As before, William sat on a chair his men had carried in, one leg crossed over the other as he observed Selkirk. The difference this time was that Selkirk was locked up alone. The entire hold was empty save for the two of them.
After a long silence, William finally spoke. "Those men who betrayed you… they're all dead."
Selkirk's story had already been pried out when he was captured: tricked by his own first mate, abandoned, and left behind.
Even iron-willed men grew weak after such prolonged hunger. Selkirk was now gaunt and exhausted. William's silent strategy the last time, saying nothing from beginning to end, had left a deep impression on him and the other prisoners. The fatigue and isolation had drained their willpower, stripped away their hostility and vigilance, and made it harder for them to maintain any defiance.
Selkirk looked William up and down, his voice hoarse. "So you're the one in charge of this ship now?"
"Of course." William smiled faintly, rose from his chair, crouched in front of the cell door, and waved a cigarette.
Selkirk hesitated, then leaned forward, pressing his head near the bars.
William slipped the cigarette into his mouth, lit it for him, then lit another for himself.
Selkirk inhaled deeply, letting the smoke travel through his starved lungs before slowly exhaling. His voice was rough. "So what do you plan to do with us? Kill us? You already have the Devil Fruit, don't you? We're useless now."
"That's what you think?" William shook his head. "You really aren't suited to be a captain."
Selkirk's face darkened, but then he gave a bitter smile. "You're right. I wasn't cut out for it. I dragged my men into the Grand Line without any preparation. Almost all of them died. Then I was thrown onto a deserted island by my own crew and nearly starved to death. And now I'm a prisoner. Looking at it this way, I really have no right to keep on living."
"You were a failure as a captain, yes. But your luck has turned. If the original captain of this ship were still alive, he would have killed you outright. He wouldn't have wasted supplies or space keeping you and your pathetic men locked up." William tapped the iron bars with his finger. "But I see value in this."
He pointed to his head. "If you failed as a captain, why not take another role?"
"You want me to surrender and become your subordinate? And you think a few words will make us forget we were enemies?" Selkirk quickly understood his meaning.
"Enemies? Friends?" William scoffed, tapping him with his cigarette. "Don't be childish. We're pirates, not children who throw tantrums and refuse to speak again. The sea is not a playground. Apart from the Navy, we have no eternal enemies. And friendship has nothing to do with personal likes or dislikes. There are only two rules that matter for pirates."
"And those are?"
"Strength. And above all—common purpose."
Selkirk, even inside a cell, couldn't help curling his lip. "Strength? You, an East Blue pirate, lecture me about strength? What's your goal, to rule the weakest sea?"
Thanks to the World Government's propaganda and long-standing prejudice, disdain for the East Blue was deeply ingrained among the powerful pirates of other seas.
Selkirk was from the North Sea. Though not as wild as the Grand Line, the chaos and danger there still dwarfed the East Blue. Even the execution of the Pirate King, Roger, in East Blue had been seen by many as an insult. And that was Roger's homeland. The contempt for East Blue pirates everywhere else was obvious.
William only smiled. "Roger and Garp, legends among pirates and marines, were both born in this sea."
Selkirk gave him a hard look. "You're arrogant. Do you think you're the same as the Pirate King?"
William only laughed. His laughter grew louder, more genuine, until Selkirk frowned in confusion.
Bang!
Selkirk's vision blurred. A sudden explosion erupted less than half a meter in front of him, sending a blast of heat crashing over him. He screamed as the shockwave threw him backward, his exposed skin flushed a deep red.
The cell door rattled under the force, but stayed firmly locked. Yet William's figure was already inside the cell.
Steam billowed in waves. William stood over Selkirk, one boot pressing down on his chest. Pale vapor hissed endlessly from every pore of William's body, raising the room's temperature with every breath. A candle melted into liquid in an instant.
Selkirk's chest sizzled like flesh seared by a hot iron.
William looked down at him. When he opened his mouth, a stream of white steam drifted out, curling around his face. Broken by hunger, thirst, and exhaustion, Selkirk's mind wavered. In that moment, staring upward, he thought he saw a god descending from the clouds.
"The weak have no right to choose."
…
That afternoon, ship's doctor Wood, first mate Felton, helmsman Diego, and the old pirate Hutchinson were all summoned to the captain's quarters to discuss ship affairs.
This was one of the greatest differences between William and Barbarossa. Barbarossa rarely consulted anyone outside his brothers Reiss and Hyreddin, preferring to give commands. William, though just as decisive and already firm in his own plans, was willing to listen to others—even if only for show. Whether he accepted their advice or not was his choice.
Such gestures made his subordinates feel valued and recognized. It gave them a sense of importance in the crew. And when an unpopular decision was made, William could let those who participated in the "discussion" take the blame, diverting the resentment of the rank and file onto the middle ranks.
Wood, Hutchinson, and Felton were no scheming officials. They were a doctor, a drunkard, a brute. They couldn't imagine the layers of calculation behind William's actions. They even admired his openness. Even Felton, who often clashed with him, secretly admitted William's leadership felt far more enlightened than Barbarossa's.
Felton was the first to step into the captain's quarters, passing Diego's odd stare. Once inside, he frowned in surprise. For along with William's close allies, Harden and Clow, there was another unexpected presence—Selkirk, the prisoner.
William gestured for everyone to sit, then turned to fetch glasses. Whenever he hosted in the captain's quarters, he always poured the drinks himself. By now, the crew had grown used to it.
Felton didn't wait for an invitation. He grabbed a chair, sat down, and jabbed a finger at Selkirk. "Why isn't this man rotting in his cell?"
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