Two months passed in the blink of an eye.
During that time, the Orca Pirates had made Arboria Island their temporary home, their lives revolving around a single major project: the construction of a brand-new ship.
This was no ordinary ship—it was something born entirely from Zino's power, made almost entirely of his unique Diamond Cloud element. Every scale, beam, and structural piece of this vessel shimmered with a translucent, crystal-like hue, glowing faintly under the sun like ice infused with starlight.
The work was painstaking. With only three people involved in the actual construction—Zino, Hibari, and Binko—it took time, patience, and unrelenting effort. Day by day, Zino would produce the raw material: thick clouds laced with diamond properties, dense yet light, moldable only when still in contact with his will. Once separated, the cloud hardened into unbreakable crystalline structures. It was this trait that made it the perfect material for their vision.
Hibari and Binko took charge of shaping the cloud. With each puff delivered by Zino, they molded, sculpted, and carved, adhering closely to the architectural plans of the crocodile-themed submarine they had drafted. Each detail was deliberate—from the curvature of the hull to the intricate joint designs of the segmented body.
Zino wasn't just watching. He absorbed every lesson, memorized every structure. Every bolt-shaped joint, every curve of the propulsion system—he engraved it in his mind. After two months of hands-on work, he was nearly certain: he could build a ship by himself in the future. Completely from scratch.
And then finally—on a bright morning under the Arboria sun—it was done.
"Alright… this pal is ready," Hibari declared, wiping sweat from his brow as he made the final adjustments to the rear paneling.
Zino stood back and admired the colossal creation before him.
The ship stood 60 meters long, a beast of a vessel—its silhouette unmistakably that of a crocodile. Its body was crafted from shimmering white Diamond Cloud, which refracted light like crystal scales. The outer hull had a jagged, scute-like texture that both looked natural and served as armor. When caught in sunlight or sea mist, the ship almost seemed to disappear, blending with its surroundings like a ghostly predator.
At the head of the crocodile, two glowing blue diamond eyes served as panoramic viewing windows for the cockpit. Below the snout, the mouth of the beast formed the primary docking bay and housed the forward artillery. When opened, the "jaw" revealed a massive cargo hold capable of swallowing smaller vessels whole.
The body of the ship was built with a flexible, multi-segmented frame. These segments allowed the vessel to move in an organic, lifelike manner, especially during submerged operation. Along the back, a series of overlapping diamond plates acted like shields. These could retract sideways to reveal a hidden flat deck. It gave the submarine an unexpected airship feel while remaining entirely sea-based.
Because of its Diamond Cloud composition, the ship floated effortlessly on the water's surface, gliding as if it were riding on mist. But when needed, its back panels could lock together into a pressurized seal, and the ship could shift into submarine mode. At that moment, the ship's internal density increased drastically—an intentional function—allowing it to sink and maneuver beneath the waves.
At the rear, the crocodile's mechanical tail completed the illusion and served a practical purpose: its side-to-side thrashing motion propelled the ship forward in powerful bursts, letting it move with surprising agility despite its massive size.
The four legs on the ship weren't ornamental either. Each ended in diamond claws that could flatten and fan out like webbed feet. These allowed the ship to stabilize in place, tread quietly through reefs or shallow waters, and pivot without using the main thrusters.
Zino couldn't help but smile. This wasn't just a warship. It was a monster. A beautiful, terrifying monster that now belonged to them.
"This looks perfect," he said, eyes gleaming as he admired the gleaming form of the new ship. "Let's name it, then."
"Me, me! I have a name suggestion," Binko jumped in excitedly. "Let's call it... Crocodile."
The moment the word left his mouth, an actual Crocodile glared at him and promptly kicked him away.
"That name's lazy," Crocodile said sharply. "Sure, the ship looks like a crocodile, but calling it that directly is just lame."
He then added, "Let's name it Crocka. A blend of 'crocodile' and 'orca.' Simple, but fitting."
"Nah, not cool enough," Nami chimed in, waving her hand. "Let's call it White Predator. Sounds fierce and elegant."
Robin, leaning calmly against a rail, offered her suggestion with a small smile. "I think Sunken Pale Lizard would make a good name. It captures the essence of both depth and mystery."
Others chimed in with their own quirky, strange, or oddly creative names—everything from Steel Maw to Ghost Leviathan. Even Cora, their former ship now living as a sentient dryad, joined in, suggesting, "Why not just call it Silent Orca II?"
Zino listened to it all quietly, expression unreadable. Then he raised one hand and said firmly, "I've already decided. The name of our new ship is Great White."
There was a short silence.
"Great White?" Sanji echoed. "That sounds more like a shark than a crocodile. This ship clearly has gator vibes."
"It's final," Zino replied, not budging an inch. "The name is Great White. A name doesn't have to describe its shape. It describes its presence."
Alvida shrugged. "Well, the captain decides."
The rest of the crew looked at one another and gave small nods. The name might not have been their first choice, but it wasn't bad at all. In fact, the longer they thought about it, the more it suited the beast-like ship that stood before them—gleaming, silent, and menacing.
"Alright," Zino said, turning to the crew. "Now that we have our ship, it's time we sail again."
"Finally!" Baral said with a loud sigh. "I've been bored out of my skull waiting around this island. When do we leave?"
"Today," Zino answered.
"Huh? That fast?" Stev blinked in surprise.
"You guys go prep the ship and gather supplies. I'll go check on Chloris and Moris first."
Though caught off guard by the sudden decision, none of the crew protested. They'd been on Arboria for over two months. Their bond with the island was warm, but they were pirates—meant to roam, to sail, to keep moving forward.
During their stay, the crew hadn't lazed around. Most had trained daily, pushing themselves harder than ever. For many, it paid off.
Several crew members were focused on strengthening their existing Haki. Zoro, Sanji, Gin, Crocodile, Alvida, Daz Bones, Nojiko, and Baral all deepened their mastery—improving armament and observation.
Meanwhile, a few others reached new milestones. Kruz, Galdino, Bon Clay, and Mikita awakened their Haki during these past two months, much to the crew's celebration.
Others were still working at it, struggling to feel that first spark—but no one was discouraged. Everyone had grown in some way.
As for Zino, Hibari, and Binko, they had spent nearly all their time tied up in building the ship. Though their combat progress had stalled, their teamwork and understanding of ship engineering had skyrocketed.
Now that the Great White was complete, they could finally return to training—and more importantly, face the real trials that awaited them on the sea.
Zino turned his back to the gleaming vessel, and headed toward the sacred heart of the island. Meanwhile, his crew started preparing as requested.
...
In the wake of the war between the Marines and Whitebeard, Sengoku stepped down from his position as Fleet Admiral. His resignation sparked a bitter divide over his successor: should it be Sakazuki, the relentless 'Akainu,' or Kuzan, the composed 'Aokiji'?
Three months have passed since the summit war, and the world is restless. Rumors swirl through every port, with people gossiping about the tension between the two Admirals and whispering of a possible confrontation. Little do they know, the conflict has already reached its breaking point.
On a remote island, a ten-day duel has just concluded to decide the future of the Marines—and today, the result is finally etched in stone.
Punk Hazard, New World.
The island was broken—split between fire and ice, yet united in ruin. Above, a churning sky swirled with a toxic brew of ash, freezing sleet, and acidic mist. For ten long days, the world had listened to Punk Hazard scream—earthquakes, eruptions, and elemental clashes had ripped the land apart. Now, there was only silence… and smoke.
Two figures remained at the center of the devastation.
Sakazuki, the embodiment of searing magma and merciless order, was barely recognizable. His Marine cap was long gone, and his once-crisp uniform hung in scorched ribbons. The right side of his body was a canvas of ruin—patches of skin blackened from frostbite, laced with raw, jagged scars where ice had reached perilously close to his heart.
His breath came in harsh, wheezing gasps. Every inhale scraped his lungs like glass. A gash on his neck oozed thick, dark blood that sizzled on contact with the molten rock underfoot.
Across from him stood Kuzan—if "stood" could still describe his state. His left leg had shattered into frozen dust hours ago, leaving him slumped against a towering spire of jagged ice. The air around him shimmered with a biting chill. His face was bloodied, rimmed with frost, one eye swollen shut. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven movements. If the cold hadn't killed him yet, it would soon.
"Justice…" Sakazuki's voice cracked, brittle and hollow. He staggered forward, each step leaving a scorched print behind. His magma dripped in stuttering, exhausted spurts from a raised fist. This wasn't the overwhelming blaze of a fresh battle—it was desperation. "Justice… demands this, Kuzan."
Kuzan didn't speak.
There were no clever comebacks now, no snide remarks. Only a final, ragged exhale. With what little power he had left, he gathered his strength—not into a refined technique, but into a raw, furious burst of absolute zero. A wave of deathly cold surged toward Sakazuki.
The two forces collided, one last time.
There was no glorious explosion. No sky-shattering clash.
Only a dull, sickening thud—the sound of magma meeting frost-covered bone. Sakazuki's fist, ablaze with magma, slammed into Kuzan's chest just as a storm of frozen spikes erupted into Sakazuki's shoulder. The force sent them both staggering.
Then... silence.
Kuzan slumped to the ground like a statue toppling from its pedestal, ice trailing from his fingertips. Sakazuki dropped to one knee, coughing up a flood of blood that steamed and hissed on the scorched earth beneath him.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Sakazuki blinked away the blood in his eyes and forced himself up, trembling. His body screamed in protest, muscles torn, nerves burned and frozen in equal measure. He turned his gaze to Kuzan, who now lay sprawled in the icy slush, unmoving.
The Admiral of Magma lifted his arm—his last ounce of power pooling in his glowing fist. One more strike would end it. One more.
He hesitated.
His fingers curled inward slowly, forming a tight, shaking fist. The fire in his palm flickered... then died. The silence between them now felt heavier than any blow.
Even Absolute Justice, in all its unforgiving fury, could recognize a fallen comrade. They had fought side by side once. Friends? Maybe never. But comrades, yes.
Sakazuki let out a broken breath, heavy and bitter.
He turned his back on Kuzan.
Staggering forward, he limped away from the battlefield—his mangled shoulder dragging, his path marked by a trail of molten rock and blood. The sulfurous fog swallowed him slowly, as if even the island wanted to forget this war had ever happened.
Behind him, Kuzan's body lay still—blood mixing with melted frost, eyes closed beneath the dark sky.
The war for the title of Fleet Admiral was over.