Aboard the deck of the White Dragon.
"Bardock, is this 'Magician' you mentioned truly that accurate with his fortune-telling?" Robin asked curiously, looking up from her book.
Bardock nodded. "Basil Hawkins. Setting his physical strength and Devil Fruit abilities aside for a moment, when it comes to pure divination, he is absolutely top-tier. Across the entire world, perhaps only the Merfolk fortune-teller on Fish-Man Island, Madame Shyarly, can truly be compared to him."
"If his fortune-telling is genuinely that miraculous, wouldn't he have already foreseen us coming to hunt him down?" Robin expressed a hint of concern. "What if he already fled the island?"
Bardock chuckled, reassuring her. "Divination has a strict time limit. The further into the future you try to look, the more chaotic the variables become. Hawkins specializes in short-term fortune-telling and immediate probability calculation. Furthermore, I only made a spur-of-the-moment decision to come to this specific island after we entered the North Blue. As long as he didn't randomly predict our arrival weeks in advance and run away, where could he possibly hide from Enel's Mantra?"
"Exactly," Enel chimed in, lazily tossing an apple into the air and catching it. "No matter where this guy tries to hide on that miserable rock, he absolutely cannot escape the reach of my Mantra. I'll drag him out by his collar if I have to."
A short while later, the massive galleon smoothly pulled into the island's harbor.
After leaving the Lvneel Kingdom, Bardock had immediately ordered the White Dragon to be recoated in its thick layer of protective wax, completely masking the blinding, provocative shine of the solid gold hull.
As Bardock and his crew confidently disembarked and stepped onto the docks, they were caught slightly off guard. Instead of having to hunt down their target, an unexpected figure was already walking directly toward them.
The tall, pale young man with long blonde hair and distinct facial tattoos stopped directly in front of Bardock. He didn't draw a weapon, nor did he run. Instead, he lowered his head slightly and spoke in a calm, completely stoic voice:
"Captain. Please allow me to join your crew and become one of you."
This surreal, incredibly blunt introduction was the absolute best countermeasure Hawkins had derived from his multiple tarot readings. The logic of the cards was flawlessly simple: If you cannot beat them, join them immediately.
As long as he swallowed his pride and took the proactive initiative to request a spot on the crew, he would successfully avoid getting brutally electrocuted and beaten half to death by the terrifying lightning-user standing next to Bardock.
Originally, Hawkins' long-term life plan was highly ambitious. He intended to spend the next few years gathering his own loyal subordinates, entering the Grand Line as an infamous Pirate Captain, and eventually carving out his own empire in the New World. He, too, possessed a fierce determination to make a massive name for himself.
However, times change, and fate is absolute. The results of his divination had explicitly warned him that if he didn't join this specific crew right here, right now, the consequences would be exceptionally unpleasant—with a terrifying 80% probability of the encounter becoming instantly fatal.
The White Dragon crew stared at Hawkins in stunned silence.
They had literally just been discussing how incredible his fortune-telling abilities were. Now, witnessing it in action, they were genuinely blown away. It was truly extraordinary. Hawkins had actually anticipated their arrival and actively requested to join before Bardock could even open his mouth to recruit him.
For a moment, everyone turned their eyes to Bardock, silently awaiting their Captain's final decision.
Bardock had sailed to this island with the express intention of recruiting Hawkins anyway. Whether he extended the invitation or Hawkins volunteered, the end result was exactly the same.
"Basil Hawkins," Bardock smiled warmly, breaking the silence. "The White Dragon welcomes you aboard. However... how about a little demonstration? Do you want to show the rest of the crew your combat strength?"
Bardock wasn't suggesting this to humiliate or haze the newcomer; he was simply giving Hawkins the necessary opportunity to prove his worth and earn the immediate respect of the highly combative crew.
"Understood, Captain," Hawkins replied without a shred of hesitation, his face completely devoid of fear.
Bardock's gaze slowly swept over the crew before landing on the two red-haired youths they had recruited from the South Blue. His lips curved into a highly amused, almost wicked smirk.
"Alright then. Killer," Bardock called out. "You will be his opponent for this sparring match. Let's find an open area."
Hearing his name, Killer stepped forward, his mask hiding his expression. He locked eyes with Hawkins and silently gave his gauntlets a sharp flick, the curved scythe blades spinning with a deadly whir. "Yes, Captain."
This specific matchup was a deeply ironic, highly entertaining setup on Bardock's part. Fully leaning into his meta-knowledge regarding the canonical, bitter betrayal and bad blood between the Kid Pirates and Basil Hawkins in the original timeline, having Killer cross blades with Hawkins right now perfectly satisfied Bardock's twisted sense of humor.
Led by Hawkins, the group relocated to a quiet, secluded clearing far away from the populated town.
Killer and Hawkins stood facing each other across the grassy field.
Killer dropped into a low, aggressive crouch, tightly gripping his signature spinning scythes in both hands. Opposite him, Hawkins stood perfectly upright, calmly drawing a slender, elegant longsword from his waist.
Before the clash even began, the outcome was genuinely full of suspense.
Hawkins was several years older and possessed a distinct physical advantage in height, reach, and Devil Fruit trickery. However, Killer had been undergoing brutal, orthodox Haki and physical conditioning under Bardock and Daz Bonez's strict guidance, giving the masked youth a very significant chance of pulling off a victory.
The wind blew through the clearing. The battle was on the verge of erupting.
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