At dawn, the horizon glimmered faintly with silver light.
Several colossal Marine battleships glided into the harbor of the Sabaody Archipelago.
As the gangway dropped, a man with a square jaw and a face carved in stone stepped down.
Beneath his coat of justice was a dark crimson suit, and even without a word, his very presence radiated ferocity.
It was none other than the Marine Admiral Sakazuki, code name—Akainu.
"Move out," Akainu said flatly, lighting a cigar. His voice carried no warmth, no hesitation.
"Even if you have to turn Sabaody upside down… capture Fire Fist Ace."
"Sir, yes sir!"
A chorus of thunderous voices echoed across the docks.
Within moments, entire squads of Marines fanned out like tidal waves—
storming hotels, homes, taverns, bathhouses, seafood markets—
searching every corner of the archipelago.
Meanwhile, in a dim and cramped room not far away, Blackbeard froze mid-swig.
He lowered his bottle, pushed aside the curtain, and peered out the window.
The sight of Marines with rifles flooding the streets made him grin.
"Zehahaha… things are getting interesting," he laughed, though his eyes darkened.
"Captain Ace… looks like we've both been cornered this time."
His crewmates—Burgess, Lafitte, and the rest—felt the tension and stood, weapons ready.
Escape was impossible.
The ports were locked down; every exit bristled with Marine guns.
If they wanted out, they'd have to carve a path through fire and blood.
"The dead are quickly forgotten," Blackbeard growled, a cruel smile spreading.
"So we'll live. Bite, crawl, kill—whatever it takes.
And since Ace wants to chase us so badly…"
His grin twisted.
"Let's give the Marines a gift they'll never forget."
Perhaps under Sengoku's explicit orders, Ron's tavern was left untouched during the raid.
At eight in the morning, the door creaked open softly.
Rem, in a white pajama set printed with tiny puppies, shuffled in on slippers.
"Master, breakfast is ready," she murmured, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.
Ron opened one eye to find her half-asleep expression and tousled blue hair brushing her cheeks.
She was the very picture of sleepy sweetness…
though the little dog print on her chest did seem to have grown a size.
Breakfast was simple.
Ron had steamed buns and rice porridge; the twins, two fried eggs and a sausage each.
He read the World Economic News as he ate—
and, as usual, the front page was pure tabloid gold.
[Shock! The World's Strongest Swordsman Found Living With Baboons—Has He Gone Wild?!]
[Emperor Big Mom's 50th Husband Is a Fishman—Moral Collapse or Evolution?]
[Breaking! Golden Emperor Tesoro Spotted in Midnight Tryst With Pop Idol!]
He sighed. Same trashy headlines, different world.
"Master, your sleep schedule is too irregular," Ram chided gently.
Rem smiled faintly. "Sister, we'll just have to get used to how long and when Master sleeps."
Length and timing?
That phrasing woke Ron right up.
He rubbed Ram's head with a grin. "I'll keep that in mind."
Ram blushed but didn't move away, eyes soft with quiet contentment.
After breakfast, Ron took his usual seat behind the bar—
but before he could relax, a thunderous boom erupted in the distance.
Gunfire, screams, and explosions echoed one after another.
The air grew scorching hot.
A blinding crimson glow filled Ron's vision—rivers of magma arcing through the sky, roaring down like molten rain.
BOOM!
Each blast bloomed midair like fireworks, then came crashing down in fiery showers.
Ron smirked. "So the mutt really came. Looks like Sabaody's going to be lively today."
Even as he spoke, a flash of sword light split the horizon—
sharp, dazzling, colliding head-on with Akainu's magma in a storm of destruction.
The clash raged from dawn till noon before the island finally fell silent again.
The heat left behind made the midday sun feel like it could melt stone.
Ron leaned back in a chair under the shade of a tree outside his tavern, eyes half-closed.
Just as he began to drift off, a burnt smell reached his nose.
Opening one eye, he found Rayleigh standing before him—singed, smoke-streaked, and wearing half-burned clothes.
So that's why Momousagi had tipped him off yesterday—
a test.
If he had warned Rayleigh, the old man would've hidden Ace, and the Marines would've branded Ron as a pirate ally.
If he stayed silent, he'd pass as neutral.
That psycho woman really knows how to play mind games.
Ron chuckled. "Well, well. If it isn't my dear old friend, Rayleigh. What happened—grilled too long?"
"Bah! What do you know," Rayleigh snorted, puffing up despite the soot. "I went easy on that magma brat."
The bravado lasted all of three seconds before he slumped, sighing. "Enough talk. Get me a bottle of your best and some clothes."
He tossed Ron a heavy pouch of gold and trudged inside.
"Money solves everything," Ron said cheerfully, hefting the pouch.
But as he turned, another figure approached from the opposite street—
a young man with freckles across his face, shirtless and battered, his skin traced with fresh burns and cuts.
"Ace?" Ron's brow lifted.
Indeed—it was Portgas D. Ace, Commander of Whitebeard's Second Division.
"Excuse me," Ace said politely. "An old man told me to come here for a drink. Has he arrived?"
Ron nodded. "He's inside. Come on."
When they entered, Rayleigh had already changed clothes and was sitting at the bar with a bottle in hand.
Without looking back, he spoke quietly.
"So, you already know who I am."
Ace stayed silent, eyes cold but uncertain.
"You came because you want to understand your father, right?"
Still no reply—only a flicker of pain behind his glare.
Rayleigh leaned back, spreading his arms as if embracing memory itself.
"Back then," he said softly, "we were the freest men on the sea.
We sailed wherever the wind called, roared into tempests with laughter,
bowed to no kings, toasted the most beautiful women,
and flipped the bird to the Celestial Dragons with pride—"
His grin turned wistful, eyes reflecting the sea of a bygone era.
"—that was the age of the Pirate King."
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