(Oden's death in the original story happens over twenty years ago. But in my version of the timeline, I've shifted things slightly he lived a few years longer. The reason is simple: I want Ritter to have grown stronger before those events unfold, and I don't want it to feel abrupt or forced. This stretch of the timeline in the original is something of a blank space anyway. Whether Oden dies a few years earlier or later doesn't really change the larger picture. If you insist the original timing is absolute, you'd be correct, but for the sake of this story, I've adjusted it.)
Ritter had made up his mind. His next destination would be Wano Country.
But before setting sail, he spent some time analyzing Oden's choices in the original tale. Why, he wondered, did Oden reject Rayleigh's help? Why didn't he turn to Whitebeard for aid?
The answer, Ritter concluded, lay in the nature of Wano itself. Wano was a nation sealed off from the world, a land that clung to isolation. That meant news barely trickled in or out. Even if Oden had sought Whitebeard's assistance and even if Whitebeard had agreed what difference would it have made?
Ritter thought it through carefully. Could Whitebeard truly have killed Kaido? Even if he managed to force Kaido back, Kaido's dragon form gave him an overwhelming advantage. He could simply retreat into the sky whenever things turned against him. Whitebeard might be the "strongest man in the world," but strength doesn't matter much when your enemy refuses to stand and fight.
And let's say, for argument's sake, that Whitebeard had managed to drive Kaido out of Wano. Then what? Would he have stationed his entire crew there, guarding Oden's homeland day and night against another Yonko's invasion? Was Oden's face and reputation really so influential that Whitebeard would have chained himself and his sons to another man's homeland forever? Ritter found that doubtful.
At the end of the day, Oden's struggles were his own family's business. He couldn't bind the lives of others to his private burdens.
That was the rational explanation.
The irrational one, in Ritter's eyes, was simpler: Oda-sensei himself. Ritter chuckled to himself. The man had crafted Oden's fall into tragedy, but from a logical standpoint, Oden's downfall was riddled with questionable decisions. With the support of both the Pirate King's crew and Whitebeard's fleet, Oden had still managed to not only disgrace himself but also drag his entire country into misery. It was a hand of cards that could have been played brilliantly, squandered to ruin. That, Ritter mused, was why Oden had lost the sympathy of so many.
The Blumarine Jackson cut across the waves, its sails full and steady. But its course was not set for Wano just yet. Ritter had chosen a different path toward Whitebeard's territory.
He wanted to see with his own eyes what Whitebeard's reaction would be upon learning about Oden's current situation. Ritter also suspected that Whitebeard's perspective might shed light on the larger struggle.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, Whitebeard sat in his great seat like a king upon his throne, a massive sake cup in one hand. His gaze was fixed far across the sea, thoughtful, perhaps even somber.
Beside him, Marco stood with folded arms. Suddenly his sharp eyes narrowed. He turned toward the horizon, sensing something amiss.
"Pops," Marco said quietly, "a ship is approaching."
Whitebeard's lips curved into a laugh. "Gurararara… that presence… it's that cheeky brat."
Sure enough, on the distant horizon, the familiar silhouette of the Blumarine Jackson appeared. At its prow, wreathed in curling blood-red mist, stood Ritter. Arms folded across his chest, he grinned wide and called out across the waves:
"Yo, Newgate! Been a while. You've got any sake left for me?"
The Whitebeard Pirates erupted into noise at once.
"Ritter?! Ritter's here?!"
"Ritter big bro!"
"That guy always shows up when it's least expected!"
Marco pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "First thing out of his mouth is about booze. Figures." But despite his tone, he began ordering the younger brothers to prepare a banquet.
Ritter leapt aboard the Moby Dick without hesitation, plopping down cross-legged across from Whitebeard himself. He grabbed a cup, drained it in a single swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Still the same nasty brew as ever," Ritter muttered. "You really can't stash away some good stuff for once?"
Whitebeard roared with laughter. "Gurararara! Brat, you should be grateful to drink anything from my stores! Even I never have enough for myself."
Ritter rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that. Your body's starting to crack, old man."
For a brief instant, Whitebeard's gaze darkened. Then, as if nothing had happened, he chuckled again.
"You're roaming the seas like a stray dog, boy. You didn't just come here for a free drink, did you?"
The other sons were confused by this cryptic exchange. Only Marco seemed to understand the undertone.
Ritter leaned back, letting his blood mist curl lazily around his fingers. "Your liquor hasn't declined a bit. But your body? That's a different story. It's telling a truth your grin won't admit."
Whitebeard snorted. "You don't need to concern yourself, brat. I'm not so fragile yet."
Marco stepped forward, hesitant. At last, he drew in a steadying breath.
"Ritter," he said solemnly. "Since you're here… I have a request."
Ritter arched a brow. "Oh? Our little Marco, asking me for something? This should be good."
Marco ignored the jab. His voice was firm. "You've seen it too, haven't you? Pops' condition. I can tell and if even I can, then you surely can as well."
The deck fell silent.
Whitebeard's frown deepened. "Marco!"
Ritter's grin widened, his sharp teeth flashing. "Of course."
The bluntness of the answer stunned everyone. But Ritter raised a single finger. "I'll help but on one condition. You'll hand over your best stash of sake. Don't act stingy. You've been hoarding the good stuff."
Whitebeard's eyes bulged. "Brat! That's my "
"Deal!" Marco barked before Whitebeard could finish, already sprinting for the storage room.
The old man's mustache bristled with fury. "Marco! Get back here!"
Ritter laughed so hard he nearly fell over. Blood mist pooled in his palm, gathering into a pulsing scarlet glow. "Save your breath, old man. Today, I'm going to repay a favor owed to my captain."
The treatment was grueling. Ritter's blood mist seeped into Whitebeard's body like a surgeon's scalpel, probing the labyrinth of scars and damage hidden within.
The truth was worse than anyone expected. His organs bore the marks of countless battles. Bones carried hairline fractures. Even fragments of his own quake powers had rebounded against him, leaving shrapnel-like scars inside.
Sweat streamed down Whitebeard's face, yet he never let a sound slip past his teeth. His pride wouldn't allow him to show weakness, not even before Ritter.
"Your body's a wreck, old man," Ritter muttered with a smirk. "Worse than the weather in the New World. Keep pushing like this, and one of these days the pain'll kill you before Kaido even gets the chance."
Whitebeard clenched his jaw. "Shut it… and keep working."
For three hours, the ritual continued. Ritter's mist carved away infection, stitched up ruptures, and flooded broken channels with renewed life force. By the end, when the last wisp of crimson smoke returned to his hand, Whitebeard inhaled deeply clearer, stronger, freer than he had felt in years.
He rolled his shoulders, the tension gone. His eyes flashed with surprise, then excitement.
"How do you feel?" Ritter asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Like you could live another fifty years?"
Whitebeard slammed his bisento down onto the deck, laughing thunderously. "Gurararara! You cheeky brat you've got skill!"
The sons swarmed their father, overjoyed, checking him with their own hands. Marco quickly explained to them what Ritter had done, and before long, the entire crew bowed deeply toward Ritter.
Ritter blinked. Then, shrugging, he signaled to his zombies to start hauling crates of sake onto the Blumarine Jackson. "What? I worked my ass off. No way I'm leaving without some extra."
"Hold it!" Whitebeard barked suddenly. "Take the booze if you want, but you're not leaving without a fight. I haven't felt this good in decades!"
Ritter's grin spread ear to ear. His blade gleamed as he lifted it. "Oh, I was hoping you'd say that. Weapons this sharp aren't meant to stay idle. Let's test them properly."
Whitebeard's laughter boomed like thunder across the waves. "Good! Very good! Marco, prepare to set sail. Find us an island we'll tear it to pieces!"
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