After traveling alone on the sea for a day and a night, Teach finally caught sight of land through the morning haze. The island rose out of the ocean like a shadow at first, then gradually revealed its jagged cliffs and dense, green foliage. As his modest ship drifted closer, the outlines of a small but bustling port came into view.
Dozens of ships were docked there—some worn and patched with crude repairs, others sleek and menacing. Most flew pirate flags of varying designs, but there were a few merchant vessels nestled in between, their sails tightly furled. Despite the pirate presence, the port didn't carry the air of reckless chaos Teach had expected. On the contrary, there was order here. Structure. Discipline.
Teach stood at the bow, his sharp gaze scanning the island. Interesting, he thought. Someone's in control here. And they know what they're doing.
This island was no lawless pit. It had an owner—likely a powerful one. That fact alone piqued his interest. Order was profitable, after all. Unlike the senseless plundering most pirates indulged in, structure bred longevity—and wealth.
As he stepped off the boat, he was immediately approached by a pirate with a clipped beard and a well-maintained uniform, surprisingly formal for someone of his trade.
"Hello there. Welcome," the pirate said politely. "Before you enter, there's a docking fee. Five hundred Berries."
Teach raised an eyebrow but smiled. Not bad. Efficient and polite.
Without complaint, he fished the Berries from his pocket and handed them over. "Reasonable," he said. His smile grew slightly as he added, "What about my boat? Doesn't it need a protection fee?"
The pirate glanced back at the unimpressive vessel, then chuckled, a little awkwardly. "Well… I don't think anyone here would dare touch it. Still, if you'd like to contribute, we won't say no. The harbor is under the protection of the Shiratori Pirates. Your ship will be watched."
Teach gave a soft laugh and handed over another five hundred. "Call it insurance."
Despite his calm demeanor, Teach had already taken in a dozen details: the pirate's posture, the sheen of his blade, the organized patrols, and the lack of open hostility among the various crews loitering in town. Whoever led the Shiratori Pirates had discipline—and power.
At the town's entrance flew a large pirate banner. A silver sword pierced a grinning skull diagonally, with a white bird hovering on the upper-left. The emblem of the Shiratori Pirates.
The town's layout was tight but well-maintained. The streets were clean, the storefronts functional. Most residents were pub owners or service workers, and the main street seemed to be reserved for pirates. Bloodstains, still faintly red and fresh, marked the cobblestones—evidence of recent fights. Yet the roads were clean. Someone was scrubbing down the chaos every morning.
Interesting again, Teach mused.
He entered a tavern near the port, the bell above the door chiming softly. The scent of spiced rum and grilled meat filled the air.
The place was quiet, only a few scattered patrons hunched over drinks. Teach made his way to the counter and spoke calmly.
"One bottle of rum. Three plates of fried rice. Two with sauce."
"Coming right up," the barkeep nodded, moving with practiced ease. He was a tall, burly man, easily over two meters, with a weathered face and a friendly smile. He uncorked a bottle and placed it in front of Teach.
Teach took a long pull straight from the bottle, savoring the sweet burn.
"Smooth. That sweetness… is this your own brew?"
"Aye," the man grinned proudly. "Brewed it myself, right here in this tavern."
Teach gave a genuine nod of approval. The man had scars across his face and a missing finger on his left hand. He wasn't just a bartender—he was a survivor, maybe even a former pirate. Teach could feel it in the way he stood, the way he observed everything.
"Another bottle. And pack two more for the road," Teach said casually.
A small window at the back of the tavern opened with a bang. A girl with green, curly hair and a sharp glare pushed a steaming plate of fried rice and sauce through.
"Here," she said flatly, shoving the food forward. She glanced at Teach, then rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.
Teach just grinned. "Charming."
"That's my niece, Loya," the tavern owner chuckled, placing the food on the counter. "Lost her parents to pirates. Doesn't take kindly to them. Has a rough way of showing it, but she's got a good heart."
"Cute kid," Teach said, already digging into the meal. "This fried rice—damn, that's good."
"She's got a gift," Doyle said proudly. "Better cook than me, by far."
"If I ever start a crew, I'm stealing her as my cook."
Doyle laughed. "Ha! You'll have to convince her. And survive her temper."
From the kitchen, the sound of a knife chopping vegetables got louder—thud, thud, thud—like someone was taking out their anger on the cutting board.
Teach and Doyle exchanged amused glances.
Meanwhile, deeper within the island, at the Shiratori Pirates' headquarters, a different kind of heat crackled in the air.
In the central training yard, three men clashed fiercely. The sound of blades slicing the wind echoed like thunder.
"White Bird Style: Sky Cleave!" shouted a man in white robes. His silver sword shimmered as it carved the air in a wide arc. A visible wave of compressed wind roared toward two opponents.
"Harder, brace!" shouted his brother Hardman, gripping his curved blade tight.
The two brothers moved as one, slamming their machetes into the ground with a cry: "Armament: Earth Slash!"
Their blades exploded with black Haki, smashing into the incoming wind slash. Dirt and gravel erupted into the air. The ground shook from the impact. When the dust cleared, both brothers were bruised and bloodied, their arms trembling.
Hardman laughed breathlessly. "Captain's gotten stronger again. Damn."
Their opponent, the man in white, approached with a serene smile. His pale silver hair danced in the wind, a silver sword resting on his shoulder. His eyes—silver, piercing—shone with calm confidence.
"You both have improved too," said Mostima, captain of the Shiratori Pirates.
His attire was as striking as his swordplay. A long white cloak billowed behind him. On his fingers, rings glittered with sapphire, ruby, and emerald. He stood tall and elegant, a swordsman with both grace and lethal force.
"Captain, let's take more islands! Expand our reach!" Hardman urged, ever the battle-hungry one.
Mostima's gaze darkened. "Don't be reckless. Remember the battle between the Golden Lion and Roger."
Both brothers stiffened.
Mostima remembered it clearly. He'd been just seventeen when he witnessed that legendary clash—Roger's crew versus Shiki's fleet. The sky had turned black with stormclouds, the sea boiled with fury. For seven days and nights, titans clashed. When it ended, an island vanished.
Mostima had watched from afar, hidden in the jungle. What he saw had shaped his path forever. Not with fear—but with clarity.
He trained ever since. Grew strong. Built something real.
"We're not ready," he said calmly. "But when a true monster rises—someone with the power to shake the seas—we'll follow them. Or, if the time comes, we'll ally with the Flying Pirates. Shiki's fleet is growing, and his ambition is no secret."
Hardman looked disappointed, but nodded. Harder, ever the level-headed one, sighed. "We're still too far behind those monsters."
Mostima's eyes glinted. "But we're not done growing either. And when the world shifts again—we'll be ready."