Chapter One

—1—

The continuous continent that rings the globe and splits it into two halves is called the Red Line. Now, imagine there’s a perpendicular line that intersects the Red Line starting from Reverse Mountain.

That would be the Grand Line.

The Grand Line and the Red Line split the world into four seas: the East Blue, West Blue, South Blue and North Blue. Two windless stretches parallel to the Grand Line called the Calm Belt separate it from those seas and prevent sea travel across them. Thus the world has five major seas, with the Grand Line as a central axis.

About eight hundred years ago—over a period called the Hundred-Year Void, according to the Ponegliffs—a great kingdom was laid to waste by twenty kings and their clans. Those kings enacted a new World Government, and ruled over the capital city of Marijoa as a new sovereign class—the Celestial Dragons.

This story is simply cobbled together from the theories of renowned historians and those exiled from the sacred capital; the truth is quite unclear. All texts and records have been lost to time, and the only medium relating the voices of the past are words carved into ancient stone that is not broken down by the elements.

At present, the government’s order is preserved by the Navy’s military power through the ultimate authority of the Five Elders, who serve at the pleasure of the supreme class, the Celestial Dragons. Member nations of the World Government acquire rights, responsibilities, and security through attendance at the council meeting known as the Reverie. But unaffiliated countries and lands exist in more remote regions. The most distant of these are the territories of the Four Emperors, with occasional examples of dual affiliation, such as member states that are also under the influence of major pirates.

—2—

Sacred Marijoa is along the Red Line on the opposite side of the world from Reverse Mountain. Ten thousand meters directly below it is an underwater cave on the seafloor that acts as a relay point between the first half of the Grand Line and the second half, known as the New World.

This relay point is none other than the Ryugu Kingdom, often called Fish-Man Island.

The main island of Ryugu Kingdom was inside a gigantic air bubble. At the end of the little interior harbor, a ship that had been coated for undersea travel was docked. Up above was a smaller bubble containing King Neptune’s palace, connected to the island by special travel tubes.

“I’ve never witnessed such a sight… It’s so beautiful…my word…” muttered a masked man, jotting notes in a little memo book.

It was light, pale orange from the sunset.

The grand sun tree, Eve, stood over ten thousand meters tall and brought the light from the surface down to the seafloor through its trunk. It was nearly nighttime up there. Down here, inside a special, resilient bubble made from tree sap, the combination of light and oxygen supported a unique ecosystem. Coral, plants, even forests—ten thousand meters below the surface, Fish-Man Island was its own special biotope. Because of its oxygen, it could support not just fish-men, who could breathe in the water, but humans as well.

“‘Beautiful, scary’… ‘Maybe this is what aquarium fish feel like’…”

“Don’t read that, Wallace,” snapped the masked man, closing his book when someone started reading it out loud over his shoulder.

“You should let me read that sometime, Deuce. What d’you call it, an adventure journal? Mihal taught me how to read.”

Wallace was the curious type. His spiked fins made him look menacing and mature, but in fact he was closer to boyhood. He was a weedy stingfish fish-man.

“It’s good that you’re learning. But this is more of an outline for my own benefit than something to show others. I’ll look for a good, proper adventure book to give you later.”

“Books are rare on Fish-Man Island. The water ruins the paper.”

“I see. Yes, that’s a very clever observation.”

The man in the mask—appropriately named Masked Deuce—liked to write story ideas in his book, too. His dream was to write a nautical adventure novel one day, in the style of Louis Arnot’s Brag Men.

“At any rate, I’m glad we made it safely. They say 70 percent of human ships trying to reach Fish-Man Island sink in the process.”

“Your homeland is a beautiful place, Wallace. I can see why so many pirates risk their lives for a chance to visit it.”

Deuce’s pirate crew was traveling the Grand Line, and after causing a major incident at Sabaody Archipelago, they had made their way under the waves with their ship properly coated. Their vessel, the Piece of Spadille, successfully completed a voyage that failed 70 percent of the time and docked at Fish-Man Island. This was surely thanks to the help offered by Wallace, a former resident of the place who knew how to manage the seafloor.

“Sure, but I wasn’t raised here. I grew up in the Fish-Man District.”

“Huh? There are other islands?”

“You saw that enormous sunken ship on the way here, didn’t you? It’s called Noah…”

Next to the mammoth ship was another island, a giant clamshell in a bubble. This place was more of a slum for fish-men of low repute, such as pirates and thieves.

“A slum, huh? I guess every country is the same. That Sun crew—they were fish-man pirates, too?”

“Yes, many of them were from Fish-Man District. They were like heroes to us street urchins. But you humans shouldn’t go anywhere near there. You’d be throwing your lives away.”

People still remembered the Sun Pirates, who became infamous enemies of humanity when they launched an attack against the Navy Headquarters itself.

Relations between humans and fish-men were not good.

Humans saw the fish-men, with their innate physical superiority, as a threat. Some fish-men saw humans as an inferior species. So the humans, with their numerical advantage, oppressed the fish-men with the power of the World Government.

At the start of the Great Age of Piracy, a wave of human pirates rushed through Fish-Man Island on their way to the New World and abducted many young mermaids on the way. They made for preposterously expensive slaves.

The Sun Pirates were still active after the death of their captain, the fish-man hero Fisher Tiger, but several years before his successor had joined the Seven Warlords and now did the World Government’s bidding. Apparently, the upshot was that Fish-Man Island was safer and more open than before. But it did nothing to solve the actual issues between humans, fish-men and mermaids.

At any rate, it wasn’t a place for pirates to linger long.

“Master Deu,” said another member of the crew, a man wearing a skull mask and an abundance of skeleton-themed accessories. He looked quite ominous.

“Hey, Skull.”

The man’s name was Skull. He loved to collect pirate gear, and one of his hobbies was boarding pirate ships he took a shine to and working as a menial deckhand as they sailed. His knowledge about pirates was encyclopedic, and he had a better ear for the latest intel than a beat writer does for a scoop.

“We finished up with the cargo. These fish-men are nicer than I expected. Rip-off prices, but still…”

“Hey, it’s ten thousand meters under the sea. You’ve got to expect some import fees. Where are the others?”

“They rushed right off to the Mermaid Café.”

“Dammit,” Deuce sighed.

One of the crowning attractions of Fish-Man Island was gorgeous mermaids. There was no end of men willing to risk their lives by diving to the bottom of the sea to fulfill their dreams of frolicking with vivacious, mostly bare-skinned young mermaids. When the only thing separating you from death was a wooden plank, this was a paradise worth making your life’s final destination.

“You mean they went to the bottom of the sea just to visit a rip-off café? Our captain’s with them, I assume?”

Skull mumbled and took a while to find the words. “Master Ace…was with them…until recently.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again.”

He had wandered off. Normally, you’d call this “getting lost,” but their captain was the type of man who claimed that the Spade Pirates were wherever he was, so he didn’t realize how bad his problem really was.

—3—

On the main part of Fish-Man Island was a residential district made of coral and stacked up like the inside of a beehive. The upper levels were more expensive, with plenty of sunlight—the neighborhood of the wealthy, Fishverly Hills. Down below, the commoners’ homes were concentrated for greater density.

And near the bottom, at a restaurant that was far from fancy, a small uproar was underway.

“What’s up with him?”

“He fell asleep in the middle of eating!”

The customers whispered and murmured among themselves, glancing occasionally at the counter.

Specifically, at a young human guest.

Despite the sunlight, Fish-Man Island was still ten thousand meters under the sea, and the surrounding water temperature was quite cold, yet the man was only wearing shorts, a hat and no shirt. It was more common to see human visitors dressed as though they were visiting a winter island.

There was also a tattoo on his arm. That wasn’t rare; the vast majority of human visitors to Fish-Man Island were pirates, after all.

The young man appeared to have plunged face-first into the large plate of fish before him on the counter. In each hand was a fork with a morsel of meat stuck on the end. He was as still as the dead.

“Um…sir?” inquired a waitress.

“Pwoa!!”

“Ah!”

He bolted upright suddenly, looking around in utter bewilderment.

“Hmm?” He spotted the waitress, and for reasons only he could explain, used her apron to wipe his face.

“Eeek!”

“What kind of fish-man are you, Miss?” the freckled, mischievous-looking young man said, leaning in close. The waitress wasn’t entirely sure how to react.

“E…eel. ♥”

“In that case, Miss, I’ll have some more eel pie. And a mug of the bubbly stuff.”

“Eeeeek!” the eel fish-man waitress shrieked, wriggling her way back to the kitchen.

“Phew… Oh, man,” said the young man, scratching his head. “I passed out for a minute.”

It was at that point that he realized he was the center of attention of the other diners. Why did he pass out midbite? What kind of disorder does he have?

“Sorry for disturbing your meal, folks,” he apologized, and resumed gobbling down his food.

The very odd man with the peculiarly timed courtesy confused the other guests, but they seemed willing to let it go, and turned back to the conversations at their own tables.

“Passin’ out while you eat? What’s that all about?”

“Hmm?” The young man raised his head.

A plate of eel pie was before him, but it hadn’t come from the waitress. It came from a fierce-looking man with his long hair tied up in the back.

“So I got a ship, right? There are tough guys on board, smart guys on board, but there’s one thing we’re missing.”

“What’s that?”

“We don’t have a cook. So when I get to eat at a delicious place like this, my heart passes out from joy.”

“Heh… Gee, thanks.”

“What kind of fish-man are you, Mister?”

“I’m a goatsbeard brotula merman, actually. And before you ask, we’re out of brotula today.”

“Mmm,” murmured the young man, popping the fresh-baked pie, which featured several eel heads, directly into his mouth. Indeed, the merman’s lower half ended in fishy fins.

“You’re a bold young pirate to be here all alone,” said the goatsbeard brotula merman from across the counter.

“Oh yeah? Hey, this is tasty.”

“Haven’t you heard about the recent attacks at Fish-Man Island? Happens to human pirates, and even some fish-men who cooperate with humans.”

“Sounds violent… Yeah, this is some good eel.”

“Hey. Listen to me.”

“So who’s attacking who?” the young man asked as he ate.

“It started years ago. Queen Otohime of Ryugu Kingdom lost her life,” explained the merman, wiping a glass with a rag.

He described how, until about two hundred years ago, fish-men and mermen were classified as “fish” by humans. That was when the Ryugu Kingdom was finally allowed to join the World Government and attend the Reverie, the meeting of world leaders. But the humans continued to despise the fish-men, and naturally, the fish-men did not take kindly to humans, either.

Queen Otohime spoke passionately about coexisting with the humans, and gathered signatures for her petition.

“Queen Otohime really wanted us to find harmony with you humans. But someone who didn’t take kindly to that idea assassinated her.”

“Ah…”

The young man glanced at the wall. There was a wanted poster there, but not the bounty posters that the World Government and the Navy sent out. This one was only for within the Ryugu Kingdom.

The wanted man’s name was Vander Decken.

“And that guy did it?” the young man asked, pointing to the poster.

“No…he’s a different case.”

There was a legend of the sea passed down by many a sailor. One stormy day a pirate captain went mad and hurled his crew overboard, drowning them. God was furious about the captain’s actions and sentenced him to eternal torment, doomed to wander the sea forever.

Dead men’s fingers have no need for jewels. The darkness hides even their regrets.

Find it! Find it! The sunken treasure is mine for the taking.

I’m the richest man in the world.

Captain Vander Decken!

It was the tale of a famous ghost ship that wandered the seafloor, known as the Flying Dutchman.

“Whatever generation of Vander Decken we’re on now…in any case he’s a pirate fish-man who ate a Devil Fruit. Who ever heard of doing such a thing?”

Devil Fruits were thought of as personifications of the devils of the sea. Anyone who took a bite of one would gain strange and mighty powers—able to transform into powerful beasts and birds, or turn their bodies into blades or bombs, or even become natural phenomena like fire and ice…

“A Devil Fruit, huh?”

There was one major cost, a curse the Devil Fruit conferred. In exchange for its power, the person who possessed that power became an enemy of the sea. Not only did their powers no longer function if they fell into the sea, but they lost even the strength to swim or float on their own.

“Somethin’ funny about that?”

“You gotta admit, a fish-man who can’t swim is pretty funny,” the young man said, snorting at the wanted pirate named Vander Decken.

“The late Queen Otohime had three sons and one daughter. And would you believe it, that shameless Vander Decken asked the daughter, Princess Shirahoshi, to marry him.”

“Whoa. Is it a crime to ask someone to marry you here?”

“It is if you’re an undesirable stalker. He keeps trying to coerce her into accepting his request.”

Long story short, the fish-man pirate Vander Decken the Somethingth, a man who couldn’t swim, was using his Devil Fruit powers to threaten the Princess Shirahoshi and the Ryugu royal family. In order to shelter from his power’s attacks, she’d been forced into hiding for years in a palace called Shell Tower.

“Sounds violent.”

“These are the times we live in.”

“What’s the king doing, then? He’s gotta be pretty tough if he’s the king, right? Can’t he keep his own daughter safe?”

“Eh?”

“If he can’t, sounds like he could be at imminent risk of a coup d’état,” observed the young man, taking another sip of his drink.

“Watch what you say around here, youngster.” The bartender stopped wiping his glass.

“Sorry. My bad. I’m a pirate; an outsider. Doesn’t matter to me what happens in places I’m just passing through,” said the man, chowing down on one of the eel heads from the pie. He had an appetite as ravenous as flames licking across grassland in a drought.

“You mentioned a coup. That’s not gonna happen. There are two men who would quickly attend to any such attempts.”

“Two?” said the young man, his voice perked with interest for the first time at what the merman had to say. The air positively crackled with tension. He was about six feet tall and in his late teens. His freckled face and lithe figure still had a boyish look, but it was clear he was not one to be taken lightly.

“A man you humans call Jimbei, First Son of the Sea. He works as one of the Seven Warlords.”

“Seven Warlords…”

“Speakin’ of which, they were talkin’ about some wild young rookie who just turned down an offer to join that group. Anyway, the only reason Jimbei’s there is because of the Sun Pirates, a group started by the abolitionist hero Fisher Tiger, who—”

“I’m not interested in the past.” The young man lifted his glass and held it across the counter for more. The brotula merman filled it from the barrel behind him, glaring.

“And who’s the other one? Who’s really ruling Fish-Man Island? The king? A Warlord?” asked the young man, gazing at the fresh suds on the refilled mug.

“Edward Newgate.”

That was a name that carried weight.

“Fish-Man Island is in the territory of Whitebeard, Emperor of the Sea. King Neptune’s an old friend of Whitebeard’s. So there won’t be any coups here.”

The customers of the restaurant began to murmur among themselves.

“Did you see the Whitebeard Pirates’ flag flying over the harbor?”

“I’ll never forget that day! He just said the word and suddenly messing with Fish-Man Island was off-limits!”

“Whitebeard protects this island with his flag and his name!”

“We trust Whitebeard the pirate more than we do the World Government!”

Emboldened by their drinks, the fish-man customers continued to praise his name.

The goatsbeard brotula merman spoke about the day that Edward Newgate arrived. It was not long after the start of the Great Age of Piracy, when Fish-Man Island found itself ravaged by a storm of pirates.

“I owe Neptune from our younger days,” said Whitebeard, placing his flag over Fish-Man Island in honor of his connection to their king, with whom he’d shared drinks and friendship.

The other pirates were stunned; they’d been enjoying all the pillaging they wanted. And here he was, the world’s strongest pirate.

“Why’s he on the fish-men’s side?!”

“Quit ransackin’ my friend’s kingdom, you snot-nosed punks!”

“I declare Fish-Man Island to be my territory!”

With that simple statement, Fish-Man Island was safe at last. No pirate who visited would dare engage in kidnapping or pillaging. They could only be peaceful visitors, paying proper respect to Whitebeard as the code of honor demanded.

“Whitebeard, huh?”

The young man tilted back his mug and drained the rest of his drink. It was almost as though he meant to drink down Whitebeard himself.

“Phew. Thanks for the meal.” The young man slammed his mug down on the counter and stood up.

“What’s your name, young man?” called out the brotula merman.

The man turned back and gave him a brief glance.

“I’m just a wild young rookie. The one from your story, in fact.”

Silence.

“I’m Portgaz D. Ace. Even here at the bottom of the sea, you’re going to be hearing my name a lot, whether you want to or not.”

The restaurant was completely silent.

“Ace…” said the merman. “What’s the deal with that tattoo, then?” He pointed at the young man’s left arm.

The tattoo there read ASCE, but with the S crossed out. Was it possible that a person could get their own name as a tattoo and spell it wrong?

Portgaz D. Ace just smiled as if to say, Don’t ask stupid questions. He left the restaurant without another word.

The customers looked to the brotula merman, stunned.

“Aladdin…”

“It’s hard to get a read on him. Is he really so bold, or ignorant, or just plain stupid?”

There wasn’t a pirate alive who wouldn’t shiver at the mention of the name Whitebeard. Especially not a rookie. Even one with a bounty of nine digits making his way through Fish-Man Island to the New World wouldn’t be foolish enough to cause trouble in Whitebeard’s territory.

The merman Aladdin, a member of a fish-man pirate crew, just crossed his arms and frowned. “Now, what shall I tell Jimbei?”

“Ah!” the eel waitress gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

“That customer just left without paying…”

“What?”

—4—

There was an old law among fish-men that they would never share their blood with humans.

That meant no transfusions. It was usually the humans who shunned the idea of fish-man blood anyway. The hero Fisher Tiger died because no human would give their blood to save him, it was said.

As it happened, a secret syndicate was operating in the shadows of Fish-Man Island. They targeted not only humans, but also the fish-men who dared to work with them.

Up on the surface, “human shops,” where slaves were bought and sold, were common targets of terrorist activities. And fairly solid evidence indicated that this secret society was behind those attacks, too.

“And when the shop went up in smoke, so did all the humans!”

“Praise the hero! Raise a toast! Serves those humans right!”

In the Fish-Man District, children like Wallace grew up hearing the adults around them praise those who carried out the terrorist attacks. Performing terrorist acts made you a hero. It was almost as though they were competing to see just how much human blood they could shed.

“This is a holy war!”

It was at the height of this movement that Queen Otohime, who argued for harmony with humankind, was assassinated.

Whitebeard’s flag might have protected the fish-man people from pirates, but in the end, it only obscured the problems the fish-men were dealing with among themselves.

“The sun’s so far from this place,” Ace murmured, looking up at the tremendous height of the sun tree, Eve.

He didn’t have connections to the places he passed through, and he wouldn’t get involved. However, he knew that no matter how hard the fish-men tried to avoid facing the twisted hatred they harbored within themselves, and no matter how dutifully the queen had collected signatures in an attempt to paper over the crude reality of the situation, this would come to no good.

Hatred dulls the eyes of those infected by it, and warps their hearts before they realize what has happened.

Queen Otohime was killed by the personification of the hatred that dwelt in Fish-Man Island for generations upon generations. The humans were not the only enemy the fish-men had. They were also their own enemies…

At the harbor of Fish-Man Island…

“Deuce has gone to procure some supplies,” said Mihal, the ship watchman, when Ace returned to the Piece of Spadille.

Mihal had an unusual past for a pirate: he was a former teacher. As he was the eldest, the other crewmates called him “Teach,” and he taught those who couldn’t even read a newspaper headline how to read and write. He was also a crack shot with a rifle.

“That guy’s always in a hurry. Of course, he can’t do anything unless he’s thoroughly prepared for it,” Ace chuckled.

Masked Deuce was the kind of person who felt the need to gather water, reserve food supplies, make a sturdy ship, and even check the weather ahead of time before he tried to get himself off a deserted island in distant seas.

“And you take too much of your fate into your hands when you go, Ace.”

“You think so? Well, if you average us out, we’re just about right, then. Where are the others?”

“Learning lessons of adulthood at the Mermaid Café.”

“Oh, they went there?! Why didn’t they invite me?” Ace griped.

“They said that it wouldn’t be any fun if the captain was there and hogged all the attention for himself. Though Skull is trying to figure out the Navy’s next moves.”

“The Navy?”

“Information tends to disperse here at Fish-Man Island. It’s not likely that the World Government will sit idly by and allow a rookie who refused to join the Seven Warlords pass through without comment.”

“Ugh. That whole thing is such a pain,” Ace sighed, spitting out the toothpick he’d been chewing.

The Five Elders had summoned Ace to join the Seven Warlords at Sabaody Archipelago, but he’d refused—and, sure, it’s also possible he’d demolished a Navy officer in the process. The officer was all talk, a vice admiral for show, but the higher-ups at the Navy didn’t like having their dignity sullied like that.

Something pounced onto the deck.

It was an animal, a cat. A rare species of lynx the size of a full-grown panther. In its jaws was a bloodied, grotesque-looking deep-sea fish.

“Grrrr…meow.”

“Hey, Kotatsu. Looks like you got yourself a treat.”

Ace scratched the neck of the fish-bearing wildcat named Kotatsu, who sidled up to him. The giant cat purred contentedly. Either he’d found the fish at the harbor, or gotten it from one of the fish-man fishers since it was unlikely to sell.

Ace had picked up Kotatsu during his travels. The cat had been caught in a trap set by poachers looking for sideshow creatures, and Ace rescued him. Because of that, he was wary around people, but was very protective of Ace. When it got cold, he always came looking for Ace and wouldn’t leave his side.

“Looks like we’ve got our dinner for tonight,” said Mihal, peering at the deep sea fish in Kotatsu’s jaws.

“Her special pirate stew, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Speaking of which, how’s the cook search going? Are we putting out the call? We gotta do something about the Spade Pirates’ biggest weakness.”

“Weakness? Yes, the food is terrible.” Mihal wiped his glasses. “You’d be hard pressed to call her pirate stew food…”

They were referring to Banshee, a genial and masculine-looking pirate. Without a cook on the ship, she had no choice but to take over the cooking. All she knew how to do was boil or roast or serve food raw, with no seasoning beyond a dash of salt.

“Just between you and me…I ate better when I was with the bandits,” said Ace, recalling his childhood on Mt. Corvo.

“There are limited options for cooking at sea, and we’re a group of men with no domestic skills… Plus, it’s not as though she’s our mother.”

“And if you complain, she’ll cave in your skull with her iron ladle. Er, sorry, ma’am. We always appreciate your cooking,” Ace said, apologizing to the woman who wasn’t there.

A voice called up from below, and he leaned over the side railing. Down on the pier was a scowling Deuce. Skull was with him, too.

“Where were you wandering around, Ace?”

“I was getting food, that’s all.” Ace hopped down onto the pier.

“Well…fine. Once we load up the supplies, we should set sail.”

“Wait! I haven’t been to the Mermaid Café yet.”

“You don’t have to.”

Deuce grabbed the back of Ace’s collar before he could sneak off. Wallace had already gone to the Mermaid Café to summon all the idiots back to the ship.

“C’mon, a little more time won’t hurt. I wanna see the mermaids, too.”

“You see a mermaid all the time… C’mon, the Navy’s on the move. We’re being pursued.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Deuce held out a piece of paper.

DEAD OR ALIVE! Portgaz D. Ace!

It was a Navy wanted poster, the latest version.

“One, ten, hundred, thousand…”

“You’re over a hundred million. It’s gone up. The World Government won’t show mercy to anyone who dares refuse their Warlord offer and shows them up.”

A bounty amount did not always correspond directly to combat strength. According to some, it was the measure of danger posed to the World Government. Therefore, pirates active on the Grand Line tended to have higher bounties than those in remote regions, and defying the government or inflicting harm on Celestial Dragons meant retribution in the form of significantly higher bounties, as a deterrent to others.

“Ha ha.”

“It’s not funny,” Deuce said, scowling harder.

“Really? I think this is fun.”

“Yeah, of course you do. That’s what you’re like,” Deuce said, realizing that it was pointless to explain.

The two met on the deadly lost island of Sixis in the East Blue and escaped from there together. Ace and Deuce formed the Spade Pirates, and had taken the crew this far already. The captain’s bounty was a reflection of that—an appraisal of all they’d done together.

He’d done enough of making a name for himself as a rookie. The time for standing out was over. From this point on, the crew would have to keep winning and surviving in the New World, on the sea where only the real pirates stuck around.

Deuce was worried. All of his preparations were the result of his own sense of anxiety.

But Ace didn’t have worries like that. He had no fear of being eaten up and spat out. He shone and burned as reliably as the sun did, every single day. That was why for Deuce—and for everyone else—Ace was…

“Um, huh?!” Deuce stammered.

Ace was looking up at the flag that flew large and proud over Fish-Man Island harbor.

The Jolly Roger of Whitebeard.

I declare Fish-Man Island to be my territory, said Edward Newgate, Emperor of the Sea. And with that one statement, he kept the pirates away from the island.

His pirate flag represented his promise. And without fear, Ace reached up for that flag.

“Don’t, you idiot!” Deuce hissed at him. “Don’t go picking fights for no reason. Why would you make us more enemies?”

“If you can’t keep up, you can stay behind.”

“Uh…”

“Stay here and chase mermaids. I won’t turn away anyone who wants to be here—I’ve taken on those who aren’t even pirates. But what we’re facing…it’s a voyage to reach the pinnacle of piratehood. I can only use people with the will to fight. Who fights for no reason? If we can’t surpass the Four Emperors, why aim for the top at all?”

A small flame appeared in Ace’s palm. That was a power granted by his Devil Fruit—the Logia-type Flame-Flame Fruit. The fact that he’d bitten into that fruit meant he could turn himself into flame.

“Fine, I get it. But still, Ace—don’t.”

“Boss, if you burn that flag, there are more than a dozen commanders in the Whitebeard Pirates with dozens of other crews under them who will all want to destroy us forever,” warned Deuce and Skull.

“Wait, Whitebeard has that many people under him?” Ace said.

“His entire force numbers in the tens of thousands.”

“So that’s the top, huh?” Fire wreathed Ace’s form. “I’m gonna raise my flag. The flag of the Spade Pirates that will carry my renown up with it. This is the New World!”

It caught fire.

Flame engulfed the flag bearing Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger.

Just then, Wallace returned with the rest of the gang. They saw their captain turning to fire. Many different expressions adorned their faces, but none of them were quaking with fear.

“Sheesh. Why would you make things harder for yourself like this?”

They needed to set sail again before the scene got any more out of control, Deuce realized. He started giving orders to the crew.

“What’s the first thing we do in the New World?” Skull asked the captain.

“We’ll need to pay our respects.”

“I know you, Ace. You’re going to pop him in the mouth to make a name for yourself, aren’tcha?”

“Will you do me a favor, Skull? Help me make it so these Four Emperors—these people who think they’re so high and mighty in the security of their titles—can never ignore my name again.”

Skull saw the ambition burning behind his captain’s words like the flame he embodied, and nodded quietly.

“Then let’s sail…to the New World!”

With the burning flag, they would hoist the name of Portgaz D. Ace.

For fame.

There was twisted hatred in Ace’s heart toward the man who was executed as the world’s greatest and most infamous criminal, Gol D. Roger. It was a wordless rebellion against the father he’d never met, a figure whose absence tormented him. Inside him were ugly, messy things he didn’t want to remember. Things to give to the fire, to turn into ash.

With his hands as the flames.

Ace strove to become even more famous than the King of the Pirates. He wanted enough fame to flip the history books to a new age. Enough to lead a world revolution. To do great things. Because if he didn’t achieve this, Ace knew that his deep-rooted hatred for his father, and for the world at large, would kill him.

I will live without regrets.

He swore it with the tattoo on his left arm. And he could never let himself be contained.