"Rosen is finally making his move," Marco muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "And we're the ones who'll have to clean up this mess."
Jozu slammed his fist against the Moby Dick's railing. "So we're just supposed to let Squard and his crews run wild? They've been raiding Ford Island for weeks! The townspeople are terrified, supplies are dwindling, and the Whitebeard Pirates' reputation—"
"Is the only thing keeping this alliance together," Marco interrupted sharply. "Listen to me, Jozu. The moment we try to stop them, those 43 pirate crews scatter. And if Rosen attacks while we're fractured? We're done for."
Vista crossed his arms, his expression grim. "So it's a choice between our honor and our survival. Typical pirate logic."
"Exactly." Marco's voice softened. "Old Man Whitebeard knows this. He's already spent our entire treasury buying back the townspeople's supplies. Every berry we had, gone."
"Then let's move them!" Jozu insisted. "Send Squard to raid the World Government's territories instead. Those nobles have more money than they know what to do with—"
"No." Marco shook his head. "We need everyone here. If we split up and Rosen strikes, we're finished. His Armament Haki can level islands. His Zanpakutō can cut through anything. We can't afford to be scattered."
The deck fell silent. The reality was brutal: nearly 50,000 pirates crammed onto Ford Island, consuming supplies faster than they could be replaced. Meat wasn't the problem—Sea Kings were plentiful. But vegetables, fruits, clean water? Those were running out.
"There's only one solution," Jinbe finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Fish-Man Island will provide supplies. King Neptune has already agreed."
"Jinbe..." Vista's eyes widened.
"Before you thank me," Jinbe continued, "understand this: I'm not doing this for Squard's raiders. I'm doing this for Whitebeard. He protected Fish-Man Island for decades. We don't abandon our allies."
Marco let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "How long until the first shipment arrives?"
"A week. Maybe less. But we need to keep the townspeople calm until then. Whitebeard's already promised them triple compensation."
"Old Man's too damn generous for his own good," Jozu muttered, but there was relief in his voice.
"Generosity is why we follow him," Jinbe replied. "But don't forget—this only works if we stay united. Rosen's strategy is to divide us. We can't let him succeed."
As if summoned by his name, the sky above Ford Island suddenly rippled. Not clouds. Not weather. The air itself warped like water, visible waves distorting the horizon.
Edward Newgate, leaning against his bisento, went rigid. His eyes, sharp and clear despite his age, narrowed. "Rosen."
The name hung heavy in the air.
This wasn't the Marine HQ of old—slow to mobilize, taking weeks to cross the Grand Line. Rosen had changed everything. He could tear through space, appearing anywhere in an instant. The rules of war had been rewritten.
"Old Man?" Marco's hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword.
"Get ready," Whitebeard growled, his voice carrying across the fleet. "Rosen isn't coming to negotiate."
The sky split open, a tear in reality that screamed with spiritual pressure. Through the void stepped Admiral Rosen, his Marine coat fluttering despite the unnatural stillness around him.
"Whitebeard Pirates," Rosen's voice cut through the tension, cold and absolute. "Your era ends today."
Around him, cherry blossom petals materialized from nothing—thousands of them, each one a razor-sharp blade of spiritual energy. Senbonzakura.
"So the rumors are true," Jinbe murmured, watching the petals swirl. "He really can manifest Zanpakutō through his Devil Fruit."
Rosen raised a hand, and the petals surged forward like a storm.
"Marco! Jozu! Vista!" Whitebeard's voice boomed like thunder. "Protect the island! Don't let a single petal through!"
The Whitebeard Pirates moved as one, but they were already too late. The first wave of cherry blossoms reached the outskirts of Ford Island, slicing through buildings like paper. Screams erupted from the towns below.
Rosen watched with cold, calculating eyes. This was his justice—absolute, unyielding. Pirates were vermin that needed to be exterminated, not negotiated with. Every second he allowed them to exist was another second of suffering for innocent civilians.
"Did you really think," Rosen called out, his voice carrying over the chaos, "that you could protect your territories while harboring criminals?"
His other hand rose, and ice began to form around his fingers—Hyōrinmaru's power manifesting. The temperature plummeted.
"Rosen!" Whitebeard roared, channeling his own quake power. "You want war? Then you'll face the strongest!"
The sky cracked. The sea churned. Two titans prepared to clash, and 50,000 pirates held their breath.
But Rosen merely smiled—a thin, predatory expression. "Strongest? That title died with Roger. Now... there is only Justice."
Behind him, the void tore open again. Marines poured through—not hundreds, but thousands. All equipped with new combat suits, all wielding Haki, all led by Rosen's absolute command.
The trap had been set. The Whitebeard Pirates had walked right into it.
And for the first time in decades, Edward Newgate felt something he hadn't felt since Roger's execution: doubt.
"Old Man," Marco whispered, his flames flickering with uncertainty. "What do we do?"
Whitebeard gripped his bisento tighter. "We do what we've always done. We protect our own."
His eyes locked with Rosen's across the battlefield.
"But be ready," he added quietly. "This isn't a battle. It's an execution."
—-