At the same time, on a summer island in the New World, the Red-Haired Pirates were in the middle of a banquet.
"Burp... Boss! Look! Big news!"
Lucky Roux held a hunk of meat in one hand while pointing toward the image projected by a Visual Den Den Mushi with the other, grease shining around his mouth.
The screen replayed damaged footage from the battle off Dressrosa.
Kaido's dragon form filled the sky.
The coastline split beneath the pressure of the clash, and dark-gold flashes moved too quickly for the recording to capture cleanly.
"Kaido still loves wrecking places, huh?" Yasopp said with a whistle, casually wiping down his rifle.
"The point is the Marine!" Lucky Roux swallowed the meat in his mouth. "That kid Zaraki fought Kaido long enough to make him bleed, and he might still be alive!"
The image changed to a large photograph of Zaraki beside a screaming headline.
[WAR DEMON FALLEN? CLASH WITH KAIDO OF THE BEASTS LEAVES ZARAKI'S FATE UNKNOWN!]
"Tch. Reckless brat."
Benn Beckman leaned against the bar, lit a cigar, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
His gaze remained fixed on the photograph.
"Whether he planned every step or simply recognized each opportunity as it appeared, the result is the same," Beckman said. "He killed Doflamingo in his own kingdom, shattered the underground network holding Kaido's SMILE trade together, and then wounded Kaido in front of Morgans's relay."
He tapped ash into an empty cup.
"Dead or alive, Zaraki's name is now a Marine banner pirates will have to take seriously. More importantly, Joker is gone. One of the most important links in the New World's black market has been cut out overnight."
The joking expressions around the banquet faded.
Once Beckman laid it out that way, the scale of what had happened became difficult to ignore.
Shanks, seated at the head of the table, quietly set down his cup.
The soft clink against the wood was enough to silence the banquet.
He picked up the newspaper carrying Zaraki's photograph. His scarred gaze rested on the young man's face for a long moment.
"Hey, Beckman."
"Yeah?"
Shanks tapped one finger against the table, his eyes drifting toward the open window and the dark sea beyond it.
"With the era moving this fast, those old men are only going to grip what they have even tighter, aren't they?"
Benn Beckman drew deeply on his cigar and slowly breathed the smoke back out.
"Tighter does not begin to cover it," he said.
The smoke blurred the hard lines of his face as he looked toward Shanks.
"You stole that fruit from a World Government convoy guarded by Who's-Who, then placed your hopes in the next generation. Whatever future you imagined for Luffy, and whatever meaning you believed Roger's bloodline carried through Ace, those plans depended on time."
Beckman's eyes sharpened.
"Zaraki does not give anyone time. He does not want to guide the old world toward change. He wants to hit it until something breaks."
Shanks said nothing.
The fingers of his remaining hand rubbed absently against the rim of his cup.
Beckman was not claiming to know every thought Shanks had ever kept to himself.
No one did.
But the Red-Haired Pirates all knew their captain had spent years watching the balance of the sea, protecting certain sparks while waiting for the right moment to let them catch fire.
Zaraki had kicked over the brazier.
"This is getting troublesome," Yasopp said, lowering his rifle. "That kid lit the fuse early, and now nobody knows where the fire is heading."
"No," Beckman replied. "It may be the opposite."
He extinguished his cigar and folded his arms.
"Luffy has enormous potential, but he still needs time. Zaraki has already shown the world what happens when he chooses a target. Doflamingo is dead. Kaido was dragged out of the sky. The Warlord system has a hole in it, and Morgans made sure everyone saw it."
Beckman looked around the tent.
"If Zaraki survived, he will destabilize the sea far more violently than Luffy could right now."
Lucky Roux stopped chewing.
"But did he survive?" he asked. "That was Kaido's Blast Breath! and he fell into the sea afterward."
The banquet went still.
Beckman walked toward the projected image and paused it on the final frame before Zaraki vanished beneath the waves.
"Look at his posture."
The image showed Zaraki falling backward through steam and spray.
"No panic. No attempt to claw his way back toward the shore. He chose the angle of his fall."
Beckman lowered his hand.
"If he died, then nothing changes for us. We keep waiting."
He returned to the bar and poured himself a drink.
"But if he survived, he is somewhere beyond every search line, deciding what to break next. And when he returns, it will not only be the Warlords or Kaido who feel it."
He drained the liquor in one swallow.
"The entire old era will."
A lookout's voice came from outside the tent.
"Captain! A coffin-shaped boat is approaching the eastern shore!"
Several officers exchanged looks.
A heartbeat later, Beckman's gaze shifted toward the entrance.
A calm voice followed from the darkness beyond the hanging canvas.
"Turning a man like that into a tool would be foolish, Shanks. Schemes have a habit of biting the hand holding them."
The tent flap moved.
A tall, slender figure stepped inside, wearing a wide-brimmed hat decorated with feathers and a long black coat. An enormous cross-shaped black blade rested across his back.
The World's Strongest Swordsman—"Dracule" Mihawk.
The gravity on Shanks's face vanished.
"Mihawk! You always arrive when the alcohol is already open."
He grabbed a small barrel and tossed it across the tent.
Mihawk caught it one-handed but placed it beside him without drinking.
"I came to determine whether a swordsman worth watching truly died that easily."
"That brat?" Shanks asked with a grin. "He still has a long way to go."
"Perhaps."
Mihawk's hawk-like eyes settled briefly on Zaraki's image.
"His instincts are excellent. His technique is uneven, and his relationship with that sword is unstable, but neither flaw is permanent."
He turned toward the exit as though he had crossed half the sea merely to confirm a single suspicion.
Before stepping out, he paused.
"If that troublesome man survived, he may eventually come looking for me."
Shanks raised an eyebrow.
"And if he does?"
Mihawk did not look back.
"I will measure how much weight his blade truly carries."
By the time his words faded, he had already stepped into the night.
Only the Red-Haired Pirates remained beneath the tent, the scent of alcohol and cigar smoke hanging heavily in the air.