Rewritten and Enhanced Chapter:
Hadner and Hardman didn't speak. They understood exactly what Mostima meant—but where could they find such a monster? Three years had passed, and nothing had come close. The dominant pirate groups of the New World were nearing their peaks. Any new addition wouldn't help; most of the great crews had no interest in alliances, and their pride, like their power, was immense. They looked down on upstarts like Kaido and Big Mom. Still, a flicker of hope lived quietly in Mostima's heart.
Suddenly, the tavern door burst open, rain splattering off the boots of a young pirate who jogged into the room.
"Boss! There's trouble at the bar. Want to check it out?" the pirate said, short of breath but alert.
"Abby, what's going on?" Hadner asked, arms crossed.
If Teach had been present, he would have recognized Abby immediately—the same pirate who'd once charged him at the port, full of fire and reckless instinct.
Abby swallowed hard. "A new pirate came ashore this morning. I... I felt something from him. Pressure. You know, like the kind we've talked about. So I followed him. He went into the tavern. Then the Mad Knife Pirates showed up to reserve the whole place. I think it's about to explode over there."
Abby wasn't just any deckhand. Mostima had been grooming him. He had a natural instinct for danger, an almost animalistic sixth sense. Under Mostima's training, Abby had awakened his Kenbunshoku Haki—Observation Haki—and was showing signs of something even rarer. He was now stationed at the port, serving as an early-warning system, and this time, the alarm was going off.
"A lone man, sailing here on a small boat," Mostima mused, stroking his chin. "You felt pressure from him? How strong, compared to me?"
Abby hesitated. He glanced at Hardman, then at Mostima's calm, curious face.
"Don't lie," Mostima added gently. "I won't blame you for the truth."
That loosened Abby's tongue. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and replayed the memory.
When he opened them again, he looked—not at Mostima—but at Hardman. "Honestly?" he said with difficulty. "He's... way stronger than the captain."
Hardman snorted. "You scared of him or something? Speak up!"
Abby flinched but nodded. "If you're an eagle, Captain... he's a dragon. Looks plain enough, but when I used Observation Haki—I couldn't sense anything. It was like staring into an abyss. The more I think about it, the more that figure haunts my mind."
A heavy silence fell.
"I remember there was a huge storm last night," Hadner muttered, suddenly alert. "Lasted till morning. Right?"
He turned to Shuke, the bespectacled sailor standing near the dueling mat.
"Huh? Oh! Right," Shuke said, startled. He fished out a folded note from his coat. "It was one of those rare long-duration storms. I recorded the range. Hold on..."
Shuke adjusted his glasses, scrutinizing the paper. "It spanned seven—no, eight islands. Our whole sea region was inside it."
The room went still again. Surviving a storm of that scale, alone, was nearly impossible.
"And this guy just walks into a tavern afterward?" Hardman whispered.
Mostima's silver blade slid silently into its scabbard. A grin crept across his face.
"Let's go," he said. "I want to meet this man."
The streets of Baisha Island echoed with the sounds of boots and bravado.
"Make way! Make way!"
"Today, the tavern belongs to 'Mad Knife' Schiller!"
A towering man—three meters tall, bearded, muscles bulging beneath a torn sleeveless coat—swaggered through the center of the road. He held a jagged serrated machete and laughed like thunder.
The pirates behind him cheered wildly, drunk on power. Locals pressed against walls, whispering in fear. Pirates of lesser crews moved out of the way without a word. No one dared provoke Schiller—a 130 million bounty pirate known for brutality and showmanship.
Inside the tavern, Teach ate with quiet, focused satisfaction. Fried rice filled his bowl; the second bottle of rum sat half-empty beside it. His face was flushed, his eyes slightly hazy—though whether from the drink or his act was anyone's guess. He looked drunk. He was not.
His body had long adapted to alcohol. Among Whitebeard's crew, drinking had been both celebration and ceremony. Over time, Teach had trained himself to hold his liquor while appearing tipsy—a habit born of strategy.
"Zehaha! Hey, little Loya!" Teach called toward the kitchen. "Come sail with me! If you can make cherry pie, I'll make you our ship's treasure. Zehaha!"
A steel fork shot from the kitchen window.
"THUNK!"
It embedded itself inches from Teach's head, quivering.
"Die, you old drunk!" Loya shouted, her eyes blazing.
Teach laughed, unfazed. "Am I that old now?" He stroked his smooth chin, then winked. "Don't let that temper of yours keep you single, little Loya. Haha!"
Doyle chuckled beside him, pouring a fresh drink. It had been a long time since the tavern had felt this alive.
Then, the door exploded.
Half the tavern's attention swung toward the back. "Mad Knife Schiller?! What the hell is he doing here?" someone whispered.
Schiller stomped in, eyes gleaming, dragging his machete across the floorboards, carving a deep gouge.
"This place is mine today," he growled. "All of you—out."
"Did you hear him? Scram unless you want to die!" his crew laughed.
Grim-faced patrons stood and filed out, one by one, avoiding eye contact. None resisted. Not against Mad Knife. Outside, the crowd grew—curious and cautious.
"Boss, want us to deal with them now?" Hadner asked, watching from the edge.
"We wait," Mostima said.
Inside, Schiller noticed Teach still sitting, eating.
"You deaf?" Schiller snarled. "Get out!"
Teach looked up, smiled, and held out a bottle. "Rum's good here. Want some?"
Schiller slapped the bottle away. It shattered, splashing wine across Teach's coat.
The crowd gasped.
Doyle stiffened. "You okay?"
"I'll mop it up," Teach said calmly.
"No need," Doyle replied, shaken.
"It's my mess." Teach smiled, glancing at the broken bottle.
He bent down and began scooping fried rice back onto the plate.
Schiller stepped forward, sneering. With a sudden stomp, he ground his boot into the fallen rice.
"Here," he growled. "Still warm. Eat it."
The tavern froze. Outside, whispers spread like wildfire.
Hardman clenched his fists. "What kind of man takes this?"
"Aman," Hadner said sharply. "Watch. Don't speak."
Even Mostima's expression was grave.
"I'll make you a fresh one!" Loya offered, her voice cracking.
"Shut up, girl!" Schiller roared, slicing a table in half with his machete. Bottles shattered. Liquor spilled. The air turned electric.
Teach stood up slowly, wiped the plate clean with his sleeve, and spooned the rice into his mouth.
Each bite was calm. Measured.
"It's still delicious," he said, smiling. "Best fried rice I've ever had."
The crowd stared, dumbfounded.
"He's... he's eating it?"
Schiller blinked. For the first time, unsure.
Teach swallowed the final bite.
And smiled.