Law remained completely unhurried. A hint of amusement crept into his voice as he replied,
"I prefer something more… tangible. For example—if I help you, what exactly do I gain? A favor is meaningless if you can't accomplish what I need."
At his words, Whitey Bay's lips curved into a confident smile.
Whitebeard was gone, and the Whitebeard Pirates had been reborn as the Phoenix Pirates—but their foundation remained unshaken. They were still a Yonko-class force. In the New World, there was little a Yonko crew couldn't achieve.
"Very well," she said calmly. "Name your condition. As long as it's within reason, we'll agree."
Law's eyes gleamed as he chuckled softly.
"What if I asked you to eliminate a Yonko?"
Bepo nearly leapt out of his seat.
"C-Captain! Don't joke about that! That's suicide—we'll get killed!"
Whitey Bay's expression darkened.
"Are you mocking me?"
For an instant, the air turned icy. But remembering Marco's warning—and the countless comrades who had already lost limbs—Whitey Bay forced herself to calm down.
"Eliminating a Yonko isn't something that can be done lightly," she said coldly. "If your enemy is truly that powerful, you'll need to discuss it with Marco personally."
Law laughed again, this time more lightly.
"Relax. I'm not stupid enough to challenge a Yonko head-on."
He leaned back slightly.
"But I do have a target."
Whitey Bay's eyes sharpened.
"…Who?"
Law's smile turned wickedly elegant.
"I'll tell you when I meet the leader of the Phoenix Pirates."
Whitey Bay's mood instantly lifted.
"So—you agree."
"Mmm." Law nodded, his grin sharp and dangerous. "It's not every day a Yonko' crew owes someone a favor. I'd be a fool to refuse."
In Law's mind, the path ahead was already taking shape.
With the power of the Phoenix Pirates backing him, dealing with Doflamingo would be nothing more than a formality.
Leiba Island—a territory under the Phoenix Pirates' protection.
A small boat scraped against the shore, and two figures disembarked—one towering, one pitifully small.
The larger of the two was grotesque in both presence and proportion. He sported a thin, elongated crescent mustache eerily reminiscent of Whitebeard's. His massive, obese upper body contrasted sharply with his spindly legs. Thick lips sagged beneath a perpetually dripping nose, and crude, stitched-looking scars marred his flesh.
Golden hair flowed down to his calves, his sideburns braided tightly. Three deep scars slashed across his body like trophies.
This was Edward Weevil—the man who had been relentlessly attacking the former Whitebeard Pirates, proclaiming himself "Whitebeard Jr."
Beside him stood a woman so short she barely reached his knee.
She wore garish red lipstick, dark sunglasses, and leaned heavily on a cane. Her wrinkled face twisted beneath a leopard-print coat. This was Miss Bakkin—the woman who claimed to be Weevil's mother, and Edward Newgate's former lover.
The contrast between them was absurd.
Edward Weevil towered like a monster.
Miss Bakkin, at barely sixty-eight centimeters tall, looked like a venomous parasite clinging to his shadow.
And together—
They had come to challenge the Phoenix Pirates.
Miss Bakkin scanned the shoreline. There were no pirate ships in sight—but the moment she noticed the Whitebeard Pirates' flag flying alongside the Phoenix Pirates' flag, her face twisted with irritation.
"That damned Marco," she spat. "He's already planted his flag here."
She jabbed her cane toward the village.
"Go, Weevil! This island belonged to your father—Whitebeard. Everything here is his legacy, and that legacy belongs to you. Take all the treasure! Don't let that brat Marco steal what's rightfully yours."
Weevil raised his arms excitedly, his voice booming.
"I know, Mom! Dad's stuff is all mine! I'll make those guys pretending to be Dad's sons pay for it!"
But the moment they entered the village, something felt… off.
Every house stood tightly shut. The streets were completely empty—not a single soul in sight.
Weevil didn't notice anything strange, but Miss Bakkin's instincts screamed danger. It was midday—people should have been cooking, working, moving about. A village this silent was unnatural.
Then—
Swoosh.
A door suddenly swung open.
Both of them stiffened.
"You've finally arrived," a slightly lazy voice drawled from inside. "I've been waiting so long I was starting to wither."
A familiar figure stepped out.
Marco.
Miss Bakkin's eyes widened.
"Marco?! Why are you here?!"
Marco's lips curled into a cold, disdainful smile.
"Don't underestimate our intelligence. The Whitebeard Pirates ruled these seas for decades. Even though Pops is gone, I inherited his position—and his information network."
His gaze sharpened.
"You've been wandering around our territory this whole time. Did you really think we wouldn't notice?"
He took a step forward.
"In Gyro Town, you slaughtered the Noscar Pirates. Today—blood will be repaid with blood."
As his words fell, doors throughout the village opened one after another.
One by one, the division commanders of the Whitebeard Pirates stepped out.
Fourteen commanders.
Miss Bakkin's heart sank.
If she still couldn't see it now, she truly had wasted her life. This wasn't a coincidence—it was a trap. A perfectly laid ambush.
Even with her absolute confidence in Weevil's strength, she knew the truth.
'One man can't fight this many commanders.'
Escape—let alone victory—would be nearly impossible.
Her glare toward Marco darkened with venom.
'Damn you, Marco… I need to find a way out of this.'
Meanwhile, Marco activated his level scan, calmly assessing his opponent.
Edward Weevil—Estimated Strength: Yonko Commander Level
Marco's sneer deepened.
'That's it?'
He had expected far more—especially from someone who had severed Zephyr's arm in another timeline. Instead, Weevil was merely… this strong.
Weevil, staring at Marco, suddenly roared in rage.
"You're the one pretending to be Dad's son, right?! You stole all of Dad's legacy!"
He pointed furiously.
"I'm Dad's real son! Everything Dad left behind belongs to me! I'm the rightful heir of the Whitebeard Pirates!"
Marco didn't answer.
He simply watched—eyes cold, wings flickering faintly with blue flame—As the fool standing before him sealed his own fate.
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