red-Haired Shanks."
"Word is he has a bit of a name now," Ozz added. "He has been sailing on his own for years."
Mihawk pinched his chin and frowned, searching his memory for the emerging names of recent years. "Red-Hair… I do not pay much attention to rookies, but I think there is a so-called super rookie with that epithet."
Since Shanks had gone to sea he had spent most of his time wandering, looking for the people who would become his crew. He had shown himself on the seas more than once. Yet the headlines were still monopolized by Ozz and his peers, which kept Shanks' name from catching fire the way it might have.
In the original line of things, his crew would only fully come into its own in the next several years. After that the Red-Haired Pirates' name would blaze steadily brighter. The windmill village, the arm left behind, the charge into the New World that chopped a path through brambles, and at last the throne among the Emperors. Then growth upon growth. A fleet of many ships.
"So that rookie has that kind of strength," Mihawk murmured. "Interesting, if you rate him. Red-Haired Shanks."
From this moment, Shanks' name took up a corner in Mihawk's mind, and the weight of Rayleigh's quiet assent only sank it deeper.
"Shanks, huh. It really has been a long time," Ozz said.
"His talent for the sword is high," Rayleigh said with a small smile. "Back then, when Ozz kept him under pressure, it was by relying on physique and Haki. Line up the monsters of the sea, and there are not many whose raw gift beats Shanks'."
The silhouettes of those brash boys flickered behind the Dark King's glasses. "And Buggy. I wonder how he is doing."
"I saw both their names on recent posters," Shakky said as she slid fresh bottles down the bar. Sammi had paid to clear the room hours ago. Business was better when everyone knew whose money was behind a closure like this. Shakky ducked beneath the counter and produced a stack of posters, fingers flicking quickly until she separated two.
Rayleigh took them. Ozz and Mihawk leaned in.
Red-Haired Shanks. Bounty: 339,000,000 Berries.
Buggy the Clown. Bounty: 9,000,000 Berries.
"That does not match their true strength," Rayleigh said.
"Shanks should be at least around an admiral-candidate's level by now," Ozz agreed. "He has been wandering the Four Blues, though. No wonder the number is soft."
It was understandable. His high tide was close. He had kept his head down a long time. In a few years he would rob a Government transport of the Nika Fruit and appear with Uta at his side, then bring down the first form of the Demon King of Song. His power would spike through that stretch. In five or six years he would step securely into the realm of Emperors and Admirals.
Ozz felt no pressure. If he wanted to keep Shanks suppressed by sheer weight, he would need to climb a rung over these next years. There was no need to touch Joy Boy's heights, but at least Rocks-level if he wanted his face to carry what it should.
Mihawk and Rayleigh continued to study the posters. Shanks' number, while low, they could excuse as temporary. But Buggy…
"Ozz's companion is very low-key," Mihawk said dryly, holding up the clown's poster. The grinning face on flimsy paper gave him an inexplicable urge to frown.
"Buggy…" Rayleigh felt a bead of sweat gather at his temple. He could not quite find a polite way to put it. Given what he knew, nine million might not be wrong.
"He looks like he is doing great," Ozz said cheerfully, slinging an arm around both shoulders and pulling them closer to peer at the page. The print caught Buggy in mid-cackle, as if he were shouting Worship me, the great Buggy. Ozz's mood lifted simply at the sight.
"In that case, let us visit him later. Come to think of it, it has been five or six years."
His original plan had been to check in on Shanks first, to see the first shape of the Red-Haired Pirates and catch a glimpse of little Uta. No reason not to look up Buggy as well. Brothers were brothers. He would not favor one over the other.
The pieces of the story were filing onto the stage one by one.
He tightened the arm around Mihawk's neck and grinned. "I am looking forward to it. Shanks and the rest of that bunch. The new era is on its feet."
Rayleigh lifted his glass in a quiet toast. Bubbles rose from the roots of the mangroves outside and drifted past the windows, each one catching the bar's warm light and carrying it upward until it popped.
Mihawk slipped Buggy's poster back onto the pile and tapped Shanks' bounty with one finger. "Where is he."
"Not far," Shakky said. "Word has him circling the East Blue again. The windmill village draws him like a tide. If you intend to go, the currents will be kind."
"Then we will go," Ozz said. "After we collect Little Sand."
Mihawk's mouth twitched. "I told you that earlier."
"You absolutely forgot," Ozz said.
"Only for a moment," Mihawk said, which was as close as he would come to admitting it.
Ozz laughed. The sound sat easy in the room. He clinked his bottle against Rayleigh's glass, then against Mihawk's. "First, Impel Down. Then the East. We will share a drink and talk about the names that belong to the next age."
Rayleigh's eyes gentled. "Bring back Shanks in one piece. If you find Buggy first, bring him too."
"Of course," Ozz said. "I owe them that much."
Outside, a patrol passed by in their measured rhythm. Inside, the three men stood in a triangle of light and old laughter. The posters lay on the counter, the ink still sharp. One number would soar. One would crawl. Time would have its joke. Ozz would have his reunion.
He set the bottles down and flexed his fingers as if testing a familiar weapon. The title of greatest swordsman could stay where it was. The sea had other crowns to offer, and he had other ways to win them.
"Come on," he said. "We have friends to see."
…