The air didn't just fall silent; it died.
The wind stopped blowing.
The seagulls stopped screaming.
Even the magma bubbling on the other side of the island seemed to pause out of sheer confusion.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, surrounded by the strongest pirates in the world, a marine grunt with a folding stool balanced on his head was holding out a tiny strip of adhesive plastic to a dying giant.
Marco the Phoenix, usually the picture of calm, looked like his brain had just short-circuited.
The blue flames on his face flickered erratically, like a gas stove running out of fuel.
"A... Band-Aid?" Marco whispered, his voice cracking. "Pops has a hole in his chest the size of a dinner plate, and you're offering him... a Band-Aid?"
Jozu's diamond-hard jaw unhinged.
He had seen madmen. He had seen fanatics. He had seen people charge into battle naked.
But he had never, in all his years on the Grand Line, seen someone try to upsell a medical product to a Yonko in the middle of a war.
"Is he mocking us?" Vista gripped his swords. "Or is he just the stupidest man alive?"
"Pfft..."
Just when everyone thought Whitebeard would fly into a rage—just when they expected him to shatter the air, the island, and this idiot kid with a single quake-infused punch—a sound rumbled deep in his chest.
"GURARARARARA!"
Whitebeard threw his head back and laughed.
He laughed so hard that the Moby Dick rocked in the water.
He laughed so hard that fresh blood spurted from the gaping wound in his chest, splashing onto the deck like a grim fountain.
But it wasn't a laugh of anger.
It was a laugh of pure, unadulterated amusement.
It was powerful, resonant, and alive. It swept away the gloom of Squard's betrayal like a hurricane clearing a fog.
The Whitebeard Pirates froze, staring at their captain.
Pops was... happy?
"...Gurararara... What an interesting kid!"
Whitebeard lowered his massive head.
His shadow engulfed Putin completely.
The pressure was immense, like standing under a falling skyscraper, but his golden eyes were filled with appreciation and a twinkling curiosity.
"You have guts, brat. Coming to the center of hell to sell a sticker?" Whitebeard grinned, blood staining his teeth.
"Good! I like it! I'll take it!"
Putin felt his knees turn to jelly.
He felt like a prisoner on death row who had just been told the electric chair was broken.
"Y-y-you will?" Putin squeaked.
"Name your price!" Whitebeard boomed.
Putin's capitalist brain, which had momentarily been paralyzed by terror, suddenly rebooted.
'Profit. Revenue. Margins.'
Trembling, he extended two fingers.
"Tw... twenty thousand Berries!"
The crowd gasped.
Twenty thousand?! That was highway robbery! You could buy a decent sword for that! For a single Band-Aid?
But Putin reasoned: 'He's the World's Strongest Man. If I charge him a discount price, it's an insult to his status! Yes! That's my logic and I'm sticking to it!'
"Give it to him," Whitebeard ordered, not even blinking at the extortionate price.
"Understood, Pops."
Haruta, the Commander of the 12th Division, stepped forward.
He reached into his pocket and casually tossed a heavy velvet bag at Putin's feet.
Clink.
The sound of heavy jewels hitting the ice was music to Putin's ears.
Putin's eyes popped out.
The bag was bulging.
Even without opening it, he could tell it was filled with diamonds, pearls, and gold.
It was worth millions. Tens of millions.
"Keep the change," Haruta muttered, looking at Putin like he was a rare animal specimen.
[Ding! Transaction completed.]
[Transaction Amount: 1,000,000 Berries (Estimated Conservative Value).]
[Mission "Tears of the Era" Completion: 50%.]
[System Prompt: Please deliver the product to the customer. A transaction is not complete until goods are exchanged.]
"Right! Customer service!"
Putin hurriedly scooped up the bag of jewels and shoved it into his pocket (which magically linked to his system inventory).
Then, with the solemnity of a priest performing a coronation, he tore open the paper wrapper of the Band-Aid.
Riiip.
He approached Whitebeard's massive leg. He looked up.
The chest wound was way up there.
"Excuse me... just... reaching..."
Putin stood on his tiptoes. He stretched his arm as high as it would go.
It wasn't enough.
"Gurarara." Whitebeard graciously lowered his torso slightly.
With trembling fingers, Putin stuck the small, beige strip—adorned with a cute, smiling cartoon bear—right next to the horrific, gaping sword wound.
The contrast was absurd.
It was like putting a "Hello Kitty" sticker on a tank that had been blown up.
It was like trying to fix the Titanic with a piece of scotch tape.
But the bear smiled.
And Whitebeard smiled.
[Ding! Product Delivery Successful!]
[Mission "Tears of an Era" Completed!]
[Comprehensive Rating: A+!]
[Mission rewards being distributed...]
[Congratulations, Host! You have obtained: System Points +10,000!]
[Congratulations, Host! You have unlocked the new product category: [Medical Supplies]!]
[Congratulations, Host! Your Stall has leveled up to LV2!]
[Initiating Appearance Update...]
Suddenly, a mechanical whirring sound erupted from beneath Putin.
Clank-whir-hiss!
Under the stunned gazes of the pirates, the wobbly aluminum table and the sad little folding stool under Putin began to transform.
Metal plates shifted.
Wheels popped out of the ether. A roof unfolded like an intricate origami flower.
In the span of three seconds, the "shabby stall" vanished.
In its place stood a sleek, aerodynamic, stainless-steel pushcart.
It had a retractable sunshade striped in blue and white.
It had a welded insulated box for hot foods.
It had a built-in cooler.
It had sturdy, all-terrain rubber tires.
And freshly painted on the side in bold, professional font were the words:
[MULTIVERSE GROCERIES]
Putin looked at his new equipment, tears of excitement welling up in his eyes.
He stroked the polished chrome handlebar.
"A vehicle..." he whispered reverently. "I have... wheels."
He, the business magnate of Marineford, had proudly upgraded from a stationary squatter to a mobile entrepreneur!
This was the difference between a lemonade stand and a food truck!
But to Marco, Jozu, and the Whitebeard Pirates, this scene held a completely different meaning.
They watched the transformation with wide eyes.
"Did you see that?" Marco murmured to Vista. "He summoned a vehicle out of thin air."
"Is it a Devil Fruit?" Vista wondered. "The Vendor-Vendor Fruit? The Cart-Cart Fruit?"
To them, this mysterious soldier wasn't just a clown.
He had appeared just when Pops was at his lowest.
He used an unbelievable method (a cute sticker) to make Pops flash his bold smile again.
He healed the crew's morale, if not the physical wound.
He wasn't selling bandages; he was selling hope.
And that bizarre, high-tech pushcart appearing out of thin air? That was proof.
This man was powerful.
'Who... exactly is this person?' Marco thought, his gaze shifting from anger to deep wariness.
'This man is definitely no ordinary Marine grunt. Is he a third party? A revolutionary? A god of commerce?'
Pushing his brand-new cart, Putin puffed out his chest.
He felt a surge of pride.
He was somebody now.
"Kid," Whitebeard rumbled, interrupting Putin's victory lap.
The giant looked down at him, his mustache twitching with amusement.
"You're interesting. You have no fear, and you have strange powers."
Whitebeard extended a massive hand, palm up.
"Your courage is worthy of these seas. I have plenty of room on my ship. How about it... Do you want to become my son?"
The battlefield went quiet again.
This was the ultimate honor.
To be invited personally by Whitebeard. To join the strongest family on the ocean.
Putin's smile stretched nearly to his ears. But inside, his brain was screaming.
'A recruitment offer from the World's Strongest Man?!'
'NO! No, no, no!'
'This wasn't how the script was supposed to go! I'm just a small-time vendor! I want to sell overpriced snacks and retire! I don't want to fight the World Government! I don't want to call a giant old man "Daddy"!'
He opened his mouth, hesitating.
Should he accept? If he accepted, the Marines would execute him.
If he refused, would Whitebeard crush him?
"Um... well... the thing is..."
Just as he was stammering, the cold mechanical voice of the system chimed in again, utterly ruining the moment.
[Ding!]
[Detected initial expansion of Host's business territory.]
[Advanced Challenge Mission Issued!]
[Mission Name: Stun the World with One Cry!]
[Mission Content: Within ten minutes, use the "Divine Megaphone" to shout a sales pitch that will cause Admiral-level character to experience intense emotional fluctuations (Rage, Fear, Sorrow, or Joy).]
[Mission Difficulty: S-Rank.]
[Mission Reward: Unlock New Product Category—[Black Tech Electronics]!]
[System Points +50,000!]
[Failure Penalty: Confiscate Host's LV2 Pushcart. Forcibly revert to [Shabby Stool] state. Permanently lock [Electronics] category.]
Putin's fake smile froze on his face.
He looked like a statue made of wax.
'Make an Admiral experience intense emotional fluctuations?'
He instinctively glanced across the plaza.
In the distance, Admiral Akainu was currently punching a hole through a glacier, his face twisted in a permanent scowl of hatred.
'You want me to provoke the magma dog again?' Putin thought hysterically. 'Or maybe Aokiji? Or Kizaru? Kizaru is already terrified of my noodles. Does that count?'
Wait.
He re-read the reward.
[Black Tech Electronics].
Putin's heart stopped.
As a corporate drone from a modern civilized society, those three words held an allure stronger than the One Piece itself.
It meant... Air Conditioning.
It meant... Refrigerators. It meant... Computers. It meant... SMARTPHONES.
It meant... WI-FI.
A beautiful vision unfolded before his eyes.
Lying in a safe house, cool air blasting his face, scrolling through memes on a tablet while chaos raged outside.
And the penalty? Losing his beloved cart? Going back to that wobbly, back-breaking stool?
"No!" Putin screamed internally. "I absolutely cannot return to the Stone Age! I am a modern man! I need climate control!"
His heart was torn.
Reason told him: Run away. Accept Whitebeard's offer. Hide behind Marco.
Greed told him: Do it for the Wi-Fi. Do it for the memes.
Just as he was gripping the handlebar of his cart so hard the metal began to warp—
"ZEHAHAHAHAHA—!!"
An utterly rampant, deeply unsettling laughter erupted from beyond the harbor without warning.
It sounded like gravel grinding against bone.
The laughter carried a dark, heavy magic.
It cut through the sounds of cannons and swords. It made the hair on the back of Putin's neck stand up straight.
The battle momentarily faltered.
Everyone—Marine and Pirate alike—instinctively turned to look at the source.
There, atop the highest wall of the naval fortress, standing where they shouldn't be, several figures had appeared.
They looked like a nightmare circus.
A sniper with a monocle. A doctor on a sick horse. A giant.
And at the forefront...
A man who was exceptionally tall and burly, with a hairy chest, dark skin, and a mouthful of missing teeth.
He wore a captain's coat and a brazen, arrogant smile that screamed "Final Boss."
"Marshall D. Teach..."
Whitebeard's pupils abruptly contracted.
The warmth left his face, replaced by a cold, terrifying fury.
"Blackbeard!"
The traitor.
The man who killed Thatch. The man who captured Ace. The man who started this entire war.
"Zehahahaha!"
Blackbeard spread his arms wide, soaking in the attention like a perverse celebrity.
Darkness seemed to ooze from his body, swallowing the light around him.
"Long time no see... POPS!"
Blackbeard grinned, his eyes devoid of any humanity.
"Seems you're still in good health for a corpse... But I'm afraid your check-up ends here!"
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The comedic absurdity of the Band-Aid salesman vanished, replaced by the crushing weight of destiny.
Putin stood between Whitebeard and Blackbeard, clutching his megaphone.
"Great," Putin whimpered, checking his timer. "Now I have ten minutes to annoy an Admiral level powerhouse, while standing in the middle of a family feud between the two strongest monsters in history. Can I get a refund on this transmigration?"