Somewhere in the New World, aboard the Moby Dick.
It was nightfall again, yet the ship was full of life. The deck bustled with noise, music, and laughter. Surrounding the Moby Dick were dozens of allied ships—all under the flag of the Whitebeard Pirates. Altogether, over a thousand pirates celebrated tonight.
The Whitebeard Pirates, led by Edward Newgate—Whitebeard himself—were famed across the seas. Many considered them the strongest pirate group in the world. With nearly fifty subordinate crews, they held enough military power to rival the Navy.
But beneath that strength lay a truth often whispered in the shadows: Whitebeard's captains, though loyal and fierce, were not as individually monstrous as those from other Yonko crews.
Compared to them, the Red-Haired Pirates operated with fewer numbers, yet each member was a powerhouse. Their crew had the highest average bounty and were dubbed the Iron Wall Pirates.
The Big Mom Pirates, led by Big Mom herself, were anchored by the strength of her three Sweet Commanders.
And then there were the Beasts Pirates, backed by the devastating trio known as the All-Stars—ancient Zoan users with immense physical power.
Against this backdrop, some questioned what would become of the Whitebeard Pirates should their captain fall. Without him, could they survive in the treacherous New World?
But tonight, none of that mattered.
Another grand banquet was underway, a tradition for Whitebeard's crew—just like the Red-Haired Pirates, they believed in the power of celebration and camaraderie.
More surprisingly, Whitebeard's health had improved significantly.
For years, the old legend had suffered from battle wounds, internal damage caused by his Gura Gura no Mi powers, and age. His body once needed constant medical support—doctors and nurses working daily to keep him alive. But now, against all odds, he had recovered enough to dismiss them.
"Gurararara…"
Whitebeard let out a booming laugh from his massive throne-like seat, his voice echoing over the waves.
"My beloved sons, eat, drink, and be merry!"
"Father, you just recovered. Don't overdo it!"
Marco, the first division commander, gave a concerned look.
"Gurarara, nonsense! I'm Whitebeard!"
Whitebeard's presence was overwhelming. It wasn't just his Haki—it was the force of his life, his will. He had risen during the era of Rocks, battled through the age of Roger, and kept pace with monsters like Roger and the Golden Lion.
He was a living legend—recognized even by Garp himself.
The towering frame of Whitebeard was imposing. Though born to normal humans, his body had mutated into that of a giant—more than six meters tall. In this strange world, such anomalies weren't rare. Big Mom was the same.
Something in this world created monsters.
"Dad, seriously, take it easy on the wine," said Vista, the elegant swordsman known as "Flower Sword."
"Gurararara! A man who doesn't drink isn't a real man!"
Whitebeard raised a bowl larger than most men's heads and gulped the wine down in one breath. Like his old comrade Shiki, he believed drinking was part of a pirate's soul.
"Dad... really…" Marco sighed, exchanging glances with the other commanders. They couldn't stop him, not when he was like this.
Elsewhere on the ship, Teach—Blackbeard—stood alone near the bow, away from the cheerful noise.
He wasn't Blackbeard yet. On paper, he was just another member of the Whitebeard Pirates.
But Teach was a man of ambition. He had long hidden his true self beneath a mask of mediocrity. A careerist through and through, he waited patiently—decades of feigned loyalty—all for one goal: the Yami Yami no Mi.
The Dark-Dark Fruit.
Teach wasn't ordinary. Even Red-Haired Shanks bore scars from him. And that was back when Shanks was already one of the strongest men in the world, well before the age of forty.
But Teach had his eyes set on something darker. His body was strange—freakish, even—and the Dark-Dark Fruit was the key to his destiny. He had studied the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia aboard the Moby Dick, memorizing every detail about the fruit once wielded by Rocks D. Xebec. A fruit of pure darkness. The most evil Logia-type.
"Darkness... soon," he muttered, his eyes scanning the endless sea.
Suddenly, Ace approached.
"Teach, what're you doing out here alone?" asked Fire Fist Ace, casually throwing an arm around his shoulder.
The Whitebeard Pirates spoke of family—brotherhood. But among them, Teach and Ace had always had a quiet rivalry.
"Nothing much, Ace," Teach replied with a practiced smile.
"C'mon, let's have a drink. Tonight's too good to waste."
"Zehahaha! Alright, Ace," Teach chuckled. If he hadn't found the Dark-Dark Fruit, maybe this life would've been enough.
"Huh? Wait a sec," Ace suddenly squinted, gazing toward the horizon. "What's that?"
In the distance, under the shadow of the night sky, dozens of black dots floated in the air.
"You seeing this, Teach?" Ace pointed. "Is that… an island?"
"Islands?" Teach frowned and pulled out a telescope.
"No way."
Ace kept staring. "It really looks like islands."
Teach froze, his face darkening. He looked through the scope—and his expression shifted instantly.
"Golden Lion!" he shouted.
His voice cut through the music and noise like a blade. The entire Moby Dick fell into silence.
"Golden Lion?" Whitebeard himself stood up, narrowing his eyes toward the sea.
And there, no longer dots but clearly visible—dozens of floating islands, hanging ominously in the sky.
At the lead stood Shiki the Golden Lion, his long golden mane flowing in the wind, his swords at his sides. His expression was proud, arrogant, and defiant.
Whitebeard's voice rumbled low.
"Shiki…"
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