The seas surrounding Wano Country were unlike any in the world. A maelstrom of chaos and beauty—vast, roaring, alive. The very waters that cradled the isolated nation were both shield and executioner, an ever-churning storm that devoured the uninvited.
Massive whirlpools twisted endlessly beneath thunder-dark clouds, their spiraling depths capable of crushing ships like toys. Waves the height of mountains crashed against jagged cliffs, each impact echoing like a cannon's roar. And within the chaos, the currents danced erratically, guided by unseen forces—currents so treacherous that even the most seasoned navigators lost all sense of direction the moment they crossed into Wano's waters.
Those who dared approach without knowledge of the safe routes vanished within minutes—swallowed whole by the sea's merciless embrace. It was said that the waters around Wano were alive, that the storms themselves obeyed the will of the nation's rulers.
To the world beyond, Wano was a fortress built by nature—impenetrable, untamed, and fiercely proud. There were only two known ways to breach its oceanic walls.
The first, and most infamous, was the Climbing Koi Waterfall—a sight equal parts magnificent and suicidal. Enormous koi fish, shimmering like living gold, swam upward through torrents that cascaded from the clouds above. Those who sought passage this way had to tether their ships to the creatures, allowing themselves to be pulled up the impossible waterfall that rose from the sea to the sky.
It was a gamble of fate — one misstep, one mistimed command, and both man and vessel would be cast down, shattered against the rocks below. Few survived that ascent. Fewer still returned to tell the tale.
The second route was whispered of only among the privileged and the damned — a hidden tunnel concealed behind one of the great waterfalls. Its entrance lay masked beneath the eternal downpour, invisible to the untrained eye. That tunnel led to Mogura Port, a cavernous harbor buried deep within the mountain's heart.
There, gondolas ferried goods and people through a network of secret channels, carrying them safely inland to the capital. But that path was not for wanderers.
It was forbidden—a route sealed to all but those who carried the mark of permission from Kaidō, the supreme ruler of Wano. For years, under his iron grip, not even the wind dared to whisper the truth of that secret passage.
The waters surrounding Wano had always been a natural barrier—merciless, unpredictable, a kingdom of storms that devoured the unworthy. But on this day, the sea itself would bear witness to something far rarer—the quiet strength of a man whose justice was as heavy as the heavens themselves.
A few hundred miles from Wano's jagged coast, a Beast Pirates patrol ship drifted lazily across the restless ocean. The crew—rough, bloodstained men with too much time and too little purpose—amused themselves with the only games they knew: collecting tolls from trembling merchants, slaughtering fishermen for sport, and setting nearby islands ablaze under the banner of Kaidō's "protection."
The sea reeked of oil, gunpowder, and cruelty.
"Oye… do you recognize that ship over there?" One of them barked, squinting into the distance.
His companion looked up from tinkering with a broken oil lamp, irritation flashing across his scarred face. The first pirate shoved a spyglass into his hands, which the second man took reluctantly.
"No Jolly Roger… no merchant colors either," the man muttered, adjusting the focus. "Looks like some poor sod who drifted off course. Probably got tossed around by one of those weird storms. Hah… bad luck for them."
He grinned, tossing the lamp aside and reaching for his cutlass.
"Should we… uh, tell the officers on the mainland?" the first pirate asked hesitantly. His tone betrayed his reluctance—it had been weeks since they'd spilled blood, and the thought of handing their prize over to the higher-ups soured his mood.
"Bah!" the second spat. "Why share the loot? Let's handle it ourselves. We sink 'em, we split the take—nice and clean."
A cheer went up from the deck, wild and eager. The stench of greed mixed with the salt of the sea. Among Kaidō's underlings, such reckless impulses were the norm; an occasional raid here or there was nothing worth reporting.
"Ready the cannons, boys!" the pirate roared. "Let's remind these fools who owns these seas!"
The deck erupted into chaos—men shouting, boots pounding against planks slick with sea spray, and gunpowder barrels being rolled into place.
But on the ship across the waves… there was only silence.
Standing on the bow of the dark-hulled vessel was a tall, blind man with a faint smile carved across his calm, weathered face. Issho, known to the world as Fujitora, tilted his head slightly toward the voices echoing across the sea—voices his Kenbunshoku Haki traced as easily as ripples in still water.
"Issho-san," a man beside him said urgently. "Shall I order the men to load the cannons? We can blow them out of the water before they even reach our range."
He was a high-ranking member of the Donquixote Family, the ship's original captain—until Issho had commandeered it for this mission. Compared to the blind swordsman, the man knew his place; Issho's word was law.
Issho's smile didn't fade. "No," he said softly. "We are here to carry out a stealth mission, not call for attention. Let us handle this quietly… without fanfare."
Beside him, Jinbe—the future Knight of the Sea—crossed his arms, his gills flaring slightly. His patience had worn thin during the voyage. Issho had requested his assistance but had yet to ask him to act, even as Wano's shadow loomed closer on the horizon.
"I can help you sink their ship without causing much commotion," Jinbe offered, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Let me handle the ship."
Issho simply shook his head, his fingers brushing the hilt of the blade resting at his side—a Supreme Grade Sword, its lacquered sheath gleaming faintly in the sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Then, without a word, he drew it halfway from its scabbard—the faint metallic whisper cutting through the wind. Holding the sheathed sword vertically before him, Issho murmured a single phrase:
"Jigoku Tabi…"
The world stopped breathing. For one suspended heartbeat, all sound died—no creak of wood, no crash of waves. Then… the sky above the Beast Pirates' ship began to bend.
Ripples of violet energy pulsed outward like rings in shattered glass. Clouds twisted violently, drawn into a spiraling vortex that howled as though the heavens themselves were collapsing.
"What the—!?" a pirate screamed, stumbling back as his musket slipped from his hands. The sea beneath their hull began to tremble—vibrating, as if something massive stirred in the abyss below.
"Oi! Why's the water rising—?" He never finished the question. The ocean split open.
A massive, swirling crater appeared where the waves once danced—a chasm of blackness that reached down into the world's bones. The ship lurched violently, its bow tilting toward the void. Men screamed as gravity—real, crushing gravity—pulled them downward, their bodies weightless one instant and unbearably heavy the next.
The mast cracked. Cannons tore free from their restraints and plunged into the darkness.
"No! Reverse course! Reverse—!!" the captain shrieked, but his words were lost to the roaring gale. Above them, purple lightning carved through the clouds, and from within the collapsing storm, pressure descended—a tidal force that obliterated everything it touched.
The Beast Pirates' ship buckled. The wood groaned, then shattered like glass under an invisible weight. In the span of a breath, hull, men, and mast were crushed into nothingness—a fine red mist swallowed by the endless void.
And then, just as suddenly as it came, the anomaly vanished. The sea folded back upon itself. The waves settled. The wind stilled. Not even a single plank floated to the surface. Only a perfectly smooth patch of water remained — eerily calm, as if the ocean had simply erased all evidence of what had ever existed there.
On the distant ship, Jinbe's gills flared. His jaw tightened as the aftershock reached them—an invisible pressure that made even the air feel heavy. He turned to Issho, whose blade now rested peacefully in its sheath. The blind swordsman stood unmoving, his head bowed as though offering a prayer to the fallen.
Jinbe swallowed hard. The ocean—his ocean—had been crushed. He had seen storms that split islands and sea kings that swallowed fleets whole, but this… This was different.
"Monster…" he whispered under his breath.
Issho's lips curved faintly into a calm, almost sorrowful smile. "Monster?" he echoed softly. "No, Jinbe-kun… merely a man who sees too much of hell in this world."
He turned toward Wano's storm-wrapped horizon—the mountains rising like black blades from the mist. Issho rested his hand atop his cane-sword, his blind gaze fixed toward the horizon that his eyes could not see —buthis heart could feel.
"Do you want me to accompany you into Wano…?" he asked softly, his voice low but clear enough to be heard over the hum of the waves.
The question hung in the air like the weight of a choice that could not be taken lightly.
Jinbei, standing nearby, turned his head slightly toward the man sitting cross-legged by the deck railing—the one Issho had addressed. Though the Fishman didn't know much about him, the man's bearing, the quiet restraint in his posture, and the blade resting across his shoulders told Jinbei everything he needed to know.
A samurai.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his physique honed by decades of discipline and battle. His dark-blue hair—long and untamed—was tied into a neat ponytail that swayed lightly with the motion of the ship. Sharp, round eyes reflected a deep intelligence, the kind born of pain and purpose.
Denjiro sat with his back against the railing, one knee raised, his sheathed katana balanced across his shoulders like a burden too familiar to be heavy. He hadn't spoken much since the ship departed Dressrosa; his silence wasn't born of arrogance but of contemplation. Every gust of sea wind seemed to whisper the name of his homeland—Wano, the land he once called home and now sought to reclaim.
When Denjiro had learned that Issho was heading to Wano for a special mission, he had pleaded to be taken along. For years, he and Lady Hiyori had lived under the protection of the Donquixote Family, their asylum a secret known to only a select few. It had been a strange alliance—samurai and pirates—but one forged from necessity and mutual respect.
Yet even within that safety, Denjiro's resolve had never dulled. His heart still beat to the rhythm of rebellion. Kaidō's rule had turned Wano into a cage—one bound by steel, fear, and greed. But Denjiro knew the Beast Pirates alone weren't enough to hold an entire country.
Behind them stood the corrupted daimyo and merchant clans who propped Kaidō's tyranny, each for their own twisted reasons—fear, ambition, or the satisfaction of ancient grudges against the Kozuki line. Now, as Wano loomed ahead, Denjiro saw his chance. This trip was not merely a return home — it was the first step in sowing the seeds of liberation.
"No, Issho-san," Denjiro replied at last, his voice calm but heavy with resolve. "It's better I handle this alone. I don't yet know who I can still trust within those borders. Many of the daimyo still walking free have either bent the knee to Kaidō or lost the courage to stand against him. I need to see them with my own eyes before I decide who is ally… and who is poison."
He straightened slightly, setting his katana down beside him, the scabbard gleaming faintly in the mist. "Besides," he added with a faint smile, "I have already taken much from your family's kindness. I cannot always look to the Donquixote name for salvation. This is my fight… and my duty."
Jinbei observed the exchange silently, recognizing the unspoken respect between these two men—warriors of vastly different paths, yet bound by shared conviction. Issho's expression didn't waver. He merely tilted his head, reaching into the folds of his robe before tossing something gently across the deck.
The small object spun once in the air before Denjiro caught it cleanly—a mini transponder snail, its shell patterned like polished stone.
"Keep this with you," Issho said. "If trouble finds you—and it will—use that. I will come."
Denjiro bowed his head slightly, his grip tightening around the snail. "My thanks, Issho-san. You owe me nothing, yet you continue to lend your hand. For that, I am in your debt."
"No debt," Issho replied, his blind eyes lifting toward the sound of the crashing waves. "You protect your lady. I protect the young ones of my family. That is all."
At the mention of Hiyori, a flicker of warmth softened Denjiro's stern face. He remembered the day he'd first objected to her training under Issho—fearing she'd be corrupted by pirates and killers. But in time, he had come to see the truth. The blind swordsman had taught her with the same patience, precision, and compassion he offered the Donquixote youth—perhaps even more. And under Issho's tutelage, Lady Hiyori had bloomed not into a sheltered princess, but a warrior of will and wisdom.
Perhaps, Denjiro thought, that was the greatest gift the Donquixote Family had given Wano's future—not protection, but strength.
Issho's voice broke the silence once more, deep and serene.
"We'll leave Wano once our mission is complete. So I suggest you finish whatever you plan before then." He turned his face slightly, as though his empty eyes could see the samurai's bow. "I'll reach out to you before we depart."
Denjiro nodded once, standing and slinging his katana over his shoulder. "Understood. By the time you call, I'll have done what I came for."
Issho gave a small, satisfied smile. "Then may the wind favor your steps, Denjiro-kun."
The jagged cliffs of Wano loomed closer with every passing minute, their black silhouettes cutting through the mist like ancient blades. The air had grown heavy with salt and tension, and even the waves seemed to move with caution as the Donquixote ship carved its way through the turbulent waters.
Standing at the starboard rail, Jinbei watched the horizon intently, his brows furrowed. Something wasn't adding up.
"So… how exactly are we getting into Wano, Issho-dono?" The fishman finally asked, his deep voice carrying over the wind. "We're not heading toward the waterfall… and the tunnel route—" he paused, glancing toward the cliffs in the opposite direction, "—is supposed to be heavily guarded. You're not telling me we plan to fight through Kaidō's men just to sneak in, are you?"
Issho turned his head slightly, the faintest smile touching his weathered face. "No, Jinbei-kun," he said, calm as ever. "We're not taking either of those routes."
Before Jinbei could press further, one of the crewmen hurried across the deck, saluting hastily as he approached the blind swordsman.
"Issho-sama! The cargo has been secured, and the ship is ready!" the man reported quickly—and without waiting for a reply, sprinted to the mainmast, wrapping his arms and legs around it as if his life depended on it.
Jinbei blinked, his confusion deepening as he noticed the rest of the crew following suit. One by one, they grabbed onto anything that could serve as an anchor—ropes, barrels, even the cannons bolted to the deck. Their faces were dead serious, the kind of seriousness born from experience.
Even Denjiro, who had been lounging casually against the railing moments ago, now sat upright, both hands gripping the hilt of his sheathed katana. His expression was calm, but his posture was stiff—ready.
Jinbei's gills flared slightly. "What… exactly is going on here?"
Issho chuckled, the sound low and almost playful. "I suggest you hold onto something, Jinbei-kun. You're about to find out."
The fishman frowned, glancing around. "Hold on? Why would I—"
The words died in his throat. The ship lurched. In an instant, the entire vessel shuddered as if struck by a giant's fist. The sea beneath them fell away. Barrels rolled, ropes whipped, and the hull creaked like a living thing protesting the impossible.
"W-WHAT IN THE—?!" Jinbei roared, grabbing the railing with both hands as the galleon began to rise.
It was as though an invisible god had reached down and plucked the entire ship from the sea. The water below spiraled violently, forming a vast crater that deepened with every passing second as gravity itself turned against nature.
Sails flapped wildly in the rushing wind. The crew clung to the deck for dear life, faces stretched in panic, hair and hats flying everywhere. One man screamed, "NOT AGAIN!" while another shouted, "WHY IS THIS ALWAYS OUR SHIP?!"
Meanwhile, Issho stood serenely at the bow—one hand resting lightly on his sheathed blade, his robes fluttering in the updraft. His expression didn't change; he looked like a monk in meditation, utterly still amid chaos.
Denjiro let out a quiet sigh, his hair whipping around his face as the ship climbed higher and higher. "I'd forgotten what this feels like," he muttered under his breath.
From the corner of his eye, Jinbei shot him a look halfway between disbelief and outrage. "You've done this before?!"
"Twice," Denjiro admitted flatly. "Once was enough."
The galleon continued to ascend, higher and higher, until the white-crested waves below looked like threads on blue silk. The storm clouds surrounding Wano swirled below them now, their lightning glinting faintly through the mist.
The air grew thin and cold. The setting sun's light shimmered off the hull as the ship pierced through the cloudline — sailing where no ship was ever meant to sail. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the upward pull stopped. The entire vessel floated in eerie silence, hovering weightlessly in the sky. The only sound was the faint groan of wood under strain — and the collective disbelief of every man on board.
Jinbei slowly released his grip on the railing, still staring at the sea of clouds below. "So this is… how we're getting in," he murmured, half in awe, half in dread. "You're planning to fly us into Wano?"
Issho's smile widened faintly, his milky eyes reflecting nothing and everything all at once.
"Why swim against the storm," he said quietly, "when one can simply rise above it?"
The crew broke into a mix of nervous laughter and terrified muttering. One of them whispered, "I swear this is how I'm gonna die…" while another crossed himself and said, "If the sea gods are watching, please let me land face first in sake."
Even Denjiro, for all his composure, allowed himself a small grin as he looked toward Wano's towering cliffs. "The blind man truly sees more than any of us."
As the ship slowly began its controlled descent toward Wano's mist-wrapped shores, Jinbei looked once more at the calm, unflinching figure standing at the bow—the man who, with a thought, could bend the heavens and the sea to his will.
For all his travels across the Grand Line, for all the monsters and gods he'd seen, Jinbei could not help but think — This man… is one of the pillars that hold the Donquixote Family together.
And as the ship glided through the clouds like a ghostly bird descending upon the Land of Samurai, not a single man dared to speak above a whisper—afraid that even their words might disturb the power holding them aloft.
Below, the endless storms of Wano raged on—but above them, the Donquixote ship drifted quietly, carried not by wind or wave… but by the unyielding will of the heavens' gravity itself.
****
Far beneath the restless surface of the sea, where sunlight could no longer reach, a ship sailed not upon the ocean but within it.
Its hull was sheathed in a translucent membrane that shimmered faintly, a protective cocoon forged from resin and coral. The currents pressed around it like a living thing, but the vessel cut through the abyssal blue in near silence, hidden from the world above.
Inside, the dim lanterns glowed with bioluminescent algae, casting ghostly green light across the deck. Schools of curious fish darted past the windows as though following the unnatural silhouette moving through their domain.
But the real quiet came not from the sea—it came from the men within. Every one of them was a fishman, a proud son of the ocean, yet now they looked like lost children. Their eyes were bloodshot, their hands trembling—not from fear of the sea, but from fear of losing him.
At the center of the deck, surrounded by casks of brandy, disinfectants made from moss and brine, and bundles of seaweed used in medicine, lay their captain.
Fisher Tiger.
Once, he had been a mountain of strength—the unbreakable spearhead of their rebellion, the man who had sheltered them against any storm that the world had thrown at them. But now he lay motionless, his massive frame pale beneath the faint green glow.
Blood still seeped sluggishly from the long, jagged wound that split his body—a deep gash that ran from shoulder to navel, slicing through muscle, flesh, and pride. The wound looked as if a celestial blade had tried to cleave him in two.
His chest rose only slightly, each breath rasping, wet and uneven. The air carried the metallic scent of blood mingled with saltwater and antiseptic moss.
The Sun Pirates had followed Fisher Tiger in secret, their instincts screaming that their captain was heading toward a death he had already accepted. From the moment he set course for the Red Line, none among them had truly believed he meant to return. They shadowed him through the raging currents and shifting tides, their hearts heavy with dread—and when they finally reached the towering wall that split the world in two, their fears were confirmed.
By the time they arrived, the sky above the Red Line burned crimson with fire, and the sea below was littered with wreckage and blood. Their captain was nowhere to be seen. Panic spread through the crew like wildfire. The waves crashed violently against the coral plating of their ship as they called out for him again and again, their voices swallowed by the endless roar of the storm.
And then—by sheer miracle—their tamed sea beast, a colossal turtle-like creature with a shell scarred from old battles, let out a thunderous bellow and dove deep beneath the waves. When it surfaced again, clutched gently in its jaws was the broken body of their captain.
Had the creature been a heartbeat slower, the ocean would have claimed Fisher Tiger forever.
"What's taking you so long?! Do something—anything! Wake up, Brother Tiger!"
The shrill voice cracked the silence. It came from a large octopus-headed fishman whose tentacles were shaking so hard they slapped against the deck. His wide eyes brimmed with panic as he looked toward the only one who might save their captain.
The "doctor" — a pufferfish fishman with trembling fins — had his hands deep in Tiger's wound, his face slick with sweat. He wasn't a surgeon. He'd never studied medicine. But he was all they had.
"Shut up!" he barked back, voice rough but cracking at the edges. "I'm trying! You think this is a fever or a broken fin?! His spine—his spine's shattered…!"
The crew fell silent again, the only sound the wet squelch of bandages being wrapped and sutures being tied. He continued, muttering half to himself, half to the sea, "The cut's clean… a blade did this. And the fall—gods, he must've thrown himself from the top of the Red Line…"
A few of the Sun Pirates exchanged glances, their expressions darkening. The thought of their captain — the unbreakable Fisher Tiger — falling from that holy wall was something none of them could accept.
On a nearby barrel, Arlong sat hunched over, his saw-like nose resting in his hands. The arrogance that usually marked his face was gone; all that remained was a hollow stare. His sharp teeth were clenched so tightly that his jaw trembled.
Even he—the most prideful of them all—looked broken.
"Where's Jinbei when we need him?!" Someone growled, slamming a fist into the mast hard enough to make the iron plating shudder.
"Don't you remember?" another answered, voice low, gaze never leaving Tiger's still body. "It was Brother Tiger who sent him away… said it was a 'special errand'…" The words hung in the air, heavy and bitter.