Inside the command chamber of the Navy fleet, Fleet Admiral Sengoku's face was a mask of fury. His fists clenched at his sides, the air around him heavy with tension. Around him, Vice Admirals and officers stood stiff, their heads bowed, faces pale. No one dared speak.
Two warships—vanished. Two Vice Admirals—dead. The life cards had burned out swiftly, their final flickers extinguished in just under fifteen minutes.
"Both of them... sacrificed," Sengoku growled, his voice gravelly with grief and rage. His hand slammed into the hardwood table, splintering it with a resounding CRACK. A deep handprint embedded itself in the surface like a scar.
"Calm yourself, Sengoku." Vice Admiral Tsuru's voice was gentle, but firm. Though she too was shaken, she stood as the voice of reason. "We need clear minds now more than ever."
Sengoku sucked in a deep breath, his chest rising with contained fury. "Three Vice Admirals. Ten thousand marines. Gone. In twenty minutes." He stared at the floor like it had betrayed him. "Was it Whitebeard? Did he strike personally? Or did the entire Whitebeard Pirates move in force?"
No one answered. The silence was damning.
"This… this is the worst loss the Navy's taken in over a decade," Sengoku continued. "And we didn't even hold them off. It was like throwing meat to wolves."
His tone was bitter, and no one could deny the truth in it.
"Perhaps our plan was compromised," he added with a sigh, the fire momentarily dimming in his eyes. "Whitebeard knew. Somehow, they knew. This was supposed to be swift—over before they had time to react."
There was a pause.
"Do we still go through with the operation?" one officer finally dared ask. "Attacking Whitebeard when he's clearly prepared… it would be suicide."
Sengoku didn't hesitate. "We fight."
The word hung in the air like a sword.
"We've already moved with full force. To retreat now would stain the Navy's name. We've lost too much already. We must strike back—or become a joke to every pirate in the New World."
But he wasn't blind to strategy.
"Withdraw the remaining warships to G1 Branch. If they linger, they'll just be fodder for Whitebeard. We don't need more martyrs. We need a counterstrike."
Tsuru nodded in approval. "I'll inform headquarters. This is a sound decision."
Though Tsuru served as strategist and aide, she was also a critical check on Sengoku's emotions—his ballast when the tides of war grew turbulent.
Back at Marine HQ, when word reached Commander-in-Chief Kong, his jaw tightened.
"Tell Sengoku we approve," Kong said grimly. "The world must see the strength of the Navy."
But privately, Kong burned with frustration. This entire operation had been his idea. The failure, the deaths, the exposure—it all pointed to one thing: a leak. There was a traitor in their midst.
"Reopen the investigation," he ordered. "Every officer with knowledge of this mission—interrogate them again. Find the leak."
And the leak... had been Teach.
He had overheard everything, crouched in silence, using his observation Haki so keenly it felt like he had become the shadows themselves.
In the dark belly of a ship, Teach winced, groaning as alcohol bit into the fresh wounds across his side.
"Keep still," the ship's doctor grunted. "You're lucky to be alive."
"It stings like hell," Teach hissed, gritting his teeth, but deep inside, he relished the pain. It reminded him he was alive—hungry—moving forward.
Special ointments from the Grand Line's medical trades were rubbed into the wounds. The pain receded slightly. His healing factor was exceptional, and with these remedies, he'd be back on his feet in days.
Bandaged and stitched, he emerged on deck minutes later, his coat fluttering in the sea wind. Around him, the crew was on edge, all eyes on the horizon.
A warship loomed in the distance—alone.
"Only one?" one pirate laughed. "Looks like the Navy remembers who they're dealing with. The others must've tucked tail and run."
As the ship approached, a massive presence stepped onto the bow. It was Whitebeard.
"Gurararara! Sengoku… long time no see," he bellowed, grinning, bisento in hand. "I've been waiting."
Sengoku said nothing. The two titans locked eyes—and the world seemed to still.
Then it happened.
A sudden blast of conqueror's Haki surged outward. The sky cracked. The sea churned. Invisible power slammed into the world around them, splitting air and sky as the wills of two legendary men collided.
Teach gripped the railing, heart pounding. The pressure was suffocating. He could barely breathe.
So this was the pinnacle.
He watched, wide-eyed, as Sengoku transformed. His form ballooned with golden light, body shimmering as he entered the form of the Buddha—the power of the Mythical Zoan fruit coursing through him.
Across the sea, Whitebeard prepared his counter. His right arm drew back, and the air shimmered around his fist. The shockwave—a weapon that could destroy islands—was forming.
"Big Buddha Shock!"
"Air Quake!"
The two attacks collided in the middle of the sea, and for a moment—there was no sea at all. Just white light, silence… and then chaos.
A cavity over 100 meters wide was carved into the ocean, water displaced like it had been scooped out by the hand of a god.
"Gurararara!" Whitebeard laughed again, delivering a second shockwave with a stamp of his foot. "Children! We're done here. Time to go!"
The Moby Dick began to turn. Sengoku tried to follow with another shockwave from his palm, canceling the attack and sending the sea reeling once again.
Then came the tsunami.
The sea rose—no, towered—over 100 meters high, a wall of water blotting out the sun.
"TSUNAMI!" someone screamed.
Even Admiral Kizaru, normally indifferent and aloof, grew tense. "That's… not good."
Panic spread across the warship.
"Everyone stay calm!" Tsuru shouted. "We have the Fleet Admiral!"
"Great Buddha Shock!" Sengoku roared.
With a thunderous blast, he split the tsunami down the center, forming a protective crater of water. The attack had saved them—but just barely.
"We're alive!" marines shouted, relief washing over their fear.
"Don't let them escape!" Sengoku roared. "Full speed! After them!"
But the Moby Dick had already faded into the horizon.
Three days passed. Still the Navy pursued.
The Whitebeard Pirates kept their distance, defending. The Navy remained aggressive. The New World watched closely.
Word spread of the failed ambush. The Navy had sent three warships to stall. They were annihilated before Sengoku even arrived. Someone had leaked the plan.
Marshal Kong launched an internal purge. Several spies were rooted out. But the damage was done.
The Navy's reputation crumbled. Pirate attacks increased across branches. Some mocked them. Others plotted deeper infiltrations.
It had become clear—the world was shifting.
Whitebeard had never sought war. But now? Now he no longer held back. His sons responded with fury. And though Sengoku held him back, the tremors would be felt for years.
Meanwhile, Teach stayed in the shadows, watching. He didn't fight often. He didn't need to. His moment hadn't come—yet.
Two pistols, one gold and one silver, hung at his side—spoils from a noble he had bested. In his hands, they were instruments of agony. Paired with two exceptional swords—Purgatory and Raijin's Fang, both among the 21 O Wazamono—he was armed like a king in waiting.
And someday, he would rule.
He looked to the horizon, eyes sharp. Let the titans clash. Let the world tremble.
He was still growing.
But soon… they would tremble for him.