"Teach… is dead?!"
The words hung in the air, simple, stark, and utterly world-shattering.
Whitebeard's massive, IV-laced hand, which had been resting on his knee, clenched into a fist so tight it trembled, the veins bulging like thick ropes.
He stared intently at Mike, his massive pupils contracting to pinpricks.
Shock. Confusion. Disbelief.
And then, a powerful, surging wave of grim satisfaction.
Countless, conflicting emotions crashed within him, ultimately converging into an indescribable, complex exhaustion.
Teach…
The traitor who had broken the one iron-clad rule of his family.
The man who had murdered Thatch, his own brother, in the dark.
The man who had ignited this entire colossal, world-ending storm, all for his own dark ambitions.
Dead? Just like that?
Mike wasn't the type to lie about something like this.
If he said Teach was dead, then Teach was dead.
Gone. Erased.
Behind Whitebeard, Marco, Jozu, Vista, and the other division commanders simply froze.
Their eyes widened, their mouths hung agape, and disbelief was etched on every single face.
They exchanged wild, silent glances, as if questioning whether they were all sharing the same hallucination.
"Mike-san… is… is this true?" Marco's voice, usually so calm and collected, trembled slightly.
He just couldn't process it.
Teach, the traitor who hide deep in their crew, the man who had defeated Ace, was just… gone?
"Yes. It was quite the coincidence," Mike said with a casual, dismissive wave of his hand, as if he were discussing crushing an insignificant ant.
"The New Marine hadn't even gotten around to scheduling his termination," he explained, "but he had the bad luck of running right into Old Man Kizaru and his crew on their return voyage from Impel Down."
He took a drag from his cigar, a small, cold smile playing on his lips.
"Turns out, that guy was already on the New Marine's new bounty list. A three-star danger level criminal. Old Man Kizaru, seeing an easy payday, took action directly. And, as you can imagine, Sakazuki and Kuzan weren't exactly inclined to let a scourge like that continue to run rampant on their seas."
Mike made a simple "snip" gesture with his fingers.
"So… aside from the frozen head Kizaru is keeping in a box to claim his bounty, Teach has completely vanished from this world. Along with his so-called 'Blackbeard Pirates.' Wiped out. Not a single one left."
'A three-star bounty,' Mike mused.
'Just like Golden Lion Shiki. Once Issho and Mihawk bring him in, that'll be another 3 billion Belly reward paid out.'
'The New Marine's goal, after all, was simple: to make that entire bounty list, filled with the remnants of the old era, disappear. Completely.'
"..."
A deep, rumbling sound began in Whitebeard's massive chest.
It grew, and grew, until it suddenly burst forth.
"GURARARARARA!"
Whitebeard threw his head back and laughed.
It was a raw, booming, cathartic sound, a release of pressure that had been building for months.
It was a laugh so powerful it shook the entire room, rattling the windows in their frames.
He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, tears of pure, unadulterated relief forming at the corners of his eyes.
The wound in his heart, the shame of his family, had been avenged.
"Mike, boy…" he finally wheezed, his laughter subsiding.
He pushed his massive frame up from the sofa and, in a gesture that stunned his sons into silence, performed a deep, respectful bow toward the young man.
"I owe you a massive debt."
The division commanders, seeing their father's actions, quickly followed suit, their expressions solemn as they all bowed in unison to Mike.
"Thank you, Mike-san!" their voices rang out as one, filled with a gratitude that was bone-deep.
In that moment, their feelings toward Mike transcended awe.
It was now true, profound respect and appreciation.
He had saved Ace, and now, he had personally cleansed their family's honor.
"It was a small matter," Mike said, waving his hand, signaling for them to rise.
"We're all on the same side now. There's no need to be so formal."
Whitebeard nodded, the weight of a mountain lifted from his shoulders as he sat back down.
"Mike… you just said Teach's bounty was three stars?"
"Mhm. Each star represents 1 billion Belly. So, Teach's head was worth a 3 billion Belly bounty."
"!!!"
Marco and the others froze again, their minds short-circuiting at the sheer casualness of the number.
3 billion?!
Their Pops, the "Strongest Man in the World," had a bounty of just over 5 billion.
And Mike was just… giving away 3 billion as a reward, for teach? This was… this was an insane level of generosity.
"..."
Whitebeard's own eyelids twitched, his iconic mustache trembling slightly.
He knew about the Deep-Sea Gold Rush Project.
He knew Mike had money.
But he had never, ever expected this.
This wasn't just "having money."
This was weaponizing it.
For the first time, Whitebeard truly, fully understood how the New Marine had been born.
The wealthiest power on the seas had always been the World Government, with their endless, extortionate "Heavenly Tribute."
It was that money, that military budget, that allowed them to keep the old Marines, that monstrous beast, on a tight leash.
Warships, weapons, salaries… justice, as the World Government saw it, had a very high price tag.
He recalled the New Marine soldiers he'd seen on the docks.
Their energy, their blazing-hot morale, their almost fanatical fighting spirit.
'So this was why.'
The New Marine didn't just have a new, purer ideology.
It had the benefits to back it up.
With the right principles and a salary that generous, who could resist? It seemed his own new position as leader of the Warlords would come with some very favorable treatment.
He didn't need it for himself, of course, but leaving behind a greater fortune for his sons was always a good thing.
"Cough… cough—!"
A sudden, harsh coughing fit seized him, his massive body trembling with the effort.
"Pops—!" Marco quickly stepped forward, his face etched with concern as he supported his father's arm.
"..."
Mike observed the scene, his expression unreadable, and motioned to Kuro.
Kuro instantly understood, stepping forward and placing two thick, official-looking documents on the table in front of Whitebeard.
"One is your New Warlords of the Sea contract," Mike pointed.
"Since you were, well, you, the terms are exceptionally generous. Your monthly salary will be the same as the admirals'—1 billion Belly."
"!!!" Marco's jaw dropped.
'1 BILLION?! A MONTH?!'
"Marco," Mike continued, "you and the other division commanders will each have your own contracts, with separate salaries. You brought your entire family into this. As the leader of the New Marine, I have to show my appreciation. I take care of my allies."
"Hmm…" Whitebeard nodded, his mind reeling slightly at the sheer audacity of the numbers.
He quietly reviewed the contracts.
They were exactly as negotiated.
He picked up the pen and signed his name.
The New Warlords of the Sea were now, officially, finalized.
Then, he picked up the other document.
It was thick, and on the first page was a photograph.
Beside the photo, four golden stars were prominently stamped.
A four-star bounty.
"This…" Whitebeard's pupils contracted, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes.
The man in the photo had long, silver-white hair, a vertical scar running through his right eye, and a face that, though aged, still held the traces of a roguish handsomeness.
"'Dark King'… Silvers Rayleigh!"
"Correct," Mike raised a single finger, a predatory, opportunistic glint in his eyes.
"Let's make one more deal, Whitebeard."
His voice was calm, but the words he spoke were anything but.
"One trillion Belly…"
"…and the New Marine will cure you. We'll heal your old wounds, fix your illness, and restore your body to its prime."
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