Both the Moby Dick and the Oro Jackson were docked side by side on the far side of Jaya Island, where a temporary camp had been set up. The Whitebeard Pirates and the Roger Pirates had come together there—and they were celebrating in full swing.
Near the heart of the campfire, Whitebeard sat surrounded by Roger, Rayleigh, Gaban, and Robert. He drank grumpily from his massive sake bottle, his mood unmistakably sour. Opposite him, Roger smirked like a mischievous gremlin, clearly enjoying the rare sight of his rival looking so agitated.
Roger snickered behind his own bottle. Whitebeard's eye twitched in annoyance at the sound. He set the bottle down with a thud and glared at Roger.
"You're enjoying my despair more than you should."
Roger didn't deny it. He merely glanced at Whitebeard from the corner of his eye, smirk intact.
"Of course," he said, utterly without remorse.
"You have no shame," Whitebeard grumbled, then turned his gaze toward the true cause of his so-called shame—Robert. Or, as the rest fondly called him, Bob.
During their duel, as Roger had warned, Whitebeard hadn't managed to land a single scratch on him. He had thrown everything he had—brute strength, precise technique, even combinations enhanced with his Devil Fruit. Nothing worked. He unleashed every ounce of Haki, every flicker of willpower, even the full wrath of his Devil Fruit—an assault so tremendous it sank the island they fought on and summoned towering tsunamis.
And still, the result had been the same.
Eighteen hours. Whitebeard had battled Robert for eighteen relentless hours. Yet in all that time, Robert hadn't even unsheathed his sword once. That humiliation burned deeper than any wound. Yes, Whitebeard had been thrilled—elated, even—to witness such an absurd level of strength. But it still stung. He—Edward 'Whitebeard' Newgate, once the right hand of the most dangerous man to ever sail the seas, Rocks D. Xebec—hadn't even managed to force his opponent to draw his blade.
When the duel finally ended, Whitebeard lay sprawled across the small scrap of land left from the obliterated island, completely drained. Robert hovered above, floating in the air, watching him in silence.
Just what in the world is this guy…?
That was the last thought in Whitebeard's mind before he lost consciousness.
When he came to, he was back aboard his ship, fully restored—refreshed in body and spirit as if he hadn't just fought a living myth. When he asked his crew what happened, they told him that after he passed out, Robert had repaired the island, raising it back to its original state. Not only that, Robert had also healed his fatigue and injuries—restoring him completely.
Whitebeard had blinked in disbelief. After confirming the story with the others, something inside him quietly crumbled. His worldview—shaped by years of hardship and pain—shattered.
He had always been alone, judged by his monstrous strength and appearance. People feared what they didn't understand. That's why he had always yearned for a family—those who would accept him for who he was, just as he would accept them. He had found power through struggle, joined Rocks, and faced the world's cruelty. He knew that in this world, if you weren't strong, you had no place.
And yet, here was this boy—Robert—who held power that could reshape the world itself. If he wanted, he could achieve what Rocks once dreamed of: ruling everything. But instead, Robert was surrounded by people who treated him as kin—and he, in turn, saw them as family.
That thought alone made Whitebeard smile.
"Oi, stop smiling like that. You look creepy as hell, man!" Roger's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Whitebeard scowled, "Hmph. Mood killer."
He turned back toward Robert, who was casually roasting a massive Sea King over the fire, "Say, boy. We never did get to introduce ourselves properly—" Whitebeard began.
Robert looked up.
"You already know me from your crew. But I don't know much about you."
"Oh. Yeah—" Robert muttered, dusting off his hands. He extended one forward for a handshake.
"Name's Robert—" he added, then shifted his form to reveal his true appearance, "Robert Van Figarland."
Whitebeard's eyes widened slightly at the transformation. He was staring at an entirely different person.
"Figarland…" he muttered, glancing back at Roger and the others, who gave silent nods in confirmation.
Unconsciously, Whitebeard's hand drifted to an old scar on his chest, "Interesting. To think you're the son of that man," he said, studying Robert's face.
"You're nothing like him. Not just in looks—your whole manner, your energy… it doesn't speak of nobility."
Robert rubbed the back of his head, sighing as if the weight of the world sat squarely on his shoulders.
"Yeah. I get that a lot. Apparently, I take after my mother."
Whitebeard raised a brow, "And who might that be?"
"Saint Maria de Van Astrea—"
Whitebeard blinked.
"The Sword Saint, huh!? No wonder you're beyond absurdity!" he huffed.
"Yeah… about that—" Robert added sheepishly. Somehow, Whitebeard picked up on what Robert was implying and turned to Roger and the others with a deadpan stare.
"—His tricks definitely have nothing to do with those two, right?" he said sarcastically.
The Roger Pirates laughed nervously in response.
Whitebeard sighed and shook his head, "Yup. I still haven't seen the true depth of this world."
He looked back at Robert.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
Robert silently pointed toward another group gathered near the edge of the party. Shanks and Marco were chatting animatedly, their crews nearby.
"That little redhead's my half-brother. And as you can see, he takes after our father more than I do."
Whitebeard's eyes narrowed as he studied the boy—more specifically, his face. After a few seconds, he could clearly see the features of Garling etched in the kid's expression. Then he turned to Roger and gave him a look that said plainly, You are one troublesome man.
After that, everyone resumed drinking. Roger launched into an excited rant about the mysterious Sky Island. Robert continued grilling Sea King meat, half-listening to his captain's rambling.
Then he looked over at Whitebeard again, an old question finally surfacing.
"Ah… Mister Whitebeard—"
"Just call me Whitebeard."
Robert nodded, "There's something I want to ask. It's kind of a personal question."
Whitebeard hummed and gave a slight nod.
"Go ahead."
"What exactly did Rocks desire?" Robert asked. "I mean, I understand he wanted to be King of the World. But… was that all he wanted? Just to rule?"
A heavy silence settled over their side of the camp. Whitebeard sighed, took a long drink from his bottle, and then met Robert's gaze.
"Truth be told… even I don't know. Hell, I don't think anyone on the Rocks crew really knew what he truly wanted to do after he conquered the world."
Whitebeard stared out at the sea, his voice drifting, "I remember… once, he said something about knowing a truth from the past—something no one was ever supposed to know. That's all. Beyond that, we were all in the dark."
Even Roger, listening closely, was surprised by this revelation.
Robert nodded slowly, then followed up with another question.
"And what about you? What do you desire?"
Whitebeard raised a brow, then smiled.
"What do I desire?"
The question sparked an old memory—one from when he'd been just a rookie pirate, asked the very same thing.
He turned to Robert and answered with clarity:
"A family."
He looked at his crew—the sons he had chosen, the odd ones he'd taken in over the years, "I always wanted a family. A place to call my own. A home. To be surrounded by loved ones… so that when I take my last breath, I'll be surrounded by family."
He glanced back at Robert, "So yeah. That's all I want."
Everyone near the fire smiled warmly. Robert nodded in acknowledgment.
"That's a noble desire."
Then came the turning point.
"But… there's a flaw."
Everyone looked at Robert in curiosity.
"You see," he continued, "your desire doesn't align with your Devil Fruit."
Whitebeard blinked, confused, "What do you mean?"
"Have you heard of Devil Fruit awakening?" Robert asked. Everyone nodded.
"Good. Then listen closely. Awakening isn't just about power—it's about desire. To truly awaken a Devil Fruit, the user's innermost desire must align perfectly with the nature of the fruit.
Take your Gura Gura no Mi. It's a destructive-type fruit, capable of producing shockwaves and tremors through anything. You've mastered it over years—you're extremely proficient. So most would assume you're close to awakening it. But in truth… you never will."
The group fell silent, processing the weight of his words. Only Rayleigh seemed to immediately grasp the deeper truth behind them.
"So, based on what you said," Rayleigh began, "Whitebeard can't awaken his Devil Fruit… because his desire doesn't align with its nature."
Robert nodded.
Roger scratched his head, still puzzled.
"But why not?"
Rayleigh sighed and looked toward both Roger and Whitebeard, "As Bob just said, a Devil Fruit can only awaken if its user's desire matches the fruit's essence. The Gura Gura no Mi is rooted in destruction. But Whitebeard… wants to build a family. Not destroy anything. That's why the alignment doesn't exist."
Eyes widened as realization struck. Everyone turned to Robert, who simply nodded again. Another veil had been lifted—another glimpse into the mysterious truths of their world.
And then, Whitebeard laughed.
"Gurarararara… Who needs awakening? I'm strong enough to protect my family without it!"
His laughter was contagious. Everyone joined in. Robert just shook his head, smiling softly to himself.
Yup. Only men like Whitebeard and Roger could shrug off such a revelation—and still bulldoze their way through destiny.
----------------------
PapaSukuna: Please review and share your powerstones.