In the mysterious realm of the New World, there stood a small island surrounded by endless blue waters. Sunlight streamed through the narrow, twisting alleys, scattering dappled shadows across the weathered stone walls. In one of these alleys, a lithe figure moved swiftly—a woman, graceful and alert, her attire unmistakably distinct.
She wore a sleek, form-fitting black suit that perfectly traced the contours of her figure. A stylish cap shaded part of her face, and a pair of dark sunglasses concealed the rest, adding a layer of intrigue to her already magnetic presence. But there was nothing leisurely about her steps; behind her, several men in black suits were charging through the alley, their heavy boots thudding against the cobblestones.
As she darted forward, a tall wall loomed ahead—smooth, unscalable, and seemingly impossible to cross. Yet instead of slowing, she smirked faintly and sped up. The corners of her lips curved in quiet confidence. With a graceful flick of her wrists, something miraculous happened: dozens of delicate hands sprouted from the wall, overlapping and interlocking like living stone. In mere seconds, they formed a perfect staircase.
Without hesitation, she ran up the living hands as if they were solid ground, vaulted over the wall, and landed silently on the other side. She crouched, peeled away her disguise in swift, practiced motions, and shed the black suit like a snake discarding its skin. Beneath it was a soft lavender dress, flowing and elegant, transforming her from a sleek fugitive into a refined lady in seconds.
Straightening her posture, she brushed a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear and walked calmly out of the alley. Her transformation was so complete that not even her pursuers—now scouring the streets like panicked hounds—would recognize her.
Soon she arrived at a cozy seaside café. The moment she opened the door, the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her. She approached the counter with composed grace, ordered a cup of the house blend, and took a seat by the window.
As she lifted the porcelain cup to her lips and tasted the rich, bitter flavor, her gaze wandered out the window. There, the men in black were still searching frantically, darting from corner to corner, cursing under their breath. The woman's lips curled upward ever so slightly—a knowing, amused smile. To her, their desperate chase was nothing more than an amusing distraction, a brief performance in the theater of her life.
Her attention soon drifted back to the wooden table. There, half-hidden beneath a sugar bowl, lay a slightly crumpled newspaper. It seemed ordinary enough, yet something about it caught her eye, as if an unseen force compelled her to pick it up.
She unfolded it, her slender fingers trembling slightly as she began to read. With each line, her expression shifted—curiosity, disbelief, sorrow. By the time she reached the end, her hands were gripping the pages so tightly the paper began to crinkle.
Her shoulders trembled. A tear slid down her cheek, glistening in the sunlight before falling onto the newsprint below. Then another. And another. The ink blurred where the tears fell, staining the story with sorrow.
"Mother… Professor… Saul…" she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible. "I miss you all so much. Do you see this? Someone out there… still remembers what happened to Ohara. They haven't forgotten the sea of fire that took you away."
For a long moment, she sat there, trembling, her face hidden behind the paper. Then, slowly, she raised her head. Her eyes, once dull and lifeless, now flickered with a faint but steady light—a fragile spark of hope reborn in the ashes of grief.
She wiped her tears, folded the newspaper carefully, and pressed it against her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
"Eli Winters… thank you." Her lips curved into a gentle smile—small, fleeting, but genuine. For Nico Robin, who had spent a lifetime running from the shadows of her past, that single smile meant everything. It was the first time in years her heart had felt warmth again.
The headline that had sparked her tears—the report written by Big News Morgans—had indeed sent shockwaves through the world. His article did more than stir chaos; it shattered a belief that had lasted for centuries. For the first time, the common people saw it written in black and white: even a Celestial Dragon can die.
When the Five Elders read the story, their fury was boundless. Their rage toward Morgans nearly eclipsed even their hatred for Eli Winters. Orders were given immediately—CP agents were to locate and apprehend Morgans at all costs. Eli Winters might be untouchable, but Morgans, they reasoned, was not.
Meanwhile, the ripples of Admiral Akainu's death spread through the New World like a storm. Countless pirates—opportunists and warlords alike—saw it as a signal of weakness. Especially those who had once suffered under Akainu's iron rule began to rise again.
Foremost among them was the dreaded Wolf King, Figo Howe, a notorious pirate with a bounty of 1.1 billion berries. Once a tyrant of the seas, he had been hunted relentlessly after Akainu arrived in his territory.
For years, Akainu's presence had crushed Figo Howe's ambitions. The admiral's sheer power and ruthless justice left no room for rebellion. But now Akainu was gone. And vengeance—long buried—flared back to life.
"Bita!" Figo Howe growled, his voice like gravel grinding underfoot. "Summon every last man. Tell them—the time has come. It's our turn to make the Navy bleed!"
His first mate saluted and sprinted off to deliver the orders. Within hours, the Wolf King Pirates returned to the seas in full force—eight massive ships cutting through the waves like beasts unleashed.
On deck, Figo Howe stood tall, his one good eye burning with hatred. The other half of his face, twisted and scarred by magma, pulsed with rage as memories of Akainu's attacks haunted him.
"Brothers!" he roared, his voice echoing across the sea. "For years, we hid like rats because of the Navy! But today, we take back what's ours! Today, the Wolf King returns to rule the ocean!"
His men erupted in frenzied cheers. "Long live the Wolf King! Long live our captain!"
Their cries thundered across the sea as they brandished their weapons, thirsting for revenge.
But before their armada reached its target—a former Marine base once under Akainu's command—a shadow fell across the waves. A single figure stood in their path, cloaked in black, a white mask concealing his face.
He raised a hand. His voice was cold, emotionless. "What a disgusting pack of animals."
A blinding light erupted from his palm. For one fleeting second, Figo Howe saw the reflection of that light in the water—and then, nothing.
"Judgment of the Celestial Void."
The sound of shattering glass filled the air as the sea itself fractured like a broken mirror. When the light faded, the Wolf King Pirates—ships, men, and all—were gone. Only red-stained waves remained, whispering of their annihilation.
The masked man turned toward the distant Marine base and chuckled softly. "Sengoku moves quickly, I see."
A vortex of swirling darkness appeared behind him. With a final glance, he stepped into it and vanished.
To the world's astonishment, the Navy did not retreat after losing an admiral. They counterattacked.
Led by Admiral Kizaru, Admiral Aokiji, and the legendary Vice Admiral Garp, the Navy launched a campaign of vengeance across the New World. Their fleet swept through pirate territories like a tidal wave of iron and fire.
In only three days, they annihilated three pirate fleets whose combined bounties exceeded 15 billion berries. The message was clear: the Navy was still the mightiest force on the seas.
Garp's original goal had been to hunt down the Wolf King himself, but when no trace of him could be found, he turned his guns on other infamous pirates instead. And though the public thought the battle over, the world was once again shaken when a new report broke:
The Navy's newest admiral, Cangxie, has challenged Whitebeard—the world's strongest man—to a duel!
The fight raged for two full days and nights. The sea split, the sky burned, and islands were reduced to rubble. When it finally ended, neither man had fallen. It was a draw.
The world trembled.
The pirates who had been ready to rebel fell silent. The message was unmistakable: the Navy's power ran deep—deeper than anyone dared imagine. Akainu was dead, but Cangxie had risen, stronger and fiercer than any before him.
The Navy's resurgence brought calm to the stormy seas. The ambitious and the power-hungry withdrew once more into the shadows, biding their time.
And somewhere on a sunlit island, Eli Winters lay on a reclining chair, a lazy smile on his lips as he skimmed the latest naval report.
"Good," he murmured. "A strong Navy keeps the filth in check."
He leaned back, closing his eyes. "Chiyo, bring me some juice."
"Yes, Captain," came the gentle reply.
Eli exhaled, content. The waves lapped softly against the shore, sunlight warming his face.
At last, for the first time in a long while, the man who had turned the world upside down allowed himself a simple luxury—peace.
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