Everything that happened aboard the Moby Dick was broadcast across the seas.
Every word — from Whitebeard, Marco, Ace, and that mysterious man — echoed clearly in every corner of the world.
"Marshal Sengoku publicly executed Ace, captain of the Second Division of the Whitebeard Pirates."
That single line sent tremors through every nation.
It wasn't just news — it was a declaration of war.
To raise a blade against Whitebeard, one of the Four Emperors, meant shaking the balance of the world itself. His pirate crew could crush a kingdom with a single swing of his weapon. The very thought of Marine Headquarters standing against such a force made countless hearts pound with dread.
But what unsettled people even more was Marco's quiet statement — that this so-called execution hadn't happened yet.
That it belonged to the future.
The world fell silent.
And then came the whispers.
"Is that man… a god?"
Civilians stared in awe at the shadowed figure on the screen.
The powerful, however, were not so easily shaken.
At Marine Headquarters, Sengoku's brow tightened.
"I publicly executed Portgas D. Ace? When did that happen?"
If this was truly a glimpse of what was to come, then his every move was being read — his future exposed before the world. The thought filled him with quiet anger.
"Have you found anything about that projection?" he asked, voice low but heavy.
"Negative, sir," a marine officer replied. "We've swept every inch of the base and the nearby seas. No sign of anyone responsible, not even a Den Den Mushi. It's like the broadcast appeared out of thin air. And, sir—there's more."
Sengoku's eyes flicked toward him. "Speak."
"Reports from every branch—East Blue, West, North, South, even the Grand Line. The same projection. Possibly thousands of them."
The room froze.
Thousands? That would mean a worldwide broadcast, far beyond the reach of any known technology. Not even the Marines themselves could replicate something of that scale.
Sengoku's expression darkened. "If it wasn't us… then who?"
For a moment, even he — the strategist known as "The Resourceful General" — found himself at a loss. His gaze drifted back to the man in the picture.
Could he really be a god?
Behind him, Aokiji, Kizaru, and Akainu stood silently, their faces unreadable. The earlier dismissal in their eyes was gone — replaced by something colder, sharper.
This was no farce anymore.
Meanwhile, aboard the Moby Dick, silence hung heavy in the air.
Whitebeard's expression turned grave as Marco's theory sank in.
If this vision was true, then a battle between them and Marine Headquarters was inevitable.
Sengoku capturing Ace — and executing him before the world — could only mean one thing.
"A trap," Marco muttered.
His voice was low but certain. "Sengoku's goal is to use Ace to lure us in. The execution grounds will be heavily fortified. He wants to end us, Dad — to destroy the Whitebeard Pirates once and for all."
Whitebeard's deep laugh rumbled through the air, raw and unrestrained.
"Gurararara… Sengoku, you sly bastard. Still playing tricks behind that righteous face."
He rose slowly, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the deck. The air itself trembled as his Conqueror's Haki flared — the power of a man who had stood atop the world for decades.
"If you want war," he growled, "then face me head-on. I, Whitebeard, have never feared death. But if you hide behind schemes and threats…"
The deck cracked beneath his feet.
"…then your justice is nothing but a lie."
His crew roared behind him, anger and loyalty burning in their eyes.
"This is the Marine Marshal? The 'Resourceful General' Sengoku? That's all?"
"Justice? Don't make me laugh."
"Marine talk big — but their hands are filthier than any pirate's."
Their voices carried through the broadcast, spilling across the seas.
And somewhere, in the hush between their words, a single thought echoed quietly —
"Even gods can bleed."