Early the next morning, Teach was ready to set off.
He stood quietly on the deck, a rolled-up map of the New World clutched in one hand and an eternal pose in the other. The sea breeze tugged at his coat as he studied the chart, the paper rustling against the wind. The major forces of the New World—Kaido, Big Mom, Shanks—were clearly marked in his memory. Sixteen islands, four nations, and countless variables lay between him and his destination: Wano.
Three months. That's how long he figured the journey would take—barring storms, sea kings, or worse.
He chose not to say goodbye to anyone. No grand declarations, no fanfare. Just a small, sturdy fishing boat, reinforced to handle the treacherous New World tides, and the quiet promise of return. Baibeard had insisted he carry a den-den mushi, tucked into the inside of his vest, in case of an emergency or just to call and talk.
Today, the sea was serene under golden sunlight, waves lapping gently against the hull as Teach looked out at the endless blue. His heart thudded—not with fear, but with something primal. Excitement. The thrill of heading into the unknown. His hand brushed over the small phone snail at his chest. He smiled.
The weather in the New World could turn on a dime. One moment a sunny breeze, the next, death from the sky.
And right on cue, dark clouds surged over the horizon, swallowing the sun in minutes. Rain fell hard—thick as beans. Teach narrowed his eyes. "So much for good weather."
He grabbed a bucket, bailing out water as the storm intensified. The wooden planks of his boat groaned and creaked beneath the onslaught. But this was no fragile vessel—it had been forged for these very waters. Still, the sea didn't play favorites.
"Zehahaha! Keep it coming!" Teach laughed, rain slicking down his face as he hurled another bucketful of seawater overboard. His grin stretched wide beneath the downpour. He kept paddling, arms pumping with practiced strength, using all his weight to hold the boat steady through the waves.
Three hours later, the storm broke. The sea calmed—but only for a breath.
Teach's smile vanished. His instincts screamed a warning. He leapt upright as shadows fell over the deck.
From the heavens, hail plummeted—massive chunks of ice that shimmered like glass, each as deadly as a cannonball. But before they could smash into the deck, claws slashed the air.
His hands—no, claws now—moved in a blur. Fingers elongated and sharpened, a strange fusion of man and beast. With every motion, he sliced the falling ice clean in half, shards vanishing into vapor before touching the boat.
His technique was nearing completion.
Claws that could rival blades.
Kendo fused with brute savagery.
Teach had spent months refining this hybrid style: using his body as both weapon and shield, fingers like swords, strikes imbued with sword aura. The return of life—Seimei Kikan—was the secret. It allowed him to control every muscle, every nerve.
In moments, his hands morphed: longer, broader, wrapped in faint sparks of flame and static. Armed with haki, they became something otherworldly—demonic.
His mastery of the return of life was accelerating, allowing him to adapt in real time. Fingers that could pierce steel, muscles honed to spring or harden on command.
His observation haki, too, had evolved. He could sense the trajectory of every hailstone, predict every pattern of chaos. And thanks to his earlier exploits—when he had salvaged two powerful Zoan Devil Fruits and the full Navy Rokushiki training manual from Vice Admiral Thomson's sunken ship—he had a future bursting with potential.
The Emperor Crocodile Fruit and Mantis Fruit—two potent Zoans, one ancient, one deadly. Their abilities hadn't been claimed by fate. They'd been waiting for him.
This hailstorm was a proving ground.
For twenty relentless minutes, he moved like a tempest himself, claws blurring, ice vanishing. Hail hammered the boat, but not a single stone found its mark.
When the storm finally died, his body trembled with exhaustion, sweat soaking through his clothes. But there was no time to rest.
Thunder boomed.
The clouds above darkened once more. The sun vanished. The wind howled.
A third calamity.
Teach growled. "Three in one day, huh?"
Lightning licked the sky, thunder roared, and his boat bucked wildly across the waves. He dug in with both hands, muscles bulging under soaked sleeves, his paddle slicing through the sea to keep the boat on course.
His arms burned, the veins bulging, his soaked shirt clinging to skin like a second skin. But he didn't falter.
Because Teach knew the truth: the New World didn't make men strong. It broke the weak, and those who remained were forged in its violence.
And he could handle loneliness. Nights locked in a ship cabin, training in silence, fighting himself to exhaustion—he'd done it before. This was just more of the same.
A low rumble cut through the wind.
His eyes snapped to the surface.
Something moved beneath the waves.
A dark shape, massive and slow, circling the boat.
Then a shadow rose. Water churned. A serpent's head breached the surface—its eyes yellow, its maw filled with jagged teeth.
A Sea King. A monstrous sea snake, at least three hundred meters from snout to tail.
It loomed overhead, blocking out the sky.
Teach didn't flinch.
"Heh… let's try this out," he muttered, teeth flashing. His will exploded outward.
Conqueror's Haki surged.
The air cracked.
Time itself seemed to freeze.
The serpent's pupils dilated. Then… it collapsed. A splash shook the sea as the monster passed out cold, sinking beneath the waves.
Teach exhaled slowly. That was the first time he'd used Haoshoku Haki on a creature of this size. It felt right. Powerful. Natural.
The storm raged on, but he was unshaken. His endurance, honed over years, held firm.
He glanced at the eternal pose. Still pointing ahead.
He let the boat drift forward, letting the waves do the work. As long as that needle pointed forward, Teach wouldn't lose his way.
He dropped into a low stance, starting a new round of push-ups, weights on wrists and ankles adding six tons of resistance. The bands bulged beneath his clothing, hidden from the eye but undeniable in weight.
He moved with quiet focus. In that tiny boat, alone against the sea, he became a silent machine of discipline.
And finally… the clouds scattered.
Light spilled across the ocean.
The water sparkled like a sheet of diamonds, endless and brilliant.
He paused, arms burning, breath even, and looked up.
A smile crept across his face.
In the distance, rising from the horizon like a dream, was land.
The first island.
And the journey had just begun.