"Wait a second—who the hell are you?"
Marco, First Division Captain of the Whitebeard Pirates, stepped forward, eyes sharp. "You appear out of nowhere, start asking questions like we owe you answers? Ever heard of introducing yourself first?"
He barely finished before a freezing wave of pressure hit from behind. Marco's world turned white — then crash! He was slammed to the deck, wood splintering beneath him. His chest caved, bones screaming in pain. If not for the phoenix flame already kindling across his skin, he would've been gone in an instant.
The crew froze, stunned. No one had seen what happened. No one had even felt it.
"Marco!" Whitebeard's bellow cracked the silence. He drew Cong Yunqie in one swift motion, every muscle tensed. "You all right, son?"
Marco coughed, blood spilling down his chin. "I'm fine, Pops… can't die that easy." A weak smile flickered through the pain.
Whitebeard's jaw tightened. He sensed no enemies, no presence—only the image flickering in the air. His Observation Haki stretched across the deck, but there was nothing. Just that room. Just that voice.
He turned toward the shadowed figure on the screen, his tone dropping to a low growl. "Who are you to hurt my son?"
The man in the picture didn't answer. He simply tilted his head, voice calm and eerily unbothered.
"This is the question phase. Interruptions are forbidden. One warning. The second means erasure. Understood?"
He scratched his ear lazily, as though reminding children of house rules.
Rage rippled through the crew, but Marco raised a trembling hand to stop them. The look in his eyes said everything — the threat wasn't empty. Whatever that power was, it had nearly killed him in one blow.
If even a phoenix could fall, the others wouldn't stand a chance.
Whitebeard exhaled heavily, forcing his fury down. His grip on the blade eased. He would fight anyone for his sons, but this enemy… this enemy was different.
The figure in the image snapped his fingers once. "Now. Question one."
"Why did Marine Marshal Sengoku publicly execute Portgas D. Ace, Captain of the Second Division of the Whitebeard Pirates, at Marine Headquarters?"
He paused, then added coolly: "Say the word Answer before responding. You have one minute to discuss. Time starts now."
Silence fell over the deck. The words hit like cannon fire.
"Publicly execute… Ace?" one of the crew muttered.
"What's he talking about?"
Whitebeard, Marco, and Ace exchanged uneasy glances.
Ace frowned. "I've never… I've never been captured, let alone executed."
Marco, still steadying his breath, said slowly, "Then either he's lying… or he's not talking about something that's happened yet."
The words hung in the air, heavy and cold.
Unless," Marco went on, "he's showing us what's to come."
That thought struck them harder than any wave. A chill swept through the deck.
"When mortals start to see tomorrow too clearly, they no longer look like men — they start to look like gods."
"To see the future…?" murmured one of the crew.
It wasn't unheard of — the mermaid Shyarly was said to glimpse fragments of what might be. But those were vague, fleeting visions, never this specific.
This was something else entirely.
The man knew names. Places. Fates.
It wasn't prediction — it was certainty.
Their eyes turned back to the glowing figure on the screen, voice echoing softly across the still sea.
Could such power belong to a human?
Or was it something beyond?