Seeing that the situation had reached this point, Thatch realized he could no longer prevent the arrangement between Ace and Whitebeard. However, he wasn't about to let things proceed without establishing some ground rules.
"Ace," Thatch said seriously, his tone indicating this was non-negotiable, "even if Pops has agreed to this crazy scheme of yours, I still need to make some conditions clear. Otherwise, with so many division commanders and crew members to consider, we can't just let this slide without proper guidelines."
"Alright," Ace replied, recognizing the gravity in Thatch's voice. "What are your terms?"
"If you're going to challenge Pops, you have to follow the proper rules of engagement," Thatch began, counting off points on his fingers. "First and most importantly, everything must be aboveboard. You can only issue a challenge after Pops has clearly agreed to accept it—no more surprise attacks or sneak attempts."
Ace nodded, understanding the reasoning behind this requirement.
"Second," Thatch continued, "if you die during one of these challenges, your crew are not allowed to complain about it afterward. This is serious business, not some game."
"Third, you can't challenge him endlessly without any limitations, right? There need to be conditions and restrictions on the frequency of these fights. We can't have you disrupting ship operations every single day just because you want another shot at—"
Before Thatch could finish outlining all his conditions, he was interrupted by Whitebeard's booming voice.
"Thatch!" the Emperor called from where he was walking toward the ship's cabin. "From today forward, this boy is to be considered our official guest."
Whitebeard paused in his stride, seeming to remember something additional. "You handle the arrangements for his... well, actually, have Teach take care of it. Make sure to inform Teach about the new situation."
With that pronouncement, Whitebeard turned and disappeared into the cabin, leaving Thatch and Ace standing on the deck.
"Well, Ace," Thatch said with a sigh, "I guess we'll work out the specific details later. I still need to discuss this whole arrangement with Marco and the other division commanders."
"Hey, don't worry about it," Ace replied, patting his chest confidently. "Do I really seem like the kind of person who would cause unnecessary trouble?"
"Yes," Thatch answered immediately, not even bothering to soften his response. "Absolutely, you do."
With that blunt assessment, Thatch walked away, leaving Ace to contemplate his new status aboard the Moby Dick.
Time has a way of flowing like a shooting star across the night sky—brilliant, swift, and seemingly gone in an instant. Before anyone quite realized it, several months had passed since the Spade Pirates had been integrated into the Whitebeard fleet.
Jerry continued his routine of fishing during the day and socializing with his crewmates in the evening. Occasionally, Marco would approach him with special assignments that required his unique skills, but for the most part, he was left to his own devices. His reputation as someone who had defeated Jack the Drought had earned him a certain level of respect and autonomy within the fleet.
Deuce had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his medical training, working alongside the Whitebeard Pirates' experienced medical staff. His knowledge was expanding rapidly, and he'd even started developing new treatment techniques by combining his existing skills with what he was learning from the fleet's veteran doctors and nurses.
Skull had become something of a celebrity among the crew members. His enthusiastic personality and vast knowledge of pirate lore made him a popular figure during social gatherings. His collector network had also proven valuable for intelligence gathering, earning him recognition from the fleet's information specialists.
Even Kotatsu had found his place in the hierarchy. The large lynx had become particularly popular during cold weather, when crew members would seek him out for warmth. His soft fur and friendly demeanor made him a living, purring heater that was far more appealing than any human companion.
As for Ace, his situation was unique among the Spade Pirates. While Jerry had special status and the others had found comfortable niches, Ace was required to work every single day. His duties typically involved helping Thatch with kitchen tasks—washing dishes, mopping floors, lighting fires for cooking, and various other menial chores.
When work time came around, Ace demonstrated surprisingly high emotional intelligence, keeping the atmosphere light and warm throughout the day. His natural charisma and infectious energy made even the most mundane tasks seem more bearable for everyone involved.
During this period, most of the after-dinner conversations among the Whitebeard Pirates revolved around Ace and his unique situation. His daily routine had become a source of endless entertainment for the crew: eat, sleep, work, and fight Whitebeard. The fact that he was consistently defeated every other day but never gave up had captured everyone's imagination.
Not everyone possessed the courage to challenge one of the Four Emperors, let alone do it dozens of times without showing any signs of backing down. Ace's stubborn determination had earned him a grudging respect, even from those who initially viewed him as nothing more than an upstart rookie.
As the challenges continued and accumulated, related rumors gradually began to spread throughout the fleet, quietly reaching everyone's ears through the informal communication networks that exist in any large organization.
The most persistent rumor claimed that if Ace failed in his challenge one hundred times, he would automatically join the Whitebeard Pirates as an official member.
"When did this rumor start spreading?" Ace asked Deuce one evening, genuinely confused by the gossip he'd been hearing. "How come I didn't know anything about this supposed agreement?"
Deuce, who had been treating yet another collection of Ace's post-challenge injuries, could only shrug. "You'd have to ask Thatch about that. He seems to be the one most involved in managing your... unique employment situation."
The next day, Ace approached Thatch with a bewildered expression, seeking clarification about the rumors that seemed to be spreading like wildfire through the fleet.
"Oh, you mean that story?" Thatch replied casually, not seeming particularly concerned about the gossip. "It came up during a drinking session with a few of our division commanders, and then word just spread naturally from there."
He paused in his food preparation to look directly at Ace. "But honestly, when you think about it logically, the rumor makes perfect sense."
"How so?" Ace asked, genuinely curious about Thatch's reasoning.
"Do you really think anyone can challenge our Pops a hundred times?" Thatch asked rhetorically. "After you've been defeated a hundred times and still can't win, you can't just keep fighting indefinitely, right?"
Thatch's expression became more serious as he continued. "I mean, what's your alternative plan? Are you going to postpone these challenges for ten or twenty years, waiting until Pops is too old to walk properly, and then finally defeat him when he's weakened by age?"
The commander spread his hands in a gesture that clearly indicated he found such an approach dishonorable.
"Well..." Ace's response was noticeably weak, as he struggled to articulate a counter-argument. "I never actually said I wanted to join your crew. I'm just working to repay my debt..."
"Do you honestly think you can challenge Pops indefinitely just because you're doing some kitchen work?" Thatch interrupted, his tone indicating he found this logic somewhat naive.
"Enough talking for now—come help me light the fire," he continued, changing the subject to more immediate concerns. "Do you still want to eat dinner tonight or not?"
As they began working together, Thatch couldn't resist adding with a grin, "You know, you should consider joining my 4th Division permanently. You handle the fire-starting, I handle the cooking—we'd make a perfect team."
"You're ugly, but you sure dream pretty!" Ace shot back with his own grin.
As the two continued their good-natured bickering while working, it was clear that their relationship had evolved far beyond simple tolerance. They had developed the kind of comfortable antagonism that often exists between close friends.
Humans are not plants or trees, after all. The truth was that after living among the Whitebeard Pirates for so many months, Ace's thoughts and feelings had begun to change unconsciously, in ways he was only beginning to recognize.
Initially, he hadn't understood why everyone called Whitebeard "Pops" after joining the crew. He had assumed it was simply a rule or tradition specific to this particular pirate organization, similar to how other Emperor crews had their own unique structures and hierarchies.
He had compared it to the Big Mom Pirates, which was essentially built around blood relationships, with Big Mom's nearly forty biological daughters and more than forty sons serving as the core members. That crew ruled over vast territories and commanded numerous subordinates, but despite being called a pirate crew, it felt more like a large criminal organization that existed primarily to satisfy Big Mom's various selfish desires and appetites.
While there was no actual blood relationship between most crew members, and certainly varying degrees of closeness between different individuals, Whitebeard genuinely regarded everyone as his children. Here, among these ships and crews, Whitebeard had provided a group of homeless wanderers with something precious: a home, a place where they could find shelter from the storms of life.
In return, the division commanders and crew members, led by figures like Marco and Thatch, truly regarded Whitebeard as their elder and father figure, continuously giving back to this extended family through their loyalty, service, and protection.
Although Ace felt a growing sense of longing in his heart as he observed these relationships, his childhood experiences and the weight of his "sinful blood" as the son of the Pirate King continued to restrain his emotions. The internal conflict was becoming more intense with each passing day.
Ace found himself in a state of increasing confusion. He didn't know whether he should join the Whitebeard Pirates permanently, but it seemed that if he chose not to join, he would indeed be unable to continue his challenges indefinitely, just as Thatch had pointed out.
Carrying this emotional turmoil with him, Ace continued his daily routine of part-time work and challenges, each defeat bringing him closer to the rumored hundredth attempt that everyone seemed to be anticipating.
Finally, the day arrived.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, whose bow resembled a giant whale head, the flaming figure that had become so familiar to everyone was knocked into the sea once again, his fire extinguished by the impact with the water.
Due to the widespread rumors that had been circulating for weeks, this particular challenge had attracted a much larger audience than usual. Crew members from multiple divisions had gathered to witness what many believed would be a pivotal moment in both Ace's story and the fleet's history.
"Do you think he'll finally give up?" one observer whispered to his companion.
"Yeah, this should be the last time," another replied. "I mean, he's got to accept reality eventually."
"By the way, does he really plan to join us afterward?" a third voice asked. "Or is this whole hundred-defeat thing just a rumor?"
The assembled crowd continued their speculative conversations as they watched the aftermath of the challenge.
Wallace, who had been standing ready by the ship's railing, immediately jumped into the sea when he saw that the battle was over. With his Fishman swimming abilities, he quickly retrieved the unconscious Ace from the water.
"Gurarara! You're really a hot-tempered little brat," Whitebeard commented, examining the fresh burn marks on his hands without any apparent concern. After his characteristic laugh, he turned and walked toward the ship's infirmary, presumably to have the minor injuries treated.
Ace sat on the deck afterward, completely soaked from his time in the ocean, his back against the ship's railing as he stared up at the sky with an unreadable expression. The weight of this moment—his hundredth defeat—was clearly settling over him as he contemplated what it might mean for his future.
Through all these days of challenges, he had undeniably grown much stronger. Dozens of defeats ago, his flames had begun to actually burn Whitebeard during their fights, marking genuine progress in his abilities and techniques.
But despite this improvement, he knew with absolute certainty that at this moment, he still couldn't defeat Whitebeard and claim the victory he had originally sought.
Ace sat on the deck, soaking wet, with his back against the railing, looking up at the sky, wondering what he was thinking.