A mild wind skimmed the sea, stippling the water with glitter.
Hachinosu shrank behind them, slipped beneath the horizon, and was gone.
Before he crossed over, Dimon had hardly ever been on a boat—sailing on a tall ship was a first. It was… oddly nice.
"So where do we grab a Celestial Dragon?" Whitebeard rested Murakumogiri on his shoulder and asked the captain.
Rocks, one foot braced on the figurehead, laughed from the prow. "Mary Geoise, of course!"
So it's still the Holy Land? Dimon rubbed his brow. "Hear me out—sometimes the Dragons leave the nest."
Stussy flipped open a compact and retouched her lipstick like they were en route to a picnic. "Ideas, Brewer?"
Dimon considered. "They make state visits, drop in on islands."
Shiki lifted a hand. "Without intel, we could circle the world and never bump into one," he said, palms up.
"Fair." Dimon nodded. "Then there's the Dragons' back garden—the one place you're almost guaranteed to see them."
Everyone's eyes met. They said it together:
"Sabaody Archipelago?"
Dimon: "Right next to Mary Geoise. The shut-ins 'descend' to play there. Odds are good."
Gloriosa hummed. "And it's also close to Marine HQ. If the Rocks Pirates show up, we'll have company in under half an hour."
Dimon tapped his chest. "I'll go first. I land, spot a Dragon, and call you. Then you fall from the sky, bag the prize, and run."
"Let's do it," Rocks said, sitting on the figurehead with his back to them. "Shiki, you're up."
"Got it. My cut of the ransom just went up," Shiki smirked—and slapped the deck. "Viper!"
The Saber of Xebec trembled, then lifted—water dropping away as it rose. In moments it was riding the high air, sails billowed like wings.
Dimon couldn't help the little pang of envy. The Fuwa Fuwa no Mi—Float-Float—was annoyingly convenient.
Favorite Fruit? Maybe. Eat it himself? Depends on the menu.
"I'm a bit seasick," he lied. "Gonna sit down below."
The greatroom was spacious: padded benches, polished tables, cabinets piled with maps and—Dimon poured himself water, sank into a sofa.
On the table was a fat stack of Wanted posters—names with bounties, some he knew, some forgotten by history.
"No good, Dimon—you can get seasick," Charlotte Linlin said, plopping down at his side. She eyed the posters. "Rocks' targets. He likes to play Davy Back Fight—win crew, even captains, off other pirates."
The rules were a pirate's oath to Davy Jones: losers swear lifelong service to the winners.
Even monsters like Whitebeard had been "recruited" that way.
Dimon put the posters back and glanced at Linlin. "I'm just resting. Not seasick."
She slung an arm over his shoulders like a drinking buddy. "You're skinny for a man. Can't have you blowing away."
"…I'm one meter eighty-six." Next to Linlin, though, he did feel "compact."
"I'm human; you are… something else. Maybe a little giant blood up the tree?"
"No idea. My parents tossed me out young," Linlin said, leaning in, voice warm and honeyed. "You said one bottle pours four cups. You gave one to Kaido. That leaves three."
"What are you getting at?"
"Sleep with me, give me a cup. Fair trade," she purred.
Dimon pushed her face away—politely-ish. He wasn't against fast carriages. This one was a truck.
"No interest."
"Why not? I'm gorgeous. Don't I rate a cup?"
"If the plan works, you'll drink anyway." He pivoted. "Better deal: teach me Haki. Payment: one cup."
"De—"
A head popped up from behind the sofa. Gloriosa. "I can teach you," she said, entirely serious. "Former captain of the Kuja Pirates. We have systematized Haki training."
Linlin's eyes narrowed. "Glo-ri-o-sa."
"Shameless," Gloriosa sniffed. "Don't trust her, Dimon. She has kids like popcorn."
"None of your business."
"Then stop lying to men."
"Oh, we're fighting, huh?"
"Who's scared?"
As the verbal sparring loaded into something much louder, Dimon quietly stood and slipped out.
On deck, he found Kaido. "You teach me Haki, I wipe your tab. Deal?"
"Uorororo… fellow intern, we should help each other," Kaido chuckled.
"Yes or no?"
Ten days later—Sabaody Archipelago.
Dimon strolled through the streets, doing what he did best: not looking like a threat.
They'd arrived three days prior; the crew kept to the sky while he combed the ground.
Three days of waiting. No Dragons.
Sabaody was unique—79 Yarukiman Mangroves, each a numbered Grove, the roots themselves making up the streets. Bubbles streamed up from the soil, rose, and burst like champagne in the sky. Bubble culture was everywhere—bubble taxis, bubble amusement parks, even houses anchored to bubble scaffolds.
Grove 24, midday.
A ripple passed through the crowd. People backed to the curbs and knelt, eyes down.
At the end of the newly cleared road, a small procession advanced at a leisurely pace.
At its head, someone in a white pressure suit, a transparent bubble helm glinting over the face.
Dimon's eyes lit. He darted into an alley, palmed a Den Den Mushi, and dialed.
Click.
"Moshi moshi, Dimon?" Rocks' voice.
"Rocks—good news. Grove 24 just spawned a Celestial Dragon."
He smiled, then added, "Bad news—there's a Marine Vice Admiral on escort. Name's Garp."
A beat. Then Rocks, hungry: "Wait there. We're coming."
Above the mangroves, the sky's shadow thickened.
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