The winter island's rocky beach was painted white with fresh snow as Shanks and Beckman stood watching the Spade Pirates' ship disappear beyond the horizon. The contrast between the frigid landscape around them and the warm memories of the previous night's festivities created a strangely melancholic atmosphere. Snowflakes drifted down from the overcast sky, landing on Shanks' distinctive red hair and Beckman's cigarette smoke, creating ephemeral patterns that dissolved as quickly as they formed.
For a long time, the only sound was the crunch of snow under their boots and the sigh of the waves.
"Baterilla Island, in the South Blue," Shanks said, his voice quiet, stripped of its usual boisterous energy. He wasn't looking at Beckman, but at the empty space where the ship had been. "He was born twenty years ago."
Beckman took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a distant star in the grey light. He knew where this was going. "Portgas D. Ace. He has his mother's name."
Shanks finally turned, a profound sadness in his eyes that few ever saw. "He does. But he has his father's fire. And his smile." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Last night, when he was laughing with his crew, for a split second... I saw Captain Roger sitting there instead. The same reckless grin, the same look in his eye that dared the world to try and stop him."
The pieces had clicked into place for Shanks hours ago, amidst the singing and the clashing of sake cups. The name of the island. The timing. The 'D' in his name that Ace carried not with pride, but like a burden. And most of all, the burning, desperate need to prove himself—not to become the King, but to surpass a king.
Beckman flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Roger was executed twenty-two years ago. How is a twenty-year-old son even possible? The math doesn't work."
A shadow crossed Shanks's face, a look of profound, dawning regret. "Portgas D. Rouge…" he said, the name tasting like a long-forgotten memory on his tongue. He remembered the Captain speaking of her, his voice softer than any of his crew had ever heard it. He remembered a fierce, loving woman from a distant port. "He loved her. We all knew that. But a child… he never said a word. Not to me, not to Rayleigh, not to anyone."
Shanks looked out at the churning, grey sea, his thoughts turning inward.
To have a son… and to sail to your death without entrusting him to any of us? Captain, did you think you were protecting them by leaving them in silence? Or did you think we couldn't handle that final treasure? The thought was a fresh wound, a sudden, sharp regret that they, his crew, had failed to see the greatest burden their captain carried.
"For her to have hidden him all this time..." Shanks murmured, shaking his head in disbelief and awe. "To have carried the Pirate King's child and kept him safe from the entire world right under the Government's nose... Her will must have been unshakable. An act of pure love and defiance."
"But Ace doesn't see it that way," Shanks continued, his voice hardening slightly with remembered frustration.
Beckman watched him, understanding dawning. "A son's resentment is a powerful thing. Especially for a father he never knew, especially with the consequence of Roger staring the Great Pirate era... it's not about finding the One Piece. It's about escaping his own blood."
A heavy silence fell between them again, the weight of history and regret settling upon Shank's shoulders. The son of his captain, alive, carrying his mother's name and his father's curse.
"And what about his vice-captain?" Beckman asked, shifting the topic to the other anomaly. "Jerry. I spent most of the evening trying to get a read on him, and I came up completely blank."
Shanks' expression shifted from somber reflection to sharp focus. "You too? I thought it was just me." The frustration returned to his voice. "Everything and nothing. He's laid-back, but his eyes are constantly analyzing. No fear, no intimidation. He deflects every real question with a joke, but you can feel the intelligence behind it. It's unnerving."
"I felt the same," Beckman admitted. "He's the perfect shield for Ace. He draws your attention, but gives you nothing. Anyone who can hide their presence and intent that well from both of us is either incredibly skilled or incredibly dangerous. Possibly both."
Shanks stared out at the churning ocean. "That crew... they're a family. They don't follow Ace out of fear or for gold. They follow him because they believe in him. With a man like Jerry watching his back, and a crew that loyal..."
"Should we be concerned?" Beckman finally asked.
Shanks let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Ace considers us friends now. He's not a threat to us. But he's a threat to the balance of the world. He's a lit match heading for a powder keg." He looked at Beckman, his expression grim. "He's going to challenge Whitebeard, and whether he wins or loses, the consequences will be enormous."
"And if, by some miracle, he succeeds?"
A faint, sad smile touched Shanks' lips. "Then everything changes,"
Meanwhile, several miles away and sailing under increasingly cloudy skies, the Spade Pirates were enjoying the aftermath of their successful diplomatic mission.
The weather had warmed considerably as they sailed away from the winter island, allowing the crew to shed their heavy coats and return to their normal attire. The deck was alive with conversation and activity as various crew members processed their encounter with one of the Four Emperors.
"I can't believe I actually got to trade with one of the Red Hair Pirates!" Skull exclaimed, holding up an ornate pocket watch decorated with intricate skull motifs. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the way it caught the filtered sunlight made it clear this was a valuable piece. "Look at this beauty! The detail work is incredible."
"You're lucky Captain Ace had that connection with them," another crew member commented. "That banquet was amazing. I haven't eaten food that good since... well, maybe ever."
The comment drew nervous glances from several crew members, and the speaker quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, realizing he'd almost insulted their current cook.
The unfortunate reality was that Banshee, their temporary chef, was enthusiastic but not particularly skilled in the kitchen. She'd volunteered for the role out of necessity rather than passion, and while her meals were technically edible, they weren't exactly inspiring.
Jerry could handle the cooking duties when they had time for proper grilling, but the demands of ocean travel made that impractical for regular meals. Building fires large enough to feed the entire crew required fuel they couldn't always spare, and the smoke could attract unwanted attention from Marines or hostile pirates.
So Banshee did her best, and everyone politely ate what she prepared without complaint. It was an unspoken rule that nobody criticized the cooking—at least not where she could hear it.
"Kotatsu made a friend too," Jerry observed, scratching behind the lynx's ears as the large cat purred contentedly in his lap. "What was that monkey's name again? Monsuta?"
"Monster!" Skull corrected with a laugh. "Though I can see why you'd mix that up. They seemed to get along really well."
"Alright, everyone!" Ace called out from where he'd been practicing his fire techniques near the ship's bow. "Our next goal is to reach the top! Time to get serious about challenging Whitebeard!"
The crew's enthusiasm was infectious, and Jerry could see that their encounter with the Red Hair Pirates had boosted everyone's confidence.
Ace himself seemed particularly energized, throwing himself into his training with renewed vigor.
The sun continued to shine warmly on the ship's deck, but Jerry gradually became aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere.
As someone who could manipulate water in all its forms, Jerry was particularly sensitive to atmospheric changes. The moisture in the air seemed to be building, becoming charged with an energy that made his abilities tingle with anticipation.
"Something's not right," he muttered, setting down his fishing rod and standing up to survey the horizon.
The sky above them was still mostly clear, but Jerry could see clouds building in the distance. More concerning was the way the ocean felt—like a massive amount of energy was building beneath the surface, waiting to explode outward.
"Skull!" Jerry called out, his voice carrying an edge of urgency that immediately caught the collector's attention. "Come with me. We need to find Deuce."
"What's wrong, Boss Jerry?" Skull asked, but the serious expression on Jerry's face told him this wasn't the time for casual questions.
"Not sure yet, but we might have a problem. A big one."
The two men hurried toward the ship's cabin, where they found Deuce and Mihar deep in their respective books. Deuce was studying navigation charts while Mihar was absorbed in what appeared to be a historical text.
"Deuce, I need you to check something," Jerry said without preamble. "I'm sensing some kind of atmospheric disturbance ahead of us. The moisture in the air is acting strange, and the ocean feels... charged."
Both men looked up immediately, recognizing the seriousness in Jerry's tone. Within moments, they were pulling out weather guides and navigation manuals, cross-referencing Jerry's observations with known weather patterns in this region.
"Oh no," Deuce breathed after several minutes of frantic research. "Jerry, I think you're sensing the buildup to a major storm. The kind that can destroy entire fleets if you get caught in the center."
"How long do we have?" Jerry asked.
Mihar looked up from his own research with pale features. "Based on these patterns and your description, maybe an hour before it hits us. We need to change course immediately."
"Then let's move!" Jerry commanded.
As they rushed back onto the deck, Jerry could see that the weather had already begun to shift dramatically.
"All hands!" Deuce shouted as they emerged onto the deck. "Emergency course change! Secure everything that isn't nailed down!"
The crew's relaxed atmosphere evaporated instantly as everyone sprang into action.
Jerry watched the sky darken with alarming speed, feeling the moisture in the air becoming increasingly agitated. Lightning began to flicker in the distance, and he could hear the rumble of thunder growing closer.
"This is going to be a rough one," he muttered, gripping the ship's railing as the first large waves began to rock their ship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~