-Real World, Moby Dick, Whitebeard Pirates Territory-
Edward Newgate—Whitebeard, the Strongest Man in the World—sat on his massive throne-like chair, shoulders shaking as tears streamed down his weathered face.
On the Sky Screen, he'd just watched his sworn brother die. Again.
Kozuki Oden's execution had occurred years ago in reality, but seeing it replayed in such vivid detail—watching his friend suffer in boiling oil, watching Lady Toki shot down like a dog in the street, watching little Hiyori weep over her mother's body—it was like experiencing the loss fresh for the first time.
"Oden... Oden, you fool..." Whitebeard's voice cracked with grief. His massive hands covered his face as his body heaved with sobs. "Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you ask for help? How did it come to this?"
The samurai had been dead for many years, yet the Sky Screen showed the whole tragedy from beginning to end—like a knife cutting meat, one thin slice at a time. Whitebeard cried for Kozuki Oden, moved by what could only be called the "Touching Fruit" of that heroic fool's sacrifice.
Toki murdered by Kaido's soldiers. Young Hiyori missing, presumed dead or enslaved. Kozuki Oden boiled alive without even a complete body remaining for burial. And Momonosuke surviving only by the narrowest of margins.
Each detail was another blade in Whitebeard's heart.
The adopted sons gathered on the Moby Dick's deck watched their father weep, and many found their own eyes growing wet. Some cried openly, moved by Pops' grief. Others maintained stoic expressions even as tears traced silent paths down their cheeks.
But beneath the grief, worry gnawed at them all. Their father's health had been declining for years. This emotional trauma couldn't be good for him—watching a brother's death replayed, feeling that loss reopened like a fresh wound.
The wizard of the Kozuki family had been dead for nearly two decades. Logically, the captain should have moved past his grief long ago. Yet here he was, crying as if Oden had died yesterday.
That was the kind of man Whitebeard was. His love for his family—blood or chosen—never diminished with time.
But love alone wouldn't be enough to settle accounts.
"Kurozumi Orochi," Whitebeard growled through his tears, the name emerging like poison from his mouth. "That scheming serpent allied with the intruder Uchiha Madara. Both of them are now on the Whitebeard Pirates' kill list."
His eyes hardened despite the moisture still clinging to them. "If I get the chance—when I get the chance—I'll avenge Oden. Make those bastards pay back every humiliation my brother suffered before his death. A hundredfold."
The vow hung in the air, heavy with absolute certainty.
Blamenco, commander of the Sixth Division and one of Whitebeard's more politically astute sons, chose this moment to approach. The rotund man with a missing front tooth looked unusually serious—his normally jovial expression replaced by grim determination.
"Pops," he began carefully, "our territory has become unstable. Small pirate groups are challenging our authority openly. The punishments we gave before were too lenient."
Whitebeard had been too merciful with younger generation pirates in the past. Now, with the Sky Screen announcing the eventual death of the World's Strongest Man, some ambitious fools had lost sight of their own limitations. They thought they could cause trouble in Whitebeard's territory, perhaps even claim it for themselves when the old man finally fell.
Blamenco might look like a jovial fat man who loved to smile, but he hadn't survived decades in the New World by being soft. Extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.
"I want permission to use bloody, violent means to intimidate these upstarts," Blamenco stated bluntly. "Show them that the Whitebeard flag still flies, that it's far too early to start looking for new buyers to take over our territory."
The Whitebeard Pirates faced the same problem as the Red Hair Pirates. Both Four Emperors crews had been marked for destruction by the Sky Screen, which emboldened their enemies and even boosted Marine confidence. Neither outcome was acceptable.
Whitebeard understood the political reality. His recognized brother Oden might have been somewhat naive in his actions, but that naivety hadn't infected Edward Newgate himself. He'd survived countless battles, navigated treacherous political waters, outlasted countless would-be challengers.
It was only in recent years, as age and illness forced him to rarely leave the Moby Dick, that certain opportunistic bastards had begun thinking he wouldn't live much longer.
They were in for a rude awakening.
Even if the old era was ending, even if his time was limited—Edward Newgate could still drag an entire generation of new-era pirates to hell with him if necessary. He was old, yes, but not so old he couldn't lift a blade.
His beloved naginata Murakumogiri could still follow its master to slaughter the world.
"Do whatever you think is necessary," Whitebeard said, his voice regaining its characteristic rumbling authority. "Even if you cause an incident that shakes the entire New World, I'll handle the consequences. The storms of this sea can't blow me down. Not yet."
The Haoshoku Haki—Conqueror's Haki—within Edward Newgate's body began radiating outward in waves. The very air around the Moby Dick trembled with oppressive force. Several weaker crewmen nearby stumbled, gasping as the invisible pressure washed over them.
At an age when most men could barely feed themselves, Whitebeard was proving he still had plenty of fight left. He would shine for his sons as long as breath remained in his body.
Uchiha Madara represented a serious threat—one Whitebeard fully intended to address personally if necessary. He'd rather die in glorious battle than waste away on a sickbed. That, at least, would be a warrior's ending.
The adopted sons watching their father reassert his dominance felt unspeakable joy transforming into wide grins. Sadness was unhealthy for Pops' condition, but this? This fierce declaration of continuing strength? This was what they needed to see.
As long as Whitebeard lived, the Whitebeard Pirates would dominate the seas. The crew could lose anyone—Commanders, Division leaders, even promising rookies—but they absolutely could not lose Edward Newgate.
He was the soul of the Moby Dick. Without him, everything would crumble.
Yet even as spirits lifted, questions remained.
"I don't understand something," one of the younger crew members voiced what many were thinking. "Why didn't Kozuki Momonosuke seek help from us after traveling to the future? The Sky Screen showed him joining up with Buggy the Clown instead. Why would he align with a former Roger Pirates trainee rather than coming to his father's old crew?"
It was a fair question. Oden had been Whitebeard's brother. The Whitebeard Pirates would have welcomed Momonosuke with open arms, provided resources, manpower, whatever was needed to reclaim Wano Country.
So why Buggy?
"The boy in the future isn't like his father," another crewman observed. "Did you see how he operated? Kozuki Momonosuke and Kozuki Oden are complete opposites in character. The son is ruthless when killing, profit-driven, calculating. If he's as smart as he appears, he should have thought of asking us for help."
"Maybe he did ask," someone else suggested. "Maybe we were already gone by then."
Uncomfortable silence followed that observation.
The artificial Devil Fruit in Momonosuke's body posed another mystery. It was clearly related to Vegapunk somehow, and stories involving that scientist rarely ended well. The man was an absolute disaster magnet—brilliant but cursed to bring tragedy to those around him.
Before speculation could spiral further, the Sky Screen's text and narration began providing answers.
-Broadcast-
Due to the interference of speedsters racing through the time-space channel, temporal continuity had been disrupted. The correction forces meant to deliver Kozuki Momonosuke exactly twenty years into the future were thrown off target.
Instead of arriving in the year 1540 as Lady Toki intended, Momonosuke and his retainers emerged five years early—in the year 1535.
The location remained constant: Oden Castle. Or rather, what was left of it.
Kozuki Momonosuke stumbled as his feet touched solid ground, the disorienting sensation of temporal travel leaving him nauseated and dizzy. Around him, the Nine Red Scabbards materialized one by one, equally disoriented.
"We... we made it?" Kin'emon gasped, dropping to his knees. "Lady Toki's power actually worked?"
"Where are we?" young Momonosuke asked, looking around with wide, confused eyes.
Slowly, recognition dawned.
They stood in an overgrown field. Weeds as tall as a man covered what had once been carefully maintained grounds. Charred foundation stones jutted from the earth like broken teeth. A few fragments of wall remained standing—blackened, crumbling, covered in creeping vines.
This was Oden Castle. Or rather, what remained after Kaido's flames had reduced it to ash eighteen years ago.
The once-prosperous daimyo's residence had become a forgotten ruin. Eighteen years—not particularly long in the grand scheme of history, yet long enough to erase many traces of what had been. Finding a single intact brick from the burned castle would be nearly impossible.
"It's... gone," Momonosuke whispered, tears welling up. "Everything's gone."
Kin'emon rose slowly, scanning the ruins with grief-stricken eyes. "My lord's home... reduced to this..."
As they explored the desolate site, Kanjuro called out from nearby. "Everyone! Come look at this!"
A short distance from the castle ruins, they discovered a memorial marker—a collection of stone monuments erected in remembrance of the missing.
Kozuki Momonosuke's name was carved there. As were the names of all Nine Red Scabbards present.
It seemed not many people in Wano Country had chosen to believe Lady Toki's prophecy before her death. Most citizens had simply accepted the losses and moved on with their difficult lives, day by day, without hope of the vanished ever returning.
"They think we're dead," Raizo said quietly. "The entire country believes we died in the fire."
"Then we have the element of surprise," Denjiro suggested, though his voice lacked conviction. "When we reveal ourselves, when we raise an army—"
"Against what?" Kikunojo interrupted, looking toward the distant mountains where smoke from factories stained the sky. "Look at Wano. Look at what's become of it."
They all turned to gaze across the landscape.
Even from this distance, the changes were apparent. Where once pristine nature had dominated, now industrial complexes belched dark smoke into the air. The sounds of machinery echoed across valleys. The very character of the land had been violated, transformed into something unrecognizable.
Over the past eighteen years, Kurozumi Orochi had carefully cultivated an image of incompetent stupidity. He appeared to spend most of his time hiding in the Shogun's mansion, indulging in pleasures, avoiding responsibility. Meanwhile, he'd pushed the Beasts Pirates to the forefront, making them the visible face of Wano's oppression.
The result was calculated and cruel
Men of working age had been reduced to factory components—grinding away their lives in weapons manufacturing facilities, their bodies broken by labor, their spirits crushed by hopelessness.
Women faced a different but equally brutal sorting process. The beautiful became geishas—entertainment for Orochi's court and visiting Beasts Pirates officers. Those with more average looks were designated as breeding stock, forced to produce the next generation of workers and soldiers.
Gender equality existed in Wano Country, in its own twisted way—everyone suffered under the joint tyranny of the Beasts Pirates and General Kurozumi Orochi. They worked like slaves. They died like dogs. And hope remained perpetually out of reach, the horizon of liberation forever receding.
Joy Boy had not come to save Wano Country during those first eighteen years. But rather than abandoning faith, the people had clung to it more desperately. They fantasized that the Liberation Warrior would eventually arrive, would rescue them from their nightmare existence.
They believed that driving away the Beasts Pirates and removing Kurozumi Orochi would restore Wano to its former glory—return them to the idyllic life they remembered from before the occupation. But they didn't understand that history constantly moves forward. In turbulent times, every individual person is just a number. Sometimes, merely surviving is a form of luck.
The old Wano Country was dead. What came after—whatever eventually replaced this hellish occupation—would be something new. Something shaped by suffering, trauma, and the scars left by nearly two decades of tyranny.
Whether that new Wano could ever reclaim the beauty of the past remained an open question.
For now, Kozuki Momonosuke stood amid the ruins of his father's castle, five years ahead of schedule, staring at a homeland he barely recognized and wondering how an eight-year-old boy could possibly save a nation that had spent eighteen years learning to submit.