Chapter Five

—1—

“The balance of power in the New World is shifting. It used to be all about Roger, Shiki the Golden Lion, and Whitebeard…until Roger and Shiki dropped out. Big Mom’s always had her own nation, though, even back then,” Thatch explained, his hands on the side railing.

“Now it’s Whitebeard, Big Mom, Kaido, and Red-Hair,” said Ace, listing the names of the Four Emperors.

“Red-Hair’s straight from Roger’s lineage…but he doesn’t have any desire to carry on his old captain’s will and be King of the Pirates. By comparison, Kaido’s much easier to understand. If you ask me, he’s less of a pirate than a hoodlum. Big Mom’s crew is similar to our crew, generationally speaking, but Charlotte Linlin herself is more like a landlubber pirate now.”

She lived in a castle, surrounded by a family of dozens, making her operation closer to a mafia than a pirate crew. The territory she controlled was her own nation.

“All the young folks who go into the Grand Line are just looking for a bit of adventure. But…”

Crak-crak-crakk… !

The mast crumbled downward, sail and all, into a wall of flame.

Thatch continued, “If you get past the route through Fish-Man Island, where 70 percent of ships sink already, the New World beyond that is the haunt of the four Emperors of the Sea, the strongest pirates with their own vast territories. It won’t be easy to bring any of them low. The idiots who fail to understand the rules of this business are the first to paint targets on their backs.”

The battle was over.

A few dozen pirates from some random crew lay at Thatch and Ace’s feet.

“You…you’re Fire Fist! The one who turned down the Warlords…” gasped one of the enemy pirates on the deck, his face grimacing in pain.

These were rookie pirates unaffiliated with any of the Emperors. Back in their homeland and in the “Paradise” of the first half of the Grand Line, they were no doubt big shots who’d made a name for themselves.

But they lasted mere minutes against Ace and Thatch.

Ace never mocked Thatch for “just being a cook,” but in truth, Thatch was more than worthy of the title of Fourth Division leader. He wielded a one-sided blade over three feet long that looked like one of the giant kitchen knives used for dressing large fish and animals.

The division leaders shared ritual cups that placed them on equal footing, none greater than any other. That meant there were at least more people on the crew of similar profile, a mark of the great depth of the Whitebeard Pirates. He claimed that the Fifth Division commander, Vista, was a far better swordsman, however.

“Has that hundred-million rookie already bent the knee to Whitebeard?!” gasped the pirate.

“Hell no. But it’s a complicated situation,” said Ace with irritation. “What did these guys do anyway, Thatch?”

“They messed around in our territory. They ate and drank without paying. Happens all the time.”

“Ah…yeah. That does happen. So I’ve heard.”

“And let me tell you something, Ace. Anyone who eats our food and doesn’t pay up isn’t our guest.”

It was impossible to argue with that.

These division leaders protected the towns flying Whitebeard’s flag. In exchange, the crew received a stipend from those towns in various forms, such as valuables, food and fuel supplies, labor, and so on. If the common people couldn’t get the help of the World Government and Navy, then they’d look to one of the Four Emperors for protection.

“I thought the Navy was like the world’s biggest group of pirates, but in the New World they’re more scarce than ever,” Ace noted. Wouldn’t it be the Navy’s job to settle these issues?

“They have ‘G’ branches in place to protect vital facilities, but that’s about it. Navy Headquarters is just a military force designed to do the bidding of the World Government.”

Their primary mission wasn’t to protect the populace from pirates.

“So I guess there’s no leeway for rookies like me making their way into the New World,” Ace observed.

“That’s right. And it was Red-Hair who actually succeeded at rising to the Emperor level that way.”

Shanks came from the Pirate King’s pedigree. He was dangerous, but he seemed reasonable enough when they met. You didn’t hear any awful rumors about him.

“Our job is to get rid of idiots like these and collect protection money. That raises the profile and power of our flag. And that’s how our territory expands.”

“So the pirate crew gets bigger and bigger all on its own, huh?”

The Whitebeard Pirates controlled the sea with their flag, and backed it up by dispatching their forces here and there.

“We don’t deal with drugs or slaves in our territory. That’s right out the window. Sounds pretty tame for one of the four baddest pirates in the world, eh?”

“Well, I was never one for adventure or finding the One Piece, anyway.”

“Oh yeah?”

“But I do feel like I’ve got a better understanding of how it is this sea is ruled. That flag isn’t something Whitebeard planted there through an act of force. It’s something that the residents chose to raise on their own…”

So burning that flag on Fish-Man Island wasn’t just an insult to Whitebeard, it was an insult to all the fish-men who lived there.

“You’ve figured that all out, but you’re still going after Pops’s head?” Thatch said. “You want to be more infamous than the King of the Pirates. But you have no interest in the One Piece. You don’t want to bend your own honor code. So what does your flag of flame actually stand for?”

“I don’t know… Or at least, I thought I did once, but now I don’t.”

Thatch went silent for a bit and smiled. “You’re pretty honest.”

“Mm…”

“Listen, it’s fine. We’ve settled on this duel with Pops. I’m not going back to relitigate that. Now let’s get back to work.”

Thatch gave orders to his division. They would seize all the goods. The ship would be sold on the secondhand market. And the pirates they captured…

“I’m surprised that a division leader like you would get directly involved with this third-rate crew.”

“When someone’s back is to the wall, they’ll easily resort to the stupidest course of action. It’s because they’re third-rate that a higher-up like me has to get involved and make an example of them.”

“Is that how it works?”

“You bet,” said Teach. “Leave it to the lower guys and see what happens. What should have been a simple job turns into—”

Suddenly, the wall of the above-deck cabin broke open, and a man as large as a bear emerged from inside of the ship.

“Zeha ha ha ha! Is that the end of it?”

It was Teech. In his hand was a man wearing a captain’s hat—the enemy leader—gripped around the base of the neck and dangling like a squid hung out to dry.

“Don’t destroy the ship, Teech,” said Thatch, disappointed.

“Oh, right. This rinky-dink little ship for shrimps.”

Teech hurled the enemy captain like a bowling ball. The unfortunate captain of the attempted eat-and-run crew rolled over and over across the deck until he slammed into the mast. He appeared to be breathing—barely.

One of Thatch’s men set up a transponder snail hooked up to a trunk-shaped device. He took a picture of the captain’s face and sent it through the fax machine. After a little while, there was a return communication.

Ace picked up the fax and examined it. A skull symbol was in the sender’s field—so it was Skull the info agent, still performing his job admirably.

“He’s Raccoon the Possum-Player, from the West Blue. A bounty of 75 million berries…”

“Ahh, that’s not a paltry amount. We’ll hand him over to the Navy, in that case,” said Thatch, reading the fax.

“Would they actually pay out a bounty to other pirates?”

“No. There are special brokers you can go through,” he explained. Apparently there were those who passed themselves off as bounty hunters and turned in wanted men, then paid the bounty back to the pirates who caught the target in the first place.

“Teech! Tie that guy up. And as for the others—”

Blam!

Thatch spun around at the sudden sound of a gunshot.

“Oh?” Teech placed a hand to his side. It came away wet and red. At his feet, the dying Captain Raccoon was clutching a pistol.

“Teech!”

“Aieeee! I’ve been shot!” shrieked Teech, shocked by the sight of his own blood.

“Tsk!” Ace was chagrined at the fact that they hadn’t disarmed their target. He pointed a Fire Gun technique at the enemy. There was an awful scream that he never wanted to hear again, like a giant frog being squashed.

“That hurt, you bastard,” said Teech. He had stepped on the enemy captain, whose midsection was now crushed through the wooden deck, his hands and feet jutting upward. He’d overdone it.

“Oh, great. Hey, you alive down there?”

“Zeha ha ha ha!” Teech laughed. Ace wasn’t sure how he was meant to react to all of this.

“You all right?” he asked. “You’ve been shot.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, zeha ha ha ha! Owwwwww!” He held a hand over his wound and howled, as though he’d just remembered it, and began calling for the ship doctor.

“This guy’s all kinds of sloppy,” muttered Ace. It was just how Marshall D. Teech rolled. And this was the guy whose job was to take care of Ace?

“Thatch! The flames are too strong, we can’t put them out!” someone yelled out. The flames that had picked up when Ace was fighting were now starting to devour the wooden ship. It was going to sink.

This was what Thatch meant when he said that having third-rate guys do the work spelled disaster.

—2—

After dispatching the wayward pirates, Ace, Thatch and Teech stopped at the nearest port to share a drink.

“A toast! To Pops’s flag!”

“I’m not toasting.”

“Zeha ha ha ha! Food after a job well done tastes so good, it’s to die for!”

Eat, fight, drink. Teech was a model pirate. As long as you fed him and let him rumble now and then, you could be assured he wasn’t going to cause trouble.

The town was one where Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger flew overhead. The trio were pirates, but they were on friendly terms with the owner of the tavern.

“Really, Ace? Red-Hair actually said that?”

With some drinks in them, they were more talkative than usual. Thatch often cooked with alcohol in the kitchen, but never drank it there. It was a sacred workplace for him, so he preferred to relax and drink at other people’s establishments.

“Yeah. He pointed to the scars on his left eye and said, ‘It was the Whitebeard Pirates who gave this to me.’ ”

It was one specific pirate under Whitebeard’s flag, in fact.

“So who is it?” Ace asked. “I’m kinda curious.”

Thatch thought it over. “Someone on our crew did that to Red-Hair? Hmm…”

“Huh? You mean it’s not a well-known fact with you guys?”

That came as a surprise to Ace. You would think that whoever put that scar on Red-Hair’s face would have become quite a legend among the crew.

“It wasn’t even a division leader, right? If one of them had done it, that would’ve been a big deal. You know about this, Teech?”

“Eh? About what?”

“Someone on the crew put a scar on Red-Hair’s face, apparently. I just can’t believe—”

“That was me,” said Teech, through a mouthful of food.

Ace and Thatch stared at the large man before them, one of the senior members of the crew, in total shock. Teech shoved a whole pizza into his mouth without cutting a slice. Then he washed it down with a swig of wine that emptied a small barrel.

“Just kiddin’.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Yeah, no way.”

It was just a stupid drunken joke. Ace sighed. “Well, he told me that at a little party we were having,” he admitted. “Maybe Red-Hair saw me as a rookie and just wanted to scare me a bit.”

He took a swig of his drink. Thatch paid attention to the movement of his arm and noted, “By the way, Ace…what’s with that joke of a tattoo you’ve got?”

It was something he’d been wondering about and used the drunken opportunity to ask. The question was one that Ace had heard many times over the years.

“Nah, never mind. Don’t wanna talk about it.” It was a long tale to tell, and it wasn’t particularly interesting.

“Oh yeah?”

“The X through the S is the symbol of my late brother. That’s all.”

Right after he went to sea to become a pirate, Ace’s blood brother Sabo was sunk by a Celestial Dragon ship. Ace made an oath then with his little brother, Luffy.

Listen to me, Luffy. We have to live our lives so we don’t have any regrets!

That could mean a lot of different things to different people. The point was not to do anything you’d be ashamed of.

“Only time can answer that question.”

It was after Sabo’s death, when he first had to truly grapple with the concept of death, that Ace began to think in earnest about what it meant to live.

Death would come one day. So the last thing he wanted to do was go out with nothing to remember but hating his father and the world. Leading such a pointless life would be an insult to the brothers he shared ritual cups with.

But Ace wasn’t the type to speak freely about his innermost thoughts, or the names of his brothers.

“Hmmm.”

“I do have another brother, though.”

“Oh yeah? How old? What’s he doing now?”

“Three years younger than me. We decided that we’d set out to be pirates when we turned seventeen. So he should be leaving any day now.”

“Is he strong?”

“My brother ate a Devil Fruit when he was a little kid. I didn’t eat mine until after I was a pirate. But I never lost a fight to him, even back then.”

Ace and Sabo had always competed with one another and kept score. Luffy joined the competition when he got a bit older, but as the youngest, he always lost.

“So long, Luffy. I’m heading out now!”

“Okay! When I go out to sea three years from now, I’ll be way tougher than I am now!”

Ace left Luffy behind at Mt. Corvo and started his personal voyage.

Luffy was probably still dreaming of being King of the Pirates. Ace couldn’t even begin to imagine Luffy looking defeated or ready to give up. Now Ace had run up against the wall that was the Four Emperors. What would Luffy say at a time like this?

“A Devil Fruit, huh?” marveled Thatch. Drinking put him in a good mood. “We got a couple guys with Devil Fruit powers, too. Marco, Jozu, Pops…”

Ace hadn’t even been powerful enough to antagonize Whitebeard into using the powers that made him such an infamous monster.

“The rule around here is, if you find the Devil Fruit, you get to eat it. You could sell it and make a hundred million berries, of course. But if I could choose one Devil Fruit to have, it would be yours, Ace.”

“Why the Flame-Flame Fruit?” wondered Ace.

“Your hands turn into fire, right? What more could a cook like me ask for? And I could make it whatever temperature I want.”

They say the cook’s soul is his knife, but flame could be something like a lifetime partner.

“I get it. If only there’d been one for you, too.”

When Ace was washed up on the deserted island, he’d eaten the Devil Fruit without realizing what it was.

“It doesn’t work that way, does it? There’s only one of any kind of Devil Fruit in the entire world at a time, I understand.”

“Yeah, that’s right! If you really want to eat the Flame-Flame Fruit,” Teech said, happily brandishing a table knife now that he had finished his barrel of wine, “you’ll have to kill Ace… Zeha ha ha ha! Once the person with the powers dies, the fruit will regrow somewhere else in the world.”

“It’s a bad joke. There’s no fruit I want to eat so bad I’d kill someone for it. Another wine over here, Miss!” said Thatch to the barmaid.

Ace just grimaced. “Then you’ll have to forget about the Flame-Flame Fruit. What about another one? Let’s say…an ice fruit, maybe. You wouldn’t need an ice chest.”

“No, that one’s out, too. Aokiji ate that,” said Thatch with a shake of his head.

“Aokiji? You mean…”

“The admiral from Navy Headquarters.”

Kuzan, who went by the nickname Aokiji, had the power of the Chilly-Chilly Fruit. The other admirals, Akainu and Kizaru, had Logia powers of their own.

“What about a knife? You could be a blade man who could cut anything.”

“That would be nice. But no, I think some assassin somewhere has that one. Besides, I like sharpening my knives.”

“Zeha ha ha ha! Well, even after years and years of pirating, you just don’t see Devil Fruits all that often!”

“What about you, Teech? What fruit would you eat?” Ace asked, turning the tables on him.

“Me? Let’s see…”

He took a swig from his barrel. Teech was so large that any vessel looked too small in his hands.

“Oh, I bet I know which one you want,” said Thatch, looking mischievous.

“What?! How do you know, Thatch?!” gasped Teech, suddenly looking shocked.

“Which one?”

“You know the one, Ace. The legendary Clear-Clear Fruit! Whoever eats that fruit can turn invisible…”

“Really? There’s a fruit that does that?!”

“Zeha ha ha ha! Ya got me!” laughed Teech, scratching his head and sticking out his tongue. “But of course, it’s every man’s dream…”

The uncouth scallywags imagined all the unsavory things they would do if they could turn invisible with the Clear-Clear Fruit’s power.

At that point, it dawned on them that several young girls had gathered at the table. They were children from the port. Their parents could be seen outside the restaurant where the pirates were celebrating.

“What’s this? We have such pretty young ladies here!” Thatch said, greeting them with a smile.

“This is a sign of our gratitude!” said the girls, presenting them with crowns of flowers picked from nearby fields.

“Oooh, such pretty flowers. Thank you,” said Thatch smoothly, bowing his head.

“No, thanks…I’d rather not,” said Ace, trying to push the flowers away.

“C’mon, Ace! Don’t embarrass these young ladies—they’re trying to thank you!”

“Zeha ha ha ha!”

Thatch took his flowers, and Teech held out a finger to drape them over. Since Ace didn’t want to make himself the bad guy, he hesitated and reluctantly allowed them to place the circlet over his head.

Had he ever received flowers before? He’d expected that even after he was dead in his grave, no one would come to place flowers at his headstone.

This was the remarkable nature of Whitebeard’s rule. The man exerted an incredible influence. And he used that power as the cornerstone of his territory, forming his own country. A country where people welcomed his rule. Where little children accepted the protection of a man more frightening than any demon, and even thanked him for it.

Power was a weapon that could be used to achieve ambitions. Sometimes, power enveloped others inside of it, becoming an even greater power. It was why people called Whitebeard the King of the Sea.

That was the man Ace was trying to crush.

“Are you guys good pirates?” asked one of the younger girls.

“Huh? I…uh…”

What was a good pirate? Was it a pirate who protected the people in his territory? To those from other locales, that same man might be considered a terrible pillager. And nobody who was truly a benevolent saint would get involved in the business of piracy in the first place.

“Listen up, girls,” said Teech to the children, “There are no good or bad pirates.”

He placed the flowers they gave him onto his plate of pasta and promptly began to devour his food, plants and all. The girls stared at him in shock; the last thing they expected was for him to eat their flowers.

“Mmm, these sure are good flowers! Gimme yours too, Ace!”

“Here you go.”

“All right, that’s enough of that!” said Thatch, clapping his hands loudly. “I’m sorry this old man and this young fellow are so boring and don’t make any sense, girls. But thank you very much. If I come back in twenty…no, ten years, will any of you agree to marry me?”

“Ew! No!”

“Aw…”

—3—

In the infirmary of the Moby Dick, Deuce received an unexpected patient.

Lately he’d been taking on more and more duties from the head ship doctor; routine tasks like stitching up cuts and treating wounds.

“Ah, there you are, Doc. Perfect.”

“Oh! Great… Master Whitebeard,” said Deuce, awkwardly jumbling up his response to the other man out of shock and nerves.

Ace was technically Whitebeard’s guest, and the Spade Pirates would be considered something like his younger brothers, formally speaking. Deuce’s captain was Ace—he couldn’t start calling Whitebeard “Pops.”

“Don’t get all hung up on formalities. I want you to take a look at this,” said Whitebeard, as he sat and extended his arm from the coat he wore loosely over his shoulder to reveal his palm.

“You’ve got a burn.” So even legendary monsters could get hurt. “Do you feel any pain? It doesn’t look terrible, but you should probably keep it iced until the pain stops. How did you get it?”

Whitebeard said nothing. Despite having asked the question, Deuce already had a pretty good idea of how it happened.

“Was it Ace?”

Ace had just been challenging Whitebeard to a fight minutes ago. He’d lost, yet again, and was thrown into the sea. How many dozens of times had it been?

“Yeah, it’s pathetic… Don’t tell anyone about this, Doc.”

“Please, don’t call me Doc. I’m only a medical student.”

He washed the afflicted area and treated it to encourage natural healing, without the use of disinfectant.

“Thanks, kid.”

“Infection is a concern, so keep your hand clean,” Deuce warned.

“That captain of yours…”

“Y-yes?”

“He’s gotten stronger. I forget how many times we’ve fought now…”

For the first time ever, he’d landed a blow with his fiery fists. Whitebeard got to his feet; it almost looked as though he were smiling.

Deuce checked in his memo book. “Today was the ninety-ninth time.”

“You keep track in a book? Meticulous little snot, aren’t ya?”

“It’s just the way I am. He’s got one more shot. Will Ace get to you?” Deuce asked. He didn’t expect an answer.

“Ah yes, it was only a hundred, huh? That’s what Thatch or someone decided. I don’t care if we go to a hundred times or a thousand times.”

“Are you…training Ace?”

“Don’t expect too much from me, Doc… Gura ra ra ra,” Whitebeard chuckled. “I just like the sort of fools who try to tackle the New World. If he wants to stick around, so be it.”

He’d give the youngsters a roof over their heads. And if they wound up on his ship, he’d feed them.

“Ace is…”

He’s the son of Roger, your rival. And the World Government is probably aware of that possibility, hence the invitation by the Seven Warlords.

Deuce was concerned. What if the progeny of the King of the Pirates found his place with Whitebeard, Emperor of the Sea? Wouldn’t that be throwing a significant hitch in the delicate balance of power between Navy HQ, the Warlords, and the Emperors? It could be enough to spark the next big war…

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.”

It wasn’t for Deuce to say. Only Ace could decide whether or not to reveal that fact.

“Ace wanted to make a name for himself. That’s why he’s been going after you.”

“That’s what I don’t get. If he wants to raise his profile, the Seven Warlords should have been enough. Why does he fixate on me? If he wanted to hunt down an Emperor, he could’ve gone after Red-Hair. Or did he think that coming for the old man would be easiest?”

“No. He followed the code with Red-Hair. They had a connection already, it seems. Shanks once saved the life of Ace’s little brother.”

“Ohhh.”

“And Ace had another brother who died. I haven’t heard much more beyond that,” Deuce said, choosing his words carefully.

He recited the whole story: Ace’s parents being dead at his birth. His hatred for the Great Era of Piracy. His upbringing by bandits. His brother, who went to sea to become a pirate, as they had vowed to one another, only to be promptly killed by Celestial Dragons. Only one thing did he make sure to keep secret: that Ace’s father was none other than Roger.

“I see,” said Whitebeard, assessing the young man under his care. “So that fireball kid didn’t actually want to be a pirate. I think I understand him a bit better.”

“Meaning…”

“He went to sea to fulfill an oath he took with his brothers. That’s all. And then that happened with the Celestial Dragons… So that’s what continues to burn inside of him.”

Perhaps he was right. Ace wanted fame because it would erase the memory of his hatred for his father. Becoming a pirate was a means to that end, but it wasn’t the point in and of itself.

“I think…Ace doesn’t even understand who he really is.”

“That’s true of everyone. Especially when you’re young,” said Whitebeard.

The only ones who thought they knew themselves were idiots who fancied themselves clever, and the elderly who’d given up on finding themselves.

“Being here on the ship and providing medical care, I’ve started to realize something. I gave up on medical school and went to sea as a reaction to my father, who is a doctor. It might be a stupid reason, but…”

“That ain’t true. Parents are a major issue for anyone, for any reason.”

“I met Ace, I met other companions, and I made it here. That’s all thanks to Ace. But all I’ve been doing is chasing after the sights that Ace has been showing me—places that I would never reach on my own. And now Ace is unsure of himself. What if his hatred is the source of what will destroy him, but not a reason for him to go on? Running into the wall that is Whitebeard has made that contradiction clear.”

The Spade Pirates, who had been so reliant upon Ace to lead them, were pulverized by Whitebeard’s tsunami.

“You got a lot of complicated thoughts in your head, Doc… Gura ra ra ra,” laughed Whitebeard. But he seemed to understand what made Deuce tick, too. “I ain’t a wall, or anything of the sort. I can’t take care of ya to that extent.”

“I’m sorry. Can’t tell who’s helping care for whom at this rate.”

“Listen, Doc. A wall’s something you build in your own heart. People can only change themselves into who they want to be.”

—4—

Be my son.

Whitebeard had extended his hand to Ace after the younger pirate tried to kill him.

It was the way of the pirate life. The commanders of Whitebeard’s various divisions had all shared ritual cups with him, making them father and sons. The captains of the various prominent crews under Whitebeard’s umbrella had shared cups with Whitebeard or one of his commanders, making them brothers or kin as well. That was why everyone in the Whitebeard family called Edward Newgate “Pops.”

The World Government ruled through a legal and judicial system. The pirate world was connected through a system of flags and ritual cups.

And the person at the top of the pirating world was no mere destroyer.

Ace found himself thinking often of the young girls who had brought them flowers. The Four Emperors of the sea were called that because they created their own little empires within the territory they controlled—a fact that Ace gradually came to understand as he traveled around Whitebeard’s territory and fought on his ship.

Be my son.

Father and son cups. In a literal sense, it meant becoming his subordinate, but to Ace, son of the demon named Roger, the idea that anyone would choose to say “I will make you my son.” came as nothing less than a total shock. Even if Whitebeard didn’t actually know Ace’s background.

“And what would happen to that offer of cups if I told him?” he grumbled to himself, sitting on the gunwale.

He hadn’t ever really thought about how Whitebeard might have felt about Roger. The stories told that they were rivals…

“…and that’s why Thatch ain’t coming,” said Teech.

They were on a speedy midsize ship, sailing alone, without Whitebeard’s flag overhead.

“Huh? Why isn’t Thatch coming?”

“Do I need to loosen your jaw to make you listen? Huh?” Teech threatened.

He was a violent man who lost all control in the midst of a fight, but he’d been part of Whitebeard’s crew for decades. Apparently Whitebeard was magnanimous with his ritual cups, if they included a man like him.

“Zeha ha ha ha! We’re on our way to an island! And we’re gonna take care of the scumbag who dared to disrespect Pops’s flag! We gotta beat some lessons into his thick skull about the pirate’s honor code!”

“And it’s up to me to perform that punishment.”

“Zeha ha ha ha… That’s why Thatch ain’t comin’. Pops put this one on your shoulders, Ace.”

It was in order to take a measure of who Ace was. And as his caretaker, Teech was there to observe and report back on his performance. A very simple arrangement.

An island was visible ahead. It was night—a black curtain spanning the sky overhead, sprinkled with dots of light. And glittering off of the black water below was the reflection of bright lights like fishing lures. The town was a big one.

They were on the outskirts of Whitebeard’s territory. There was a problem on this island that could not be ignored. Whitebeard had dispatched Ace to take care of it.

And the price he would pay was their duel. The hundredth confrontation, and most likely the last…

“All right, people, listen up,” Ace said to the pirates around him. “This operation’s under my command: Portgaz D. Ace. But I ain’t your division leader. I’m not even in the Whitebeard Pirates. Some of you might not like that. If you’ve got a problem with following my orders, remove yourself from the mission now.”

His speech had the pirates eyeing one another. But this was all on Pops’s orders, so no one raised any complaints. They decided to see what he could do.

“Then let’s go. Wallace, Banshee,” he said, calling two of his Spade Pirates.

“Captain Ace…”

“You sure you want me?” said Banshee hesitantly.

“This was Deuce’s idea. We could simply raid the place, but I don’t wanna just follow orders, do you? I’m gonna check out the scene first. Help me do that.”

—5—

The island of Port Chibaralta.

There were many ships moored at the dock of the bustling town. It was a place full of taverns and pleasure halls, a town that indulged all of a sailor’s desires. And not just pirates, but the crews of passenger ships and Navy vessels as well—a place where the payment for completing a dangerous voyage could be spent within a week on booze and women. But such men would never advance from the position of deckhand for the rest of their lives.

This night was the annual Festival of Thanks.

The entire town was lit up with bright and garish decorations. Tourists wore whatever costumes they fancied, and adults and children headed out onto the streets. Photographers offered their services here and there. The roads were lined with merchants hawking all kinds of wares, and every store was packed. It was a vivid example of how money makes the world go round—in both legitimate and illegitimate ways…

“Hey, what’s this glass of suds you’re selling? Piss?!”

Here in a casino, the floor lined with old-fashioned tatami mats, a game of dice was unfolding.

Many sailors, both pirates and Navy alike, came and went from the game. It was an active one, due to the festival. And when the game got lively, trouble tended to follow.

“Dammit, I lost again! Every roll is backfiring on me. I bet it’s your doing, you lowlife cheater.”

“Even a Navy man shouldn’t go accusing people without evidence, Captain,” said the man managing the game, attempting to soothe the drunken gamblers. Swearing and insulting the quality of the refreshments was one thing, but there was no dirtier word than “cheater.”

This only put the inebriated Navy captain in a fouler mood, however.

“What?!”

Things were getting out of hand. The staff of the gambling den stirred to action and began to prepare for trouble when another man appeared.

“How are you, Captain? Makin’ a killing at the game, are we?”

It was…a gorilla.

A figure in a flashy striped suit, rippling muscles…and a gorilla costume mask, to be exact.

“Oh, is that you, Oliva? Your games are the most tightfisted I’ve ever played. They don’t pay out squat!” grumbled the captain to the man in the gorilla mask.

“Ah…you’ve had too much to drink,” said the gorilla man, clapping his hands. “I need you to leave, sir. You’re bothering the other guests.”

“What?” growled the captain, even angrier at this unexpectedly formal treatment.

“Ahh, and I see here that you’ve built up quite a tab. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to square up,” the gorilla man said, clenching his fists until the joints popped. There were thick rings of pure gold on all of his fingers. A secretary nearby began to slide beads on an abacus to calculate his receipt. He had been losing tremendously—more than several years’ salary for a Navy HQ captain.

“What the hell is this?!”

“I can see why you’re a captain at Navy Headquarters, sir. You even lose like a real man.”

“This is nonsense! I refuse! I won’t pay a single berry to the cheaters trying to rip me off!”

“Captain…I’m sure you know whose flag flies over this town.”

Right outside of the gambling den, next to the swinging sign that identified it to potential customers, was the flag bearing Whitebeard’s skull and bones.

That threat intimidated the captain, but his pride willed him back to his feet.

“Whitebeard? Who cares?! I’m a Navy Headquar—brft!”

Crunch! The man’s mug of sudsy booze went flying.

The gorilla man pounded the Navy HQ captain from above. Just one punch sent the captain to the floor, unconscious.

“Seize his goods.”

The mark of those heavy rings left an imprint on the captain’s cheek. The side of his face was caved in, the bones themselves bent with the force of the blow.

The man took off his gorilla mask to reveal…a gorilla face. His features looked about 30 percent human and 70 percent gorilla.

“Even a Naval officer can’t walk out of my—er, Whitebeard’s gambling den without paying out his losses.”

Oliva wiped his bloody fist on the captain’s cloak, which was embroidered with the word “Justice,” and commanded his employees to clean up the bothersome guest.

Two middle-aged women with sagging bellies and heavy makeup approached Oliva and handed him a midsized leather bag. It was packed with wrapped stacks of bills.

“Hey, hey, hey-hey-hey!” Oliva cried in rhythm, clapping twice. “Apologies for that disgraceful little show! This is the Festival of Thanks and it only comes once a year! It’s time to play big or go home, my friends!”

—6—

In a bar off the main road sat an assortment of fathers who’d sent their families off to march in the costume parade, mixed in with other unremarkable types who weren’t taking part in the festivities.

Given the times, idle chatter among people with too much time on their hands always turned to pirates, sooner or later.

“How many decades ago did Gold Roger die?! Why haven’t people moved on from all this King of the Pirates and One Piece stuff already?” said a disheveled, skinny hoodlum, leaning against the counter of the bar as though he were dispensing great wisdom.

“Yeah, Roger was a real low-down lowlife, the worst of the worst,” agreed the young man next to him.

Enter a young man named Ace. His hat was pulled low and he wore a cloak over his shoulders to disguise himself as a simple wanderer. He was wearing a cheap, flimsy mask that was little more than a fake nose; a cheap trinket he’d purchased from a roadside stand, as though he’s just needed something to allow him to take part in the festivities. In fact, the nose had a long mustache attached—only after he bought it did he realize it was probably supposed to be a Whitebeard mask.

“Oh? You think so too, pal? That’s right, it ain’t the era of brute strength anymore! Adventure? Treasure maps? Are those things really worth putting your life in danger?”

“Drink up, pal,” said Ace, pouring more booze into the mug of the hoodlum, who was already quite red-faced.

“Thanks for the refill, friend… What were we talkin’ about again?”

“The guy who runs this town,” said Ace. He’d picked out the hoodlum in the bustling center of the town in the hopes of getting the word straight from the street.

“That’s Oliva, of course! After the old boss passed away, the kid took over his position.”

“Yeah, you said that before. What was the old boss like?”

“Oh, he was…um, an old-fashioned pirate, in all the good an’ bad ways. When he forged ties with Whitebeard and brought prosperity to Port Chibaralta, that was great. But he was real big on rules. Don’t do this, don’t do that, blah blah blah…”

“Certain things are taboo in Whitebeard’s territory. Like drugs…”

“And slaves.”

As one might guess from the fact that he included Fish-Man Island as part of his territory, Whitebeard did not abide by formalized systems of racial prejudice and slavery.

“People and ships come through Port Chibaralta all the time. Money changes hands here every second of the day. Casinos, fights, concerts, all manner of entertainment… Even a little bar like this one does a lotta business. But the old boss decided to outlaw all buying and selling of slaves in this town, in exchange for the protection of Whitebeard’s flag,” said the hoodlum.

Now that he was drunk, he was a complaining machine. Apparently he’d previously been a successful broker for slavers, but now he was reduced to small-time jobs to get by.

Port Chibaralta’s fortune was built upon the profits generated by gambling and entertainment at the port. The bars and taverns, hotels, shipbuilders, public markets…all of them fell under Oliva’s racket. And by paying a portion of that up to Whitebeard, he received the protection of a flag backed by tens of thousands of soldiers.

And the World Government and Navy had no control there. They couldn’t interfere. Navy ships did stop at the port from time to time, of course, but it was always handled with hush money under the table; each side trying not to cause trouble with the other. Though of course, given their position as the attack dogs of the government, the Navy was always looking for a chance to carve up the Four Emperors’ territory and weaken their stranglehold on the New World…

“See, there’s so much money rolling through this port! So when Oliva took over, he started to reform the old ways and loosen those regulations!”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to ask about,” said Ace. He looked around carefully and brought out a picture.

The hoodlum held his breath. “Hey pal, that’s a mermaid!”

It was a picture of a young mermaid—along with a single mermaid scale, still fresh.

“You bet. One of the girls who used to be a hit attraction at the Mermaid Café.”

“You mean,” the hoodlum gasped, his voice a whisper now, “you’ve got a young mermaid?”

He couldn’t hide his excitement. The only people legal to sell as slaves were criminals like pirates, and residents of countries who were not members of the World Government. A slave’s price could vary quite a lot by race and sex, but young mermaids were some of the most valuable, worth up to tens of millions of berries. If you put one on auction at the Sabaody Archipelago, a Celestial Dragon was likely to push up the price as high as necessary to win.

“Yeah, and I’m not sure how to sell her off. I heard some stories about this place, so I came here. See, I’m technically under Whitebeard’s care at the moment. I don’t want to do anything that breaks his moral code, but…”

“Moral code, shmoral code! Whitebeard’s just another stupid pirate.”

Ace waited.

“What makes him any different from hooligans like us? He steals, and pillages, and kills…and kills and kills and kills until he stands atop all the other villains in the world. And then he wants to get on his high horse and say ‘Don’t sell slaves’? What a hypocrite! All of us live by taking things from one another! Pirates take lives! And slavers take freedom… So what’s the difference?”

The man sure did like to state his case. Ace fixed the hoodlum with a hard stare.

“Let’s say, hypothetically…that my mermaid got away without me knowing, and happened to get sold to someone else. That’s not my fault, right?”

“Nope. Not your fault at all, friend.”

“I can go fifty-fifty. I just want her off my hands,” Ace said, laying out the bait.

“Seventy-thirty.”

“Don’t get greedy.”

“Who’s the greedy one? I’m the guy sticking his neck out.”

“Fine, fine… When you see her in person, your eyes’ll pop out,” Ace said, sticking the photo and scale into the hoodlum’s pocket.

The photo was one that Ace’s crew took at the Mermaid Café on Fish-Man Island. And the scale was from a mermaid he happened to know…

“Oooh, that nice, huh? You haven’t been messin’ with her at all, right? Well, Oliva will decide the price, anyway.”

“And when can I meet this Oliva guy?”

“Tonight’s the Festival of Thanks; it’s a once-a-year business opportunity, and Oliva’s a busy man. But a mermaid will change the dynamic entirely. Just you wait, I’ll put in the good word for you!” said the hoodlum ingratiatingly, and rushed off to speak with his boss.

—7—

It was late at night.

There was a large tent set up in an open space some distance from the center of Port Chibaralta. It was a circus tent, in fact. During the day it was a popular tourist attraction for families, but it was closed now, without a soul around.

Until a figure appeared on the darkened path, pulling a cart.

The cart contained some very large wooden boxes. There were shackles on the ankles of the man pulling it. Behind the cart were more men in chains, carrying heavy boxes of their own.

“Here you are.”

Ace led the cart and its procession through the entrance to the circus tent and into the rear area, where the hoodlum from earlier awaited.

Ace greeted the man without a word, pointing out his cargo. The man who pulled the cart fell to his knees with exhaustion.

“Ahh, you’ve got a fish-man slave too, eh?”

“Helps with the heavy lifting,” Ace explained. Wallace was the one pulling the cart.

“And the product is inside of that box?”

“Yeah.”

One box on the cart had the word MERMAID written on the top for easy identification.

“I just want to check it out before I call for Oliva,” the hoodlum said. Ace opened up a little window hatch on the box. Through it was a glimpse of a mermaid’s fin.

“Let me out,” said a frightened woman’s voice, husky and sexy.

“Oooh!” The hoodlum was elated. If this deal went well, a mermaid would bring in tens of millions, possibly over a hundred.

“I want this over with quick.”

“Hang on to your skivvies, I’m getting Oliva now. I asked him to wait nearby,” said the hoodlum, picking up a transponder snail and placing a call.

“The deal’s on,” he said, putting down the transponder snail. “Oliva’s on his way here. You can sit down and wait.”

“Okay.” Ace sat in a nearby chair.

“Say, what’s that other big box for?” asked the hoodlum, glancing at another box on the cart.

“It’s a different product. I wouldn’t look inside if I were you. It’s a hideous wild beast; I’ve got it asleep for now.”

“Yikes.” The hoodlum quickly backed away from the cart.

“I saw the festivities on the way here. They’re very impressive.”

“Yeah, Oliva makes sure we go all-out here!”

“What’s he like?”

“If I had to describe him in one sentence…I’ve never seen a more refreshing man.”

“Refreshing?”

Makin’ a killing… Makin’ a killing…

A loud voice emerged from the middle of the tent.

Whoosh!

A man dressed in a flashy striped suit appeared. He was darkly tanned, with a sharply defined undercut. From thumb to pinky, his hands were covered with rings like gold nuggets. He was accompanied by a middle-aged woman with thick makeup and a secretary working an abacus.

His features and figure conveyed one thing: gorilla.

“That’s…refreshing?”

“It’s refreshing to see a guy who loves making money this much. Hey, Oliva!”

“Yo, hoodlum. What’s going on? You makin’ a killing?” said Oliva the gorilla, raising a hand in greeting.

“I sure am. Tonight’s festival is a huge success!”

“Guess you’re makin’ more money than you know what to do with!”

They were certainly enjoying themselves.

“The people in this stretch of sea work hard and save up all year long, just for this festival. And our business model is to do whatever it takes to loosen the purse strings of all these miserable paupers who come to our town!”

“That’s our Oliva! You’ve got it all figured out, sir! But…can you let me be the star tonight?”

“I hear you’ve got a major item to sell,” said Oliva. He looked in Ace’s direction at last.

The man was imposing, that much was certain. Your average citizen would probably curl up into a ball with just one hard glance from Oliva.

“Sorry to bother you on such a busy day,” said Ace, doffing his hat. He kept his fake nose on, though.

“Spare me the formalities. So this item is in your possession, eh? You’re a young one. And this is it, eh?” Oliva said, looking at the box marked MERMAID.

“Hang on, sir, I’ll open—”

“Makin’ a killing, yah!”

With a tremendous crack, Oliva punched the wooden box himself with his heavy-ringed fist, smashing it to smithereens.

And inside the box was a certain mermaid…

“Whaaaaaaaaaaat?!” the hoodlum screamed, his voice shrill with shock. He grabbed Ace and hastily pulled him aside.

“What’s the matter?”

“What the…what the hell is that?! That’s not the mermaid in the photo… She’s an old hag! What kind of a scam are you running here?!”

He pulled out the picture Ace had given him and jabbed at it angrily, comparing the two.

The contents of the wooden box was undoubtedly a mermaid. But it was a mermaid who had passed into middle age, beyond the point where her fins had separated into legs. In other words, it was Banshee.

“That’s her in the picture, all right. You got bad eyesight or something?” Ace asked him.

“Who do you think you are, the boy who cried mermaid?!” the hoodlum snapped. Already, he could feel the life draining from his body.

Oliva stared dully at the mermaid who emerged from the box.

“Ah…ooooh…”

“What are you starin’ at?” glared Banshee, who had put on makeup and even wore a mermaid swimsuit.

Oliva scooted backward, apparently shocked into silence. Then he beckoned the hoodlum over in what seemed like embarrassment. Now it was their turn to head to the sidelines to speak.

“Hey, hoodlum. What’s going on here?”

“I’m sorry, Oliva! That youngster lied to me… I can’t believe it! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he pays the price! Hey! Hey, you! Nobody humiliates Oliva and gets away with it!”

“I never knew…a real mermaid could be so…beautiful…” Oliva murmured.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful, all ri—Beautiful?!” the hoodlum gaped. Oliva already had a lovestruck look in his eyes as he stared at Banshee. “Oliva, you have…working eyesight, right?”

“Well, they do say that a man is struck blind when he lays eyes on a true beauty… Hey, youngster!” Oliva hailed Ace.

“Yes, sir? How can I help you?”

“I’ll buy that mermaid from you! No auctions or brokers or nothin’. I’ll take her. I’m buyin’ her for myself!” he said, looking Banshee over from head to fin as he made his decision.

“Umm…”

Ace scratched his head, puzzled. The hoodlum rushed back over to Ace and whispered in his ear, “Hey! Don’t get any funny ideas and start raising your asking price now!”

“I wasn’t gonna….”

“Master Oliva seems to have taken a liking to your mermaid hag.”

“But…why? Deuce’s plan didn’t account for something like this…”

“Plan? Who?”

“Never mind, ignore that.”

“Fine! I don’t care! In any case, you can see what’s going on here. He loves older women!” the hoodlum said, pointing out the flabby woman at Oliva’s side. “But every cloud has a silver lining, I guess. Put on a smile, man! Show him everything’s cool! Go on and give him the OK sign!”

“Fine, fine. Hang on, I need to talk this over with her.”

“Talk? With the slave? What would you need to talk about?!”

“Plenty. It’s a business, you know,” said Ace. He walked over to Banshee and began to converse with her quietly.

“What’s going on here, Ace?” she whispered.

“I dunno, but it seems to be working so far. Just stick to our plan…”

He showed off a glimpse of a scrap of paper in his hand. It was a piece of Banshee’s vivre card, an item that would perpetually point in the direction of its owner.

They would likely take Banshee to where the other slaves were. Ace’s mission was to learn the full scope of the covert slave trade on Port Chibaralta. And the ultimate goal was to make an example of those who mocked Whitebeard’s flag and all it stood for.

“All right, fine.”

“Sorry about this, Banshee. But actually, it sounds like that guy really likes you. Whatcha wanna do about that?”

“Do about it? Why would I get with that gorilla?!”

“Look, you’re a woman in your prime. I know that being a pirate can be lonely—you don’t meet many people,” he said, in an attempt to be sensitive that probably wasn’t helping.

“Well, I want nothing to do with a young fellow like him, all blinged out with rings. I like dashing older men like Whitebeard, and men who can cook, like Thatch.”

“Hey, you done talking over there?” yelled the hoodlum. Ace gave him a disarming smile.

The price didn’t actually matter for the plan, but Oliva quoted an amount suitable for a young mermaid, not an old one with legs. Ace decided to take the offer on the spot.

The secretary produced a trunk packed full of bills. Ace checked that they were authentic.

“It’s all there.”

“Ahh, this was a good purchase. Let me know if you ever snag a find like this again, fella!”

Ace and Oliva shared a firm handshake.

“By the way, what kind of slaves do you normally deal in, Mr. Oliva?”

“Hmm? Well, you’re in the right place,” Oliva said. He gave his secretary a look. “Go on.”

She walked over to a switch on a tentpole and flipped it. The lights turned on.

Ace gasped. A mountain of metal cages surrounded them.

A circus was a wild animal show, after all. There were lions, bears, even elephants in these cages. And among the animals were human slaves. And other races as well. Some of them shrank away in fear at the sight of Oliva, others were as still as the dead, and a few slammed the metal bars in fury.

“You’re keeping your slaves in the circus…”

It was a sickening sight for Ace. When he thought about the slave trade, he thought about Celestial Dragons.

“It’s a traveling circus, you see. When you’ve got this many cages, no one really seems to pay any heed to the fact that there are a few slaves mixed among them.”

Whether male or female, there were buyers to be found, as long as the slaves were young.

But dealing with slaves was forbidden in Whitebeard’s territory. So it wasn’t worth the risk unless the products were valuable. That meant infamous pirates or excellent singers or dancers…or rare species like mermaids and mermen.

Ace asked Oliva, “Aren’t you afraid of Whitebeard finding out that you’ve got so many slaves within his territory?”

“My old master’s the one who shared drinks with him. Not me.”

“That might be true, but Whitebeard’s flag still flies over this island. It’s protecting everyone here.”

“The flag? Those kinds of complications are a thing of the past now,” said Oliva. His tone of voice was colder and clearer than before.

Wham! He strode over to a cage and kicked the bars, threatening the slave inside.

“Meaning?”

“It’s a new era. For pirates, and everyone else. Young guys like us, we’re not gonna be swayed by some old stories from our childhood…from before we were born, even… That guy who died ages ago, Roger? I’m not gonna have my life dictated by people whose minds are clouded by rumors of some legendary treasure he talked about. Dreams aren’t for me! They’re something I show to others, so I can make a killing off of them! It ain’t the era of brute strength anymore! The One Piece? Tell me something, do you think all those people who risk their lives for adventure and come away with nothing more than a handful of coins are smart? Look at this town. If you stay in one place, put down roots, and do honest work, your money will make money for you! Customers will gladly come and give you their money! I swear, money is like a god!”

“And what about the honor code? Whitebeard doesn’t allow slaves.”

“Flying his flag and dealing slaves underneath it…I suppose it doesn’t reflect so well on that old geezer,” said Oliva, cool and confident. He had something to back it up.

Ace walked over to one of the cages. A young fish-man was inside, trembling and cowering, his eyes bewildered and devoid of reason.

“So you’re not afraid of Whitebeard, then.”

“Why would I be afraid of someone I’m not even fighting? Everyone’s always pissing their pants over ‘Whitebeard this, Whitebeard that.’ We don’t need two pirates on this island!”

“Two pirates…” That was all that Ace needed to hear. “So who’s backing the slave trade on this island then?” He glared at Oliva.

The man before them was the ostensible leader of the island, but one man alone couldn’t pull off an operation like this.

Swoosh… There was a great rustling around the tent. It sounded like a large group of people surrounding the perimeter—probably Oliva’s men.

Oliva handed his midsized bag to the woman.

“Say…you one of Whitebeard’s men?”

“Nope,” said Ace. “I’m not Whitebeard’s, but I know his code. There’s no slave trade under his flag. I can turn a blind eye to everything you’ve been doing. Just fold up this tent, come clean to Whitebeard, and apologize,” he warned.

“If you ain’t one of Whitebeard’s men, then why are you doin’ his dirty work for him?”

“I’ve been eating his food.”

“What?”

“And I’ve got to work to pay for my meals.”

Ace had displayed his own moral code. It wasn’t about gain or loss. It was about upholding the pirate’s way.

“Why don’t you come and eat on my dime, then? There’s a festival tonight. Or are you thinkin’ my food’s not good enough for you?”

Ace waited.

“There are three other Emperors aside from Whitebeard, you know? In fact, you don’t even gotta fixate on the Jolly Roger at all. There are corrupt countries, dirty Naval officers looking for side business, and even Celestial Dragons…”

There had to be someone else behind this…

“Oh, I see now…” said Ace. “You sold the territory.”

“Technically, I’ve been in talks to see if I could receive ritual cups from them instead.”

It was hard to believe. But this was indeed the source of Oliva’s confidence. At the very least, this was what led him to act this way. He was selling out the ritual oath his own father made with Whitebeard to someone else…

“If you’ve got cups from two sources, then that means you follow two parents. Your old boss received a cup from Whitebeard. So as his heir, that means that symbolically speaking, your father’s father is Whitebeard. And now you’re receiving a ritual cup from someone else? You know that’s—”

“That’s a serious offense.”

The air positively crackled. The voice that emerged from the wooden box set all the caged animals stirring uneasily.

The cart trembled, and then its wheels abruptly burst off.

Crak-crak-crak-crak! A large creature emerged, breaking out of the wooden box from the inside.

“A bear?!” cried the hoodlum.

“No, man, that’s obviously a festival mask,” Ace sighed. The face wore a bear mask as part of a costume, but there was a human being behind it.

“Whoa, that’s a big one. You sellin’ him, too?” Oliva said, surveying the enormous bear-faced man, who stood a full two heads taller than him.

“Hey, you little brat! You really gonna waste the cup you received from Whitebeard?” snapped the man.

“What?”

“Hey, why did you bust out?!” Ace snapped at the man in the bear mask—Teech.

“What?” said Teech, turning atop the broken cart to look at Ace. “Why? I mean, why not? It was, uh, whaddaya call it… The moment was right!” There was a fiery desire to fight in his eyes.

They knew where the slaves were being kept, and they knew what Oliva was up to. Now was the time to set things straight.

Wallace and the other pirates who had pulled the cart in removed their own shackles and picked up weapons hidden inside the boxes. Meanwhile, Oliva’s forces rushed into the tent from the outside.

“Aaagh!” the hoodlum shrieked. Banshee removed her own shackles too, and threw him aside so she could get back to Ace.

The pirates surrounded Oliva, and Oliva’s troops surrounded the pirates.

“Oh, we’re makin’ a killing tonight. You were settin’ a trap for me from the start! Very bold move…but I’ve got hundreds of armed men out there, with more arriving by the minute.”

“I don’t care how many hundreds you have,” snarled Ace.

“Without a flag for them to fly over their heads, they’re all a worthless rabble… Zeha ha ha ha!” Teech laughed. He was ready to let loose with his fists at any moment.

But it was Ace who gave the final notice. “So, Oliva… You’re not going to apologize, then?”

“Why the hell would I be the one to apologize?! I’m gonna tie weights to all yer feet and toss ya into the depths! Hey, you…go and unleash the secret weapon!” Oliva commanded. His secretary rushed away and pulled a lever on one of the cages.

Clank! The heavy lock on the massive cage clicked and opened.

Brrrrmmmm…

“Ah!”

A black shadow rushed forward, quick as lightning. There was a massive impact, and Ace was thrown clear through the tent fabric and into the night.

Ace traced a burning line through the sky, his body already halfway turned to fire, and recovered his balance in time to land on his feet.

“What was that?!” he exclaimed, turning back to the tent in shock.

“That’s an entelodont! A hell-pig!” roared Oliva’s underlings.

“Get them! That beast will attack and devour anything it sees! It’s a carnivorous pig!”

“We’re supposed to be shipping that one to Impel Down! To it, humans are just a meal!”

In terms of size, it was about the equal of a rhinoceros. It was porcine, and looked like a warthog, with long tusks and sharp teeth.

“Aaaagh! Don’t run at us!” screamed Oliva’s men, as the entelodont began to charge in their direction.

“Serves you right, you idiots,” muttered Ace, putting himself into the path of the charging beast.

Brrmmmmm…

Doom!

Ace extended his palm toward the entelodont, which abruptly stopped short in its charge. The bristling, snarling beast suddenly calmed, as though under a magic spell. It sat down on the ground and looked at Ace with eyes that were bigger and cuter than they had initially seemed.

“Whoa, whoa… Heh, why am I saying that? You’re not a horse. What are you supposed to say to calm down a pig? I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ace said. He rubbed the snout of the now tame entelodont.

It was Haki. The force of Ace’s presence calmed the raging animal without it realizing what was happening.

“I guess they were poachers, or wild game hunters. We met our wildcat Kotatsu when it was caught in a hunter’s trap in the forest. I guess they had you in a cage so they could sell you to someone else,” he said, reminiscing on how his crew came together.

Oliva’s soldiers were stunned at the sight of the young man with the nose mask who had just tamed the ferocious monster.

Ace glared at them. He didn’t bother to hide his distaste.

“You know…I don’t like people who do that sort of thing.”

Then he removed his fake nose, and let fire wreathe his hand.

“Aieeeee!”

“Is that…F-Fire Fist?!”

It was only a matter of minutes.

“Phew.”

The result was total annihilation. Ace used his fire powers to knock out those of Oliva’s troops who were outside the tent, breaking their will to fight. Then he looked toward the circus tent.

“Oh no! Teech!”

—8—

Inside the tent was a horror scene.

Bodies lay everywhere, victims of a disaster that felled them with overwhelming power.

Everyone who stood in the way of the man with the bear mask was now unconscious. Everyone, including the secretary and the older woman. Even the iron support pillars were leaning askew.

“Zeha ha ha ha…”

“Makin’…a…killing…” gasped Oliva, who was on his last legs. He had some confidence in his own skill as a fighter. But him against Teech was truly a battle between a giant bear and a tiny monkey.

“I’m not in a friendly mood right now.” Teech’s fingertips squeezed. With his tremendous strength, he could crush a human neck like an apple.

“Urg…ghl…”

“What was that you were sayin’? The end of the era of strength? Was that it? Zeha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“Gonna make a killing…starting with…you…”

With trembling hands, Oliva still managed to point his pistol at Teech.

“Zeha ha ha ha! Remember this!”

Bam!!

Teech slammed Oliva’s body to the floor.

“All you do is talk.”

“Brmf…!”

Oliva’s entire body twitched and shuddered, driven entirely through the stage below. Teech’s hand clenched harder around the man’s neck.

“Would be cruel to only leave you half-dead…”

“That’s it, Teech! We’re done! Stop!” shouted Ace, appearing at last.

He had returned to find a large man wearing a bear mask looming over the young power broker who ruled this town, his flashy suit all bloodied up, pounded right through the floor.

“Ace…” said Banshee.

“Captain Ace…” added Wallace, both of them looking stunned.

“Zeha ha ha ha, zeha ha ha ha!”

“That’s enough,” Ace repeated.

“I don’t think so. This one tried to serve two masters. He broke the code and insulted Pops. There needs to be a reckoning,” said Teech. Among pirates, this was the reasonable way.

“That’s true. But while he might have been in the slaving business, he didn’t try to steal what was Whitebeard’s. He doesn’t understand the code. He’s just a stupid kid. He should be allowed to apologize for what he’s done and make right.”

“Make right? Not even a kid would expect mercy after disrespecting the flag!”

“Eh?”

“See, a flag is like a god! Who’s been shedding blood to ensure Whitebeard’s flag means what it does? That’s right, we have! You gotta understand, money alone ain’t gonna win you any wars!” Teech roared.

Ace’s hands suddenly lit up with flame. “Right at the start, I said that anyone who didn’t want to follow my orders should stay home.”

He was dead serious. Teech recognized that, smirked…and released his death grip on Oliva’s neck. Then he took the bear mask off and grinned confidently. “What did I say earlier? I just got carried away.”

Or, in other words, Don’t get so hot and bothered.

“I’m your caretaker. I’ve seen what you’ve done from start to finish. All that’s left is for me to tell Pops exactly what I saw.”

“Oh, really?”

“Are you gonna challenge him again when we go back? It ain’t easy to get a leg up on others! Zeha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

The tent made a creaking sound. It wasn’t going to last long. Ace gave his crewmates orders to free the slaves and animals from their cages, and the group hurriedly made their way out of the circus tent.