The New World.
It was a place of sublime contradictions.
Between the maddening, erratic magnetic fields and the seas that defied every law of nature, there existed a landscape of grotesque flora and predatory fauna. Somewhere amidst this chaos lay the hidden jewel of the Pirate King—the unreachable island of Laugh Tale, a myth protected by the sea itself. It was a realm carved into territories by the Four Emperors, policed by the Seven Warlords, and bled dry by the titans of the Underworld. Natural disasters and human ambition intertwined here to create a theater of beautiful, lethal consequence.
On a certain secluded island sat the heart of this information web: the headquarters of the World Economic Journal.
The amber glow of the setting sun spilled through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across a sea of hundreds of cubicles. It served as a grim reminder to the sleep-deprived editors, reporters, and clerks that another day had bled into the next. Yet, despite the hour, the office remained a hive of frantic activity. No one rose to leave.
As the world's premier publication, the World Economic Journal was the undisputed sovereign of the press. Even the state-sponsored broadsheets of the World Government could not match its sheer circulation or cultural gravity. To hold a desk here was a mark of prestige that invited crushing pressure. In this building, "leaving on time" was a death sentence for one's career. Every soul in the room was busy squeezing the last drops of their potential into ink.
"President!"
"Big news!"
The silence was shattered as a fresh-faced intern bolted upright, dropping his Transponder Snail. Ignoring the envious glares of his peers, he sprinted toward the corner office.
"Whitebeard's Second Division Commander, 'Pale Horn' Gio, has succumbed to illness... Hmph. A solid lead, but it lacks teeth."
Inside the office, the "Birdman" reclined in a massive leather throne, flipping through the draft with a critical eye. He was Big News Morgans, a man whose word could shake the foundations of the world.
"Death by illness... what a tedious way to go. There's no fire in it, no drama! A death like this won't stir the blood of the masses. It won't move papers."
"Then... should we embellish? Perhaps a slow-acting poison?" the intern suggested, his voice trembling with misguided ambition.
"Now, now, Richard, my dear boy," Morgans began, his feathered arms flapping with exaggerated flair. "Do you truly wish to see my headquarters leveled to the ground? This is Whitebeard we're talking about. If Edward Newgate sees a hack like you fabricating the death of one of his 'sons,' do you think he won't sail over here and crush every single one of us into a pulp?"
"Get out! You're a fool."
Morgans dismissed the intern with a sneer, mentally terminating the boy's employment. His paper had no room for those who lacked a sense of scale. Insulting Whitebeard was one thing—it would only anger the commanders. But to slander one of Whitebeard's sons was to invite the wrath of the old man himself.
The World Economic Journal hadn't become the uncrowned king of the press solely through Morgans' nose for a story. It survived because he knew exactly how to navigate the egos of the titans who ruled the seas. He had mastered the art of the explosive headline that stayed just on the right side of a death warrant.
"The youth of today... they're getting stupider by the generation. Does he have stones where his brain should be?"
Morgans crumpled the draft and tossed it into the wastebasket. He then reached for another file, one far more intriguing.
"The Kingdom of Echemondo... 'Ghost Sword' Venculla, 'Strangler Ghost' Falugo, the 'Black Beast' Tadra... ho-ho. These are all Umit's dogs, aren't they? Is the Shipping King looking for a scrap with Whitebeard?"
Morgans understood better than most that news was simply the polite word for intelligence. As the President of the WEJ, his private archives rivaled those of the most specialized brokers.
The war between Echemondo and Amento was, on the surface, a triviality compared to the death of a Yonko Commander. But Morgans held the pulse of the conflict. By his calculations, the Echemondo reinforcements would be making landfall right about now to clash with Umit's shadows.
"Umit... I fear you've tried to kick a steel plate this time."
Morgans pulled a heavy, waxed dossier from his desk drawer. He unwound the string and spread a thick stack of documents across the mahogany. At the very top was a high-resolution photograph of a young man with emerald eyes.
"Soccachio Elus, the First Crown Prince of Echemondo..."
Morgans narrowed his avian eyes. He had been tracking this young man for five years. In that half-decade, over a dozen pirates with bounties exceeding a hundred million had met mysterious ends. More significantly, three titans with bounties over five hundred million had vanished without a trace. In the shadow of every one of these disappearances, the name 'Elus' appeared like a recurring ghost.
A journalist's instinct was a physical thing, and it told Morgans that this was no coincidence.
Despite five years of deep-cover investigation, he had failed to find a single scrap of hard evidence—no photos, no witnesses, no survivors. Nothing to prove that this prince possessed the power to fell a five-hundred-million-man.
But this silence only fueled Morgans' suspicion.
To him, this mysterious prince was an "Ultra-Large Sea King" lurking in the lightless depths of the ocean. While the world obsessed over the noisy "Supernovas" of the pirate world, Elus was a star that chose to hide its brilliance. If he ever chose to shine, the very map of the New World might be rewritten.
Whitebeard was aging. Unlike the Marine monster Garp, Newgate's health was a closely guarded secret that Morgans had spent a fortune to penetrate. The "Strongest Man" was failing. The tide was turning.
Soon, the New World would face a reckoning, much like the one after the Battle of God Valley when the Rocks Pirates vanished. From the corpse of the old era, new emperors would rise.
"Umit, will you be the first sacrifice at the altar of a new King?"
Morgans felt a thrill of genuine excitement.
"Let me see it, then, my mysterious Prince. Show me if you are a mere falling star or the sun that will burn the heavens!"