The two young monks were both Devil Fruit users. Their decision to join the crew was, without question, a major gain.
Everyone on the ship could see it, this recruitment was already a done deal. Still, procedures were procedures. And since no one had anything better to do while resting, they decided to make a game of it: test the new recruits' strength.
The pirates facing them didn't dare underestimate the pair. Two Devil Fruit users were never to be taken lightly. A spar was about to begin.
Clemons struck first. His already muscular frame swelled even larger, veins rippling beneath skin that looked ready to burst. His Shaolin robes stretched taut over bulging shoulders.
Gasps and whistles rippled through the watching pirates.
In the blink of an eye, Clemons's whole body ignited with strength. He launched himself forward like a cannonball, throwing a direct, devastating punch at his opponent.
"Fast," the pirate thought, twisting his body aside just in time. "But predictable."
He smirked, ducked under Clemons's swing, and countered with a sharp blow to the monk's abdomen. The punch sent Clemons flying several meters before he crashed to the dirt—but he was already scrambling back up, face flushed, barely winded.
"What defense…" murmured someone in the crowd.
Clemons's Muscle-Muscle Fruit had hardened his physique to an absurd degree. Every fiber of his body was reinforced, every organ supported by his monstrous strength. But that power was still raw and untamed.
His punch had been too wild, his footing too eager. He couldn't yet control the overwhelming surge of energy running through him. Unchecked strength had a way of turning on its owner.
Teach watched with folded arms and a faint grin. The kid had potential but potential without control was a liability.
After a few exchanges, Clemons's breathing grew heavier, and his punches lost rhythm. His heart was pounding too fast, his stamina draining like water through a sieve. Finally, he pulled back, suppressing the flow of his ability.
The moment he did, his movements steadied. The fight evened out. Though he was still at a disadvantage, the improvement was obvious. His fundamentals were solid, his instincts sharp. For someone his age, it was an impressive showing.
After all, their master had once been a pirate of real renown in the West Blue—a man whose bounty had easily reached the tens of millions.
On the other side of the training field, blades clashed with steel.
Bonnis' body had transformed, arms reshaped into gleaming blades as he spun and slashed with feral intensity. His opponent met him strike for strike, narrowly dodging the metallic flashes that cut through the air.
The battle was fierce, though it soon became clear that Bonnis' stamina was slipping fast. He was only nine years old, and his breathing turned ragged as the duel dragged on. Finally, both fighters collapsed, gasping on the ground, completely spent.
Teach stepped forward with a grin. "You two pass," he said. "But you lost, so for now, you're apprentice pirates aboard my ship."
The monks straightened, still catching their breath. "Your names?" Teach asked.
"Daz Bonez," said the first.
"Ulysses Clemons," said the second.
Teach's grin widened into a laugh. "Then welcome aboard! Tonight, we celebrate!"
The crew erupted in cheers. A banquet was as much a ritual as it was a reward.
The feast began at sunset, and the two young monks were quickly swept into the rhythm—music, laughter, the crash of mugs, and the scent of roasted meat filling the air.
And, as always, no party was complete without Pouf.
"Let the perfect me perform for you!" he declared, flourishing a golden peony and striking a pose. "I've developed a few new moves recently!"
The crew groaned good-naturedly. Pouf's vanity was legendary, but his confidence was contagious and, somehow, he'd gathered a small fan club.
"Lord Pouf's dancing again!" someone shouted.
"We're blessed tonight!"
Several pirates brandished flowers of their own, imitating his dramatic gestures. Teach buried his face in one hand. "People really do infect each other," he muttered.
Pouf twirled across the deck, radiating self-love, while Baccarat, ever the aspiring superstar, joined in with graceful flair. Compared to Pouf, she drew far more admiration from the crowd. Her charm was effortless; her presence, magnetic.
As she danced, she mused quietly to herself; If I can blend dance with my songs, maybe I'll shine even brighter.
The night passed in laughter and music. The Night Pirates had grown stronger, not just in numbers, but in spirit.
Across the sea, the corpses of the Oni Mask Pirates still floated, a grim reminder of this world's one true rule: survival of the fittest.
Days later, three pirate ships docked at Modern Island, a prosperous hub of trade in the West Blue. It was considered neutral territory—everyone did business here, from nobles to smugglers.
The arrival of the Nightfall Pirates didn't go unnoticed.
"Wallace, Gar, you two stay with the ship," Teach ordered. Both men nodded.
Wallace, once brash and hot-blooded, had grown quieter as his power deepened. Gar, meanwhile, preferred solitude and the promise of an ambush over crowded streets. Watching the ship suited them both fine.
Modern Island was as chaotic as it was rich. Where money gathered, pirates followed and pirates brought trouble. Gar, grinning under his breath, almost hoped someone would be stupid enough to try robbing them.
Teach's gaze flicked toward a corner café. A man sat there, hat brim low, newspaper open. From a distance, it looked casual but Teach caught the faintest motion of the man's pinky folding downward.
A signal.
"Captain?" Nelson asked, following his line of sight. "You need to handle something?"
Teach nodded. "Go on ahead. Don't wait up."
Nelson shrugged. "Alright then. I'm heading to the casino! Who's coming?"
A cheer went up.
Baccarat's eyes gleamed. "As the goddess of luck, I'll make them regret touching a deck of cards."
"Big Sister Baccarat's going? Then we're guaranteed to win!"
Others opted for more… questionable entertainment.
"Forget gambling," one pirate said with a grin. "Come with me, I know a better place."
The men laughed, already heading toward Paradise Street, the island's infamous red-light district.
Meanwhile, Pouf led another group toward the markets. The man needed new clothes, his fashion sense was as dramatic as his ego. Augur headed for the gunsmiths, intent on maintaining his prized weapon, Colt, a gun as renowned among firearms as a Meitō among swords.
Clemons and Daz Bonez wandered into a jewelry shop, admiring the craftsmanship, especially the Buddhist beads on display.
Kaguya stayed aboard the ship, deep in meditation.
And Pito quietly followed Teach.
The man with the hat rose from his seat and slipped into a narrow alley. Teach and Pito followed.
A few spies tailed them, curious. But when they peeked into the alley seconds later, Teach and his companion were gone.
They had moved to a nearby rooftop, concealed by vines and iron lattice, a perfect spot for secret dealings.
The informant bowed low. "Lord Teach, these are the documents my superior instructed me to deliver."
Teach accepted two folders, tossing a heavy pouch of seventy million Berries to the man's feet. He sat down on the ledge, opening the first file.
The informant said nothing. Teach was a top client; it wasn't his place to speak.
Two sets of intelligence: one about the Kraken Kingdom, the other about Laffitte.
Teach started with the latter.
Three men named Laffitte had been located. The first, a noble running a powerful merchant guild. Irrelevant.
The second, a celebrity chef renowned across the West Blue. Also not him.
The third… caught Teach's eye immediately.
The photograph showed a young man, maybe eighteen. A cane sword in hand, cold eyes under a tilted cap.
Recognition flickered in Teach's gaze. That's him.
Laffitte, security officer of the Kingdom of Nonook.
The file continued:
Born to a brutal jailer and a prostitute. His mother died when he was three. His father raised him, only to be found dead years later—murdered, allegedly by escaped prisoners.
But the deeper records suggested otherwise.
The "escaped prisoners" story was a lie. His father hadn't been killed by inmates. He'd been butchered, his flesh sliced away, bit by bit.
And the most likely culprit, the report concluded, was Laffitte himself.
Teach closed the file slowly, a dangerous grin tugging at his lips.
"Zehaha… now that's interesting."