Ace didn't dare relax for even a second.
His mind, now operating in a heightened state of awareness, was a whirlwind of calculations as he analyzed Whitebeard's every feint and shift in weight, desperately searching for the best counter-strategy.
The old man's attacks were as relentless as a hurricane, each slash of his bisento carrying lethal intent.
Yet, under this suffocating pressure, Ace found a sliver of opportunity.
He gradually adapted to the high-speed rhythm of combat, his body moving almost on instinct.
He even began to anticipate Whitebeard's next moves, a flicker of a thought that would send him dodging just before the attack was launched.
His heartbeat accelerated, his blood boiling as if his entire body had been set ablaze by his own Phoenix flames.
In that moment of pure focus, Ace felt an immense power surging from deep within him.
His gaze sharpened, and his reflexes grew even swifter.
Ace's eyes snapped open—a flicker of crimson flame ignited in his pupils.
Just then, Whitebeard's blade was already inches from his ear, its cold, Haki-infused edge gleaming with unstoppable momentum.
The instant before the blade could make good on its threat, Ace shifted his body a fraction to the right—a single, impossible centimeter.
That minuscule movement triggered an enormous change, like the flap of a butterfly's wings causing a typhoon.
Whitebeard's blade sliced past his side, cleaving through empty air with a piercing shriek, but it never touched him.
Seeing this, Whitebeard burst into a hearty, booming laugh, his voice brimming with a father's pride.
The battle continued and Ace grew increasingly adept, not only evading Whitebeard's strikes but finding fleeting openings to counterattack.
With each exchange, he could feel himself improving, his growth rate so explosive it even surprised himself.
He knew this was the true power of Haki, a latent potential unlocked only on the brink of death.
"Gurararara! Training ends for today," Whitebeard finally declared, lowering his weapon.
"Tomorrow, we begin Armament Haki."
Though Ace groaned dramatically and collapsed onto the ground, a heap of exhaustion and sore muscles, deep down, he was immensely grateful.
For years, Whitebeard's declining health had prevented him from training his sons personally—a regret that had weighed heavily on him.
Now, he could finally make up for it.
And all of this, Ace knew, was thanks to Ron.
Silently, Ace thanked his friend in his heart before giving a firm nod at Whitebeard's retreating figure.
Don't worry, Pops, he promised himself. I won't let you down.
*****
The next day, as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the mist, illuminating every corner of Sky Island, the land seemed infused with new life.
The Shandians had gathered early, their hearts filled with a novel excitement as they prepared for their day's work: searching for veins of gold.
This task was no longer just about survival; it was an opportunity.
Precious gold could be traded with the pirates for supplies, for medicine, perhaps even for the divine power of a Devil Fruit.
Meanwhile, the native Skypieans were also busy, their tasks woven into the fabric of daily life—gathering fruit, repairing homes and teaching their children.
A fragile but functional new society was beginning to form.
Inside the Whitebeard Pirates' headquarters, however, the atmosphere was unusually solemn.
All the commanders and alliance captains had been urgently summoned and were now seated in the spacious meeting room, their expressions a mixture of tension and anticipation.
At the head of the room, Whitebeard sat in his massive seat, his gaze as calm as still water.
It wasn't until Ron entered, dressed in a pristine white lab coat, that the Emperor lifted his head slightly with a warm light in his eyes.
"What's going on? Why the urgent meeting?" Ron asked as he strode forward and took a seat beside Whitebeard.
He was puzzled; unless something truly significant had occurred, they wouldn't hastily convene a meeting with all the commanders.
"Kid, this might actually be good news," Whitebeard said with a faint smile, his voice brimming with wisdom.
He then turned his gaze toward Marco.
Understanding the unspoken cue, Marco nodded.
"Pops, let me handle this." He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent. "This morning," he began, his voice deliberate.
"We received news from Fish-Man Island. One of the Four Emperors, Big Mom, is about to host a grand banquet there—and she has specifically invited the Whitebeard Pirates to attend."
The moment the words left his mouth, the room exploded.
"What kind of joke is that? Invite us as guests?"
"What's that crazy old hag planning? She's trying to ambush us, isn't she?"
"Hahaha! An ambush would be perfect! We're short on cash anyway!"
"If Pops hadn't been in poor health before, we would have settled the score with her years ago when she first set her sights on Fish-Man Island!"
"Damn right! We have to go this time—we need to reclaim our pride!"
The division commanders were instantly furious, their voices rising in a chorus of indignation.
They clenched their fists, their eyes burning with a righteous fire, ready to fight the Big Mom's pirates to the death.
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