"Ahhh, finally some peace. Those Navy hounds are like rabid dogs… but they've finally backed off."
Steam swirled thickly in the air, curling around the open-air hot spring like mist rolling off a calm sea. A pirate leaned back into the soothing water, his head tilted skyward, arms spread lazily along the edges. Relief etched deep into every line of his face. Around the springs, the sounds of splashing and laughter echoed—members of the Whitebeard Pirates, finally at ease.
"For three damn months we've been running like hell. Interrupted our voyage, ruined the parade plans. Next time we cross paths with the Navy, we'll give 'em a proper lesson."
Teach rested with his eyes closed, sinking deeper into the warm waters. The chase had worn on him, as it had the entire crew. Ever since that failed operation, the Navy, under the relentless command of Fleet Admiral Sengoku, had pursued them like wolves on a blood trail. For three relentless months, the Whitebeard Pirates had been hounded across the New World. Every time they shook the Navy off, the bastards came roaring back.
Their confrontations had stirred the New World into a frenzy. Countless clashes, skirmishes, and near-battles painted the map in tension. At times they'd blundered into the territory of other major players—resulting in chaotic three- and four-way battles that blurred the lines of allegiance. Golden Lion. Big Mom. Kaido. Each took turns dipping into the fray. The sea had grown restless.
Fatigue had long settled into the bones of the Whitebeard crew. Eventually, they'd halted their march and returned to the safety of their territory. But even there, trouble brewed. In the absence of their command, small-time pirates had tried to snatch at their legacy. Opportunists.
The crew had spent nearly a month putting those insects in their place—destroying two pirate crews in the process. It was only now, with relative calm restored, that they could finally breathe.
This island, one of many under Whitebeard's rule, was known for its natural hot springs—volcanic activity simmered beneath the earth, warming the island's heart. It hadn't erupted in decades, and tourists from across the New World came here to unwind. Today, however, the only guests were pirates.
Teach sighed, the tension in his shoulders loosening. The crew from the main ship, including the old man himself, had come to soak. The streets were silent; no fool would dare start trouble while the Moby Dick was docked.
All the main hot springs were reserved by the crew. Later that night, there would be a grand banquet. But tomorrow, they'd have to return to their duties. The Whitebeard Pirates' territory wasn't vast—yet. But with their growing strength, expansion was inevitable. Patrols were necessary. Eyes on the sea at all times.
Teach had grown tremendously in the past few months. His swordsmanship had sharpened, his Armament Haki could now be drawn and sheathed at will, and he'd pushed his body to its limits. He'd even begun experimenting with the finer control of Observation Haki—learning to limit its scope, to distinguish friend from foe. He wasn't quite there yet, but his instincts improved daily.
And his twin pistols? His marksmanship had exploded. In his past life, guns had been romanticized—now they were a brutal reality. Though crude compared to modern firearms, these weapons were sturdy and fierce, especially when enhanced with Haki. Teach had examined their build meticulously; they were raw power in metal form.
He loved the feel of a shot ringing out, the kick against his palm, the precision. Combined with Haki, a bullet could punch through steel. With Observation Haki, his aim was nearly flawless.
Yet, despite all that growth, his Observation Haki remained the more elusive of the two. Unlike Armament, it required intuition and battle-forged insight. Expansion of its range? Simple. Seeing the future? That was an art beyond guidance—only war could teach it.
Steam hissed softly as Teach shifted in the water. A smile crept onto his face as he looked across to another spring pool. There sat the old man—Whitebeard himself—chuckling heartily with Oden Kozuki. Mitian, as they called him. The sound of their laughter was a balm.
In just two years, fate would twist again. An accidental encounter with the Roger Pirates. And Mitian… he would leave, sail with Roger to Raftel, and help him find the One Piece.
The title of Pirate King was legendary. Revered. But it didn't come with obedience. Pirates would never follow a single master.
Mitian's son, Momonosuke, had already been born. Little Hiyori, destined to become Komurasaki—the most beautiful woman in Wano—had also come into the world. Just months old.
Teach's thoughts drifted.
The longer he spent around Mitian, the more the man's boundless spirit rubbed off on him. Strength, charisma, honor—the man was a walking myth. But he would die foolishly. Betrayed. Misled by false trust, executed under the scorn of a brainwashed nation. A hero damned by deception.
Wano was already sick. Orochi, the snake, had slithered into power. Mitian's father murdered. Behind the shadows moved Kurozumi Higurashi and Semimaru—users of the Clone-Clone Fruit and the Barrier-Barrier Fruit. Illusions and lies paved Orochi's path to becoming Shogun.
Among Mitian's own retainers, Kanjuro—the traitor—sowed poverty and ruin in Kuri.
Teach clenched a fist beneath the water. He cared for Mitian. Though not a good man himself, he admired strength and conviction. The downfall of the Kozuki was a loss for the world.
Kaido had taken Wano through brute force. But Kaido wasn't a ruler—he was a tyrant blinded by the allure of Sea Prism Stone mines. His rule turned Wano to ash, with only the Flower Capital still standing. Teach scoffed at such waste.
But timing was everything.
He had never been to Wano. Couldn't act—yet. But each passing day worsened the storm brewing there.
Teach stood up, water cascading from his broad shoulders. He made his way across the slick stone path.
"Oi, Teach!"
Jozu, the future Diamond Jozu, waved him over with a grin. Even then, the man radiated monstrous strength.
"Come on, soak a little longer!"
Teach chuckled, waving him off. "I've had enough. Can't get too soft, can I?"
Whitebeard, lounging with his signature sake cup, raised a brow. "Planning something, Teach?"
Teach offered a half-smile, glancing toward Mitian. "I was thinking… maybe I'll visit Wano. Let my blades get some proper care. Maybe see Ryuo firsthand. And maybe… taste the real oden."
Whitebeard's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Sounds like you've made up your mind."
"I'll leave soon."
Kozuki Oden, overhearing, perked up. "You want to go to Wano? I could write a letter. It's been years since I left—I wonder how the country's doing."
"Of course," Teach said, bowing his head slightly. "Anything you need."
He beamed. "Give me a bit. I'll write something tonight."
"Dad," Momo piped up beside him. "Is Wano your home?"
"Yes, little one. It's a beautiful land. When you're older, I'll take you there." Mitian opened his arms wide, eyes glowing with warmth.
Marco, ever cautious, eyed Teach. "You sure you'll be fine solo?"
"Oi, don't lump me with you land-dwelling types," Teach grinned. "I've got Moonwalk down pal. That waterfall won't stop me."
Marco rolled his eyes. Since eating the Mythical Zoan Phoenix Fruit, Marco had grown leaps ahead of the others. His regeneration and flight made him nearly untouchable.
"Gurarara!" Whitebeard laughed. "Go, Teach. Consider it a training voyage."
Oden excused himself early to begin writing. Before the feast began, he handed Teach an envelope, carefully sealed.
That night, the springs glowed under lantern light. Laughter roared, sake flowed like rivers, and meat sizzled on spits. Pirates danced, sang, and lived like kings.
Marco and Jozu—drunk beyond sense—stumbled into a dance, stomping and twirling with wild abandon. Somehow, little Hiyori ended up in the middle, giggling adorably.
Teach leaned back against the rocks, a camera in hand.
Vista raised an eyebrow. "Taking pictures now?"
Teach grinned mischievously. "Imagine Marco's face when he's the most feared man in the New World, and these surface." Click. Snap. Click.
Vista chuckled. "Give me one."
Soon, others gathered, all grinning at the idea.
"One hundred prints," Teach promised. "Plenty to go around."
And Marco? He had no idea his reputation had already been doomed—by film and drunken dance.
The night burned bright with joy. A rare peace in the sea of chaos.
And the storm? It had only just begun.