The Den Den Mushi crackled to life.
"Buruburu, hello! Yinri, what's going on over there? We have three warships approaching fast. Can you still hold out? Which pirate crew is it?"
The voice belonged to an officer on another Marine vessel, most likely a companion of the now-dead captain.
The Nightfall Pirates glanced at one another.
So the Marines still had no idea who they were up against.
The dead captain had never revealed their identity. People were selfish. If he had told the truth, he couldn't be sure his comrades would come rushing in. They might have simply contacted Vice Admiral Brom and washed their hands of the situation.
By the time Brom arrived, the entire squadron would already be gone.
And because of that man's poor judgment, the Marines were about to lose three more warships and over a thousand soldiers.
"Haha, of course, no problem. Hurry over! I've already kept this pirate crew pinned down. Once you all get here, we can wipe them out together. A perfect chance for a great achievement."
Koji, the pirate impersonating a Marine, played his part well. He sidestepped the question about the pirates' identity and dangled the bait of shared glory. Then he hung up.
Wallace smirked. "Since three warships are marching straight to us, let's just wait right here. Once they arrive, we take all of them."
In the waters leading to the Nonook Kingdom, the Nightfall Pirates' three ships cut swiftly through the waves. The kingdom itself had only one major city, its royal capital.
"Captain, we're almost at the Nonook Kingdom."
Teach lounged on his throne, head tilted as he flipped through a newspaper. The latest reports showed the Marines shrinking their forces. Branch after branch had been forced to withdraw from the New World until only three remained:
G5 Branch, G1 Branch near the Red Line, and G2 Branch.
G5 and G2 had already fallen to pirates multiple times before being retaken. But the trend was clear. The Navy was losing its foothold. Just a few years ago, they had been the undisputed rulers of the New World.
To preserve their pride, the Marines fought with everything they had. And now, the conflict in the New World had reached its boiling point.
If the Navy lost, they would abandon the entire region. The New World was smaller than the Four Seas, but its magnetic storms and rare resources made it irreplaceable. Losing it would hurt both the Navy and the World Government.
Yet they had no real choice.
They would retreat, fortify the Four Seas and the Grand Line, and prepare for the next era.
Teach tapped the newspaper.
So Ohara would fall this year.
After its destruction, the future Admirals would rise. Sengoku would become Fleet Admiral. Kong would move up to Commander-in-Chief. A new era for the Marines was already forming.
Teach sneered quietly.
Those scholars were idealistic fools. If they wanted to uncover the truth, they needed strength to defend it. Without it, their stubborn pursuit only doomed Ohara.
Still, the books themselves were priceless. Centuries of knowledge, records and artifacts. It was a shame most would burn.
But even in the original timeline, many survived beneath the ruins of the Tree of Knowledge.
He couldn't interfere, nor did he intend to.
He pushed the thoughts aside as the island grew clearer on the horizon.
"No need to worry, and no need to hide our flag. Dock at the port. We're only here to resupply. They wouldn't dare touch us." Teach said lazily.
From the shore, the people of the Nonook Kingdom watched the Nightfall Pirates' trio of ships approaching. Panic swept the port as civilians scattered. Workers pulled docked vessels aside to create a central berth just for the pirate fleet.
The attitude was respectful. The Nightfall Pirates rarely caused trouble on islands. They came for supplies, not slaughter. Their flag had already been lowered.
Even so, the kingdom's guards remained tense. Teach's bounty had risen by more than ten million in recent months, reaching one hundred ninety-one million.
A terrifying number for a small kingdom like this.
They watched the port nervously, afraid some fool might insult the wrong man and doom them all.
"Let's go."
Teach stepped off the ship in his long black coat. "You all can wander. I'm going to find someone."
That someone was Lafitte.
According to the intelligence he'd gathered, Lafitte had not only been released from prison but had become an official West Blue security officer. And there was a security office here in the Nonook Kingdom.
In West Blue's chaos, security officers were a valued profession. They came in two varieties.
One handled internal law enforcement, acting much like police.
The other patrolled the seas, handling maritime safety and rescue, with full authority to search and arrest.
Regardless of type, becoming a security officer required real strength.
At the edge of the bustling commercial district stood the West Blue Security Officer's Office.
It was quiet. Almost unnaturally so.
Only one person was inside.
Lafitte reclined on a sofa, long legs draped over the desk, eyes half-open as he watched the ceiling fan spin lazily. He adjusted his top hat with the tip of one finger.
"Too boring. Far too boring. I suppose I need to find a bit of fun."
He sighed, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes. Then he lowered his legs, picked up his gentleman's cane and strolled outside with a smile.
Sunlight spilled onto his pale face. Lafitte blinked, tapped the end of his cane on the ground and drifted toward the crowded marketplace in his usual peculiar gait.
People stepped away instinctively.
The infamous security officer of West Blue, released from prison only recently, had already shown his true nature. Violent, deliberate, unsettling. His brand of law enforcement made the locals fear him more than admire him.
A traveler who had just arrived noticed everyone stepping aside. "Why are you all moving away? Is that weird-acting guy really that scary?"
"Don't talk about him. He's… unpleasant."
In just a short time, the people had learned exactly what Lafitte was: a devil dressed as a gentleman. When he first became a security officer, plenty of young women had even tried to court him.
That innocence had evaporated quickly.
The outsider grew more curious. He asked several people, but each reacted the same way: silence. Fear. Retreat. One man who answered honestly bolted the moment he finished speaking, disappearing into the alleys.
"Damn it! Who is that idiot-looking guy?" the outsider muttered.
A soft voice, theatrical and cheerful, spoke right beside his ear. "Hehe, the idiot-looking guy is me."
Lafitte stood behind him, smiling pleasantly.
"I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked behind your back."
The outsider wilted instantly. Shame washed over him.
Lafitte waved it off with a gentle smile.
"It's alright. You meant no harm. You were simply curious. And I can tell you why no one answered you. Would you like to know?"
The outsider blinked, surprised by the man's generosity. His opinion of Lafitte rose sharply.
"If you're willing to explain, I'd appreciate it. Is there some misunderstanding?"
"I'm glad you trust me. There is indeed a big misunderstanding. But I prefer to explain privately. Please, come a little closer."
Lafitte's smile widened ever so slightly.
The onlookers winced. Their eyes were filled with pity. They knew what was about to happen.
The moment the outsider leaned in, Lafitte's cane whipped sideways.
A crack rang out as it smashed across the man's mouth. The outsider hit the ground, screaming and rolling while blood dripped between his fingers.
Lafitte watched calmly, then stepped forward and stomped on his stomach to pin him down. He lifted the cane again and brought it down on the man's mouth once more.
The stranger fainted from the agony.
Lafitte crouched beside him, inspecting the damage.
Satisfied that all the man's teeth had been knocked out, he nodded approvingly.
"Anyone who answered your question had their teeth removed by me. See? Simple, isn't it? Idiot."
Gasps rippled across the street. People looked away quickly or fled outright.
"Lafitte, you bastard, I'll kill you!"
A furious voice cracked through the crowd.
A man pushed forward, rage twisting his features. He pointed a pistol straight at Lafitte.
"You crippled my brother! He only stole a little something and now he can't even get out of bed! I'll kill you!"
He fired twice.
Clang, clang.
Lafitte twirled his cane, deflecting both bullets. The special metal didn't even dent.
The man, wild with grief and fury, tossed away the useless gun and drew a short sword. "Ahhhh!"
He sprinted toward Lafitte.
Lafitte looked almost delighted.
He walked forward casually, smiling.
This was a perfect distraction. A chance to indulge. And with his authority, no one could stop him.
"Very well. Are you ready for my hospitality?"
He tapped the ground lightly with his toe. Despite his three-meter frame, he moved with eerie grace, slipping past the sword swing.
He spun the cane through his fingers and tapped the man on the back.
The blow sent him crashing forward onto the ground.
"And again."
Lafitte stepped on him, driving him down as the man screamed in agony. Something in his knees cracked.
Panic finally broke through the man's fury. He struggled. He knew Lafitte's cruelty. He had seen what happened to others. His brother's condition flashed before his eyes.
Lafitte eased the pressure slightly, letting him think he was escaping. The man pushed upward desperately.
Then Lafitte slammed his foot down again.
Another crack. Another scream.
Lafitte licked his lips, skin pale and lips a deep crimson. He lifted his cane horizontally, gripping the shaft with his left hand and the base with his right.
With a smooth pull, the cane split open, revealing a cold, gleaming blade.
Lafitte lingered in the quiet room long after the door swung shut behind the shaken officers. The air smelled faintly of ink and lacquered wood, a half-finished portrait of order nudged into disarray. He tilted his head, listening to the distant murmur of the base outside, a restless rhythm of boots and clipped commands. The world outside always beat the same drum. Inside, he preferred a different tempo.
He brushed a hand over his hat and straightened the brim, the motion smooth and almost meditative. "Gratitude," he murmured to no one in particular, as if he were thanking the silence itself for staying exactly where he left it.
A shuffle of feet echoed in the corridor. More marines moved about. The base was waking fully now, stirred by whispers of what had just occurred. Lafitte's smile touched the corner of his mouth. He appreciated a good stir. It made life more delicate, more precise. Every disruption revealed the grain of a place. And he liked studying the grain.
He glided across the room and nudged the window open with a feather-light touch. Cool wind rolled in, brushing past him with enough force to ruffle the papers left behind. The harbor lay beyond, an early sun stretching gold across the water. He watched the marines scrambling along the docks, moving cargo, shouting orders, trying desperately to maintain the illusion that everything remained on schedule.
"How admirable," Lafitte whispered. "They always pretend."
He stepped through the window gracefully, his coat fluttering as he descended to the outer balcony. The drop below was severe, but Lafitte never seemed bothered by heights. Some men were born at sea level. Lafitte had been born sideways, as if gravity was merely a suggestion.
A lone seagull landed on the railing. Lafitte tipped his hat politely to the creature, then walked on.
Below, the base courtyard buzzed with tension. A pair of marines hurried by, their conversation pitched in frantic whispers.
"Did you hear? Someone broke into the records office."
"No way. At dawn? How is that even possible?"
Lafitte continued walking without slowing. Their voices skittered past him like leaves. The soldiers did not notice him. They rarely did until it was too late.
He reached the plaza at the center of the base, where a tall flagpole stretched upward, the Marine flag snapping crisply in the wind. Lafitte stopped beneath it, eying the insignia with mild interest.
"Justice," he murmured. "They always pick such heavy words."
A group of officers spotted him at last. Their eyes widened in recognition.
"Y-you," one stammered. "Weren't you escorted to the commander's office?"
"I was," Lafitte replied amiably. "I left."
"That is not an answer!" the man barked.
"It is precisely an answer," Lafitte said. He adjusted his hat again, as if dusting off their tone.
The officers bristled, but none dared approach. Lafitte's presence made them uneasy, and unease had a way of turning men careful.
A young ensign ripped open a sealed gate across the courtyard. He sprinted toward the communications tower.
"Hurry! Sound the alert!"
Lafitte's smile deepened, though it never reached his eyes. "How dramatic."
He crossed the courtyard at an unhurried pace. The guards parted for him without thinking, swept aside by a force they did not fully grasp. Lafitte never touched them. He never had to.
By the time he reached the main road leading down to the harbor, the alert bell began to toll. A shrill, panicked sound. The entire base snapped to attention.
"INTRUDER ON THE PREMISES! RED ALERT!"
Heavy boots thundered across stone. Orders rang out. Every marine within earshot scrambled to seal exits and raise barricades. Lafitte continued walking as if taking a casual morning stroll.
He passed another group of soldiers struggling to operate a gate crank. The chain jammed. They cursed under their breath, trying to force it open.
"Allow me," Lafitte offered gently.
They looked up, confused. One soldier took a half step back, hands trembling.
"You— You can't be here!"
Lafitte placed two fingers on the jammed mechanism. With a delicate twist, the chain flowed freely, the gate sliding open with a clean, metallic sigh.
The marines stared.
"You are welcome," he said.
He stepped through the open gate before they found the courage to stop him. The voices behind him rose in frantic panic.
"We have to restrain him!"
"How? He's already gone!"
"No, he is right there!"
"But he is not stopping!"
Lafitte rounded the last curve of the road and reached the lower pier. The harbor stretched out before him. Masts swayed in the wind, ropes creaked softly, and the sea glittered with the promise of a wider world.
His small craft was tied neatly where he had left it. A fragile wooden boat, too unremarkable for suspicion. Lafitte preferred quiet exits.
He stepped inside and picked up the oars, though his movements suggested he barely needed them. The moment the boat drifted a few meters out, shouts erupted behind him.
"STOP! STOP RIGHT THERE!"
"FIRE A WARNING SHOT!"
The shots never came. The commanding officer barked an order to stand down.
"We do not risk hitting the ships! Hold your fire!"
Lafitte rowed with slow, thoughtful strokes. The navy base shrank behind him, the chaos dwindling to a distant hum. Seagulls circled. The breeze carried the scent of salt and morning sun.
Once he reached open water, he rested the oars on his lap and closed his eyes. He enjoyed moments like this, where calm threaded its way into the world despite everyone else's intentions.
"You comported yourselves admirably," he said softly, addressing the base behind him as if it were a polite audience. "Though I do wonder how long it will take before someone discovers today's true significance."
He opened his eyes again. Something sharp and satisfied glinted there.
"After all," he whispered, "not every day contains such opportunity."
He traced a finger along the edge of his coat, where a carefully folded paper now rested in his inner pocket. A record. A name. A path.
He would bring this to the captain. And the captain would understand.
Lafitte leaned back and let the boat drift toward the horizon. The sun climbed. The sky brightened. The world felt ready to be nudged.
And Lafitte, ever courteous, intended to oblige.