Three days had passed.
A new dawn broke across the seas of the New World. The sun shone brightly, its warmth tempered by the cooling breeze of early October. The air was crisp, and though it was still morning, the ocean winds carried enough force to guide any ship forward.
Alone upon those vast waters drifted a vessel unlike any other—a coffin-shaped boat. There was only one such ship in existence, belonging to none other than Dracule Mihawk, the man the world called Hawkeye, the greatest swordsman alive.
Seated cross-legged upon the small vessel, Mihawk carried the legendary Black Blade, Yoru, one of the Supreme Grade swords. His piercing golden eyes scanned the horizon. To him, the sea was quiet and uneventful, though from time to time, massive Sea Kings rose from the depths. Yet even those colossal beasts trembled and retreated at a single glance from him.
For Mihawk, such encounters were trivial. His true desire was elsewhere.
He was searching for Shanks.
For years, Mihawk and the red-haired Emperor had been rivals and friends. Though Shanks's swordsmanship was formidable, it was not what defined him. His presence, his will, and his charisma as a Yonko overshadowed even his blade. Mihawk, however, had built his legend entirely upon his mastery of the sword. For him, true recognition came only through swordsmanship, and worthy opponents were painfully rare.
Too often, he was challenged by swordsmen desperate for glory. Few carried the true spirit of the blade. Most were defeated swiftly—sometimes with nothing more than a dagger—only to lose their will afterward. Mihawk had no respect for those who surrendered their pursuit of swordsmanship.
In this vast world, only a handful of swordsmen had ever earned his acknowledgment. And among the few people he considered comrades, Shanks might be the only true friend.
"Half a day more, and I'll reach his seas," Mihawk murmured, his sharp gaze fixed ahead.
Suddenly, a glimmer of gold streaked across the sky to his right.
Mihawk's eyes narrowed. What first seemed like a massive golden bird revealed itself, upon closer scrutiny, to be no living creature at all. Instead, it was a flying craft, mechanical and strange, the likes of which few in the world had ever seen. And upon it stood a figure.
A young man.
Recognition struck Mihawk instantly. He had seen this face before, in countless newspapers and intelligence reports.
"Rhett Vane…" he muttered.
The new Pirate Emperor.
The man who had risen to the summit of the world in only a few months.
Vane piloted the golden craft, known as the Throne of the King—Vimana. He was on his way to visit Whitebeard, the man he had first invested in through the mysterious [Investment System]. Meeting the great Edward Newgate felt necessary, not only out of respect, but because Whitebeard's very presence was tied to Vane's rise. Shanks, too, was on his list of people to meet. Unlike Big Mom and Kaido—both aggressive and destructive—the Red-Haired Emperor and Whitebeard commanded a different kind of respect.
Big Mom had recently suffered a humiliating defeat, leaving her unstable, while Kaido had been forced into submission. The turmoil shaking the New World had Vane's shadow behind it, though he himself did not take responsibility.
Now, fate had arranged an encounter between two of the world's greatest figures.
Mihawk's golden eyes locked onto Vane, and Vane met his gaze in turn.
Both men studied each other in silence.
Mihawk had long been curious about this boy who had shaken the world. In scarcely three or four months, Rhett Vane had gone from obscurity to Yonko. His feats defied reason. Even storming Mariejois and fighting Celestial Dragons had left him unscathed.
And what of Kaido? That monstrous Emperor ruled Wano, the very land Vane now claimed as his base. Two tigers cannot share the same mountain—yet Kaido had yielded. Had he bowed to Vane? The possibility alone shook the foundations of the world.
"Unbelievable…" Mihawk thought, his grip on Yoru tightening ever so slightly. "Shanks became an Emperor three years ago, already in his thirties. Even then, he was the youngest among the Yonko. But this boy… Rhett Vane is not even twenty."
Vane descended slowly, guiding Vimana until it floated upon the waves, less than twenty meters from Mihawk's coffin ship.
The young Emperor stood tall, his appearance almost too youthful to match the reputation that preceded him. Even Mihawk, who had seen countless prodigies, felt a stir of surprise. The power Vane radiated was undeniable, but his age… it defied belief.
A boy had become Emperor.
A boy carried the strength to shake the seas.