-Real World, Reactions Across the Seas-
Beyond the Sky Screen's camera, reactions varied wildly. Some celebrated. Others mourned. But one emotion dominated above all others: dread.
The dark cloud of the prophesied Battle of Marineford hung over every major faction. The Marines, despite being declared the "victors," found little cause for celebration. Victory achieved through catastrophic casualties wasn't glorious—it was pyrrhic. The scale of Marine losses was so severe that "serious depletion of strength" seemed inadequate to describe it.
Devastation. That was the more accurate term.
-Moby Dick, Whitebeard Pirates Territory-
The situation aboard the Moby Dick was even more gloomy. The photograph of Edward Newgate dying while standing—still on his feet despite mortal wounds, refusing to fall even in death—had burned itself into his sons' minds. The image refused to fade, replaying endlessly in their nightmares.
The adopted sons who'd lived with their father for years, sharing no blood relation yet bound tighter than most biological families, couldn't bear to see their beloved patriarch end this way. They wanted Whitebeard to retire peacefully, to spend his final years surrounded by family rather than dying in battle.
Fighting his entire life—couldn't that be enough? Didn't the old man deserve rest?
But beneath the grief, another emotion simmered: resentment.
Portgas D. Ace—user of the Mera Mera no Mi (Flame-Flame Fruit), former Warlord-defeater, Second Division Commander—had been captured by the traitor Marshall D. Teach. Not only captured, but his true heritage as the Pirate King's son had been exposed, creating the circumstances that would doom them all.
In the eyes of some adopted sons, Ace was more liability than asset.
"He was the last one to join," someone muttered in a quiet corner of the ship. "Didn't stay with Pops very long, but immediately got favored treatment. Second Division Commander—that was Oden's position. just handed over to Roger's kid."
Not every son on the Moby Dick loved Fire Fist Ace. Squard the Great Whirlpool Spider certainly didn't.
Even before the Sky Screen revealed Ace's parentage, Squard had harbored reservations about the young hothead. After learning Ace was Roger's son? That reservation had curdled into hatred.
Gol D. Roger's pirate crew had annihilated Squard's original pirate group years ago. Afterward, Whitebeard had taken him in, allowed him to maintain his own subordinate crew. Squard was grateful—deeply, genuinely grateful to Edward Newgate. He'd returned to the Moby Dick as quickly as possible after the Sky Screen's revelations, concerned about his father's health and wellbeing.
But that gratitude to Whitebeard didn't extend to Roger's son.
"Ace is reckless, just like his biological father," Squard muttered darkly to himself, careful to keep his voice low. "He'll get us all killed in the future. It's despicable."
The Great Whirlpool Spider only dared voice these thoughts when Whitebeard wasn't nearby. Making the old man unhappy was unthinkable—especially now, after the Teach incident.
Ever since Marshall D. Teach had killed Thatch—since brothers had turned on each other within the crew—the adopted sons had become more cautious. Speaking ill of their siblings, even behind their backs, could trigger Whitebeard's stress reactions. The old man was terrified his sons might repeat that betrayal.
Blamenco, the jovial Sixth Division Commander, approached Squard with his characteristic smile still in place. Despite the cheerful expression, his voice carried warning.
"You're saying these things in front of me, brother, but be careful others don't overhear." Blamenco's tone remained light, but his eyes were serious. "If it reaches Pops' ears, he won't be happy. And you know how he gets when he's unhappy."
Squard's stubborn nature immediately flared. "If Pops beats me, that means he loves me! I'd welcome it—let him punch me a few times, vent his frustration! Ace is going to get us killed in the future, and I can't just swallow that anger!"
The Great Whirlpool Spider was expressing what many other adopted sons thought but wouldn't say aloud. Speculation ran rampant throughout the crew: Had Whitebeard known Ace's true heritage from the beginning? Was the special treatment not earned through merit, but given because he was Roger's posthumous son?
The thought was bitter, painful. Their father—who'd spent his entire life building this family, who'd treated every son with genuine love—might have prioritized Roger's bloodline over his other children's feelings.
Did Pops have such a close relationship with Roger? The sons who'd accompanied Whitebeard for decades didn't think so. The two representatives of the old era had drunk together maybe a handful of times. They'd been rivals more often than friends.
So why? Why risk everything for Roger's son?
The questions festered like infected wounds, spreading poison through the crew's unity.
-Somewhere on the Grand Line, Ace's Ship-
Compared to his brothers' misunderstandings and resentment, Ace himself felt crushing guilt.
"It's my fault," he whispered to the empty sea, gripping the railing of his small vessel until his knuckles turned white. "The Battle of Marineford happened because of my reckless behavior. Pops gave up everything—his crew, his legacy, his life—trying to save me."
The Sky Screen's revelations had shattered his confidence. Fire Fist Ace, who'd defeated a Warlord of the Sea and earned a five hundred million Berry bounty, had been captured by Blackbeard. Not just defeated—completely outclassed.
"Can my Mera Mera no Mi really not defeat Blackbeard?" Ace asked himself, voice thick with doubt. "Is my bounty fake? Was I never as strong as I thought?"
The Sky Screen had made him question everything. Portgas D. Ace, once full of confidence bordering on arrogance, now wallowed in depression. His self-image had been destroyed by future prophecy.
But the worst blow was still coming. The Sky Screen would push Ace into an even deeper abyss of self-blame.
This was the fate of the weak—to be crushed by circumstances beyond their control, haunted by mistakes they hadn't yet made.
-Broadcast-
The topic of newspapers in the Sky Screen footage had concluded. Kozuki Momonosuke possessed no bargaining power before his savior. The Death Surgeon offered no second choices.
"'Momoko.'" Trafalgar Law's voice was clinical, detached. "That's obviously a fake name, but it doesn't matter. Since you survived the garbage pit hell, I believe you can survive another hell. Do me a small favor, and I'll help you leave this place afterward."
The words sounded reasonable on the surface—a simple transaction. But Momonosuke could hear the unspoken threat beneath.
Trafalgar Law wouldn't sympathize just because Momonosuke was a child. The title "Death Surgeon" wasn't earned through charity. Law used every available resource to maximum advantage, all in service of his ultimate goal: defeating Donquixote Doflamingo.
Faced with the undisguised ruthlessness radiating from this adult, Kozuki Momonosuke swallowed hard. Fear dried his mouth, made his hands tremble.
I just escaped one nightmare, and I've fallen into another, he thought bitterly. Did I use up all my luck just surviving the garbage pit?
"Do I have a choice?" Momonosuke asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
"No." Law's response was immediate and honest. "But at least you're useful alive. That's more than most people can say."
A child lucky enough to still have value. Kozuki Momonosuke didn't have to worry about Law reporting him to Caesar's guards—but the new hell awaiting him might prove even more cruel than eating corpses in darkness.
Law had fabricated a convincing story: this small boy with an unusually durable physique had been captured from outside the facility. He could serve as experimental material—a gift for the mad scientist Caesar Clown.
In Law's assessment, the SAD artificial Devil Fruit project was merely the most visible aspect of Caesar's work—surface-level research meant to satisfy Doflamingo and the Beasts Pirates. Law hadn't needed to expend much effort gathering information about those experiments.
Artificial Devil Fruits were a gamble. Users bet on what ability they'd receive—if they received any power at all. The fifty-percent failure rate, where subjects retained no abilities but lost the capacity for any emotion except smiling, made the fruits imperfect abominations.
An insult to science itself, Law thought with contempt.
But Caesar's operation had to involve something deeper. Law's instincts—honed through years of investigation—screamed that the visible experiments were cover for more sinister research.
If he wanted to discover what Caesar was truly doing, he needed someone who could access areas forbidden even to Warlords. He needed a spy who wouldn't arouse suspicion.
[A tragic experimental subject could enter places Law could never reach. Information gathered through "Momoko" could later be used to threaten Doflamingo. At minimum, it would prevent that Heavenly Demon from operating comfortably.]
The plan was elegant in its cruelty.
Kozuki Momonosuke was delivered to Caesar's secret laboratory with disturbing ease.
Caesar Clown didn't question the new subject's arrival. Why would he? Every experimental material that passed through his hands ended up either dead or permanently disabled. The mad scientist was supremely confident that no spy could ever leave his laboratory alive, let alone standing.
What Caesar didn't know was that this particular child had already survived six months in conditions that would have killed most adults. Kozuki Momonosuke had eaten human flesh to live, awakened Conqueror's Haki in desperation, and obtained a dragon's power. He was far more dangerous than his small, frightened appearance suggested.
But for now, as guards roughly grabbed his arms and dragged him toward the experimental wing, Momonosuke could only play the role of terrified victim.
Father, Mother, forgive me, he thought as steel doors closed behind him. I'm about to do terrible things. I'm about to become something you wouldn't recognize.
But if it keeps me alive long enough to get revenge, I'll become whatever monster is necessary.
The new hell had begun.