At the northern shores of Dressrosa, an unnatural stillness hung over the land, as if the very world itself dared not breathe. The sea, once restless, seemed to have frozen in place, its waves suspended in silent anticipation.
Denjiro stood firm, his expression grim as he recounted the tale—a tale soaked in blood, betrayal, and tragedy. Across from him, Silvers Rayleigh, the Dark King, remained eerily silent. Yet the atmosphere around him was anything but.
A pressure loomed. An overwhelming weight that made the air thick and suffocating.
Denjiro hesitated, but he had to say it.
"Yes… it was Bullet who betrayed Oden-sama's trust."
The words fell like a hammer, reverberating in the charged silence.
Rayleigh's jaw tightened, his fingers clenching into fists. His once-gentle eyes, aged by time yet sharpened by experience, turned to steel—cold, deadly, and unreadable. The pieces had finally fallen into place.
For years, remnants of his old crew had been hunted down and slaughtered—one by one, disappearing into the abyss of history. He had suspected enemies from the shadows, vengeful remnants of the old world. But this...
This was worse.
It was one of their own.
A ghost from the past. A comrade-turned-executioner.
Bullet.
Rayleigh didn't need to guess what a monster like Bullet was after. To a man who sought absolute strength, who cared for nothing but power, there was only one treasure worth killing for—the Eternal Pose to Raftel.
His breath slowed. His heartbeat steadied. And then—
The world trembled.
BOOM.
Without him even realizing it, his fury took shape.
A wave of raw Conqueror's Haki exploded outward.
The entire northern coast of Dressrosa quaked as an unseen force rippled across the land. A deafening crack echoed through the sky as the very clouds split apart, revealing an ominous, empty void above.
The ocean lurched back as if recoiling in fear. Ships anchored in the distance tilted violently, their masts groaning as they were pushed by the sheer weight of Rayleigh's rage. Seagulls dropped mid-flight, unconscious before they even hit the water.
Further inland, Dressrosa's foundations trembled.
In the capital, glasses shattered, and the people collapsed, their bodies succumbing to an invisible force far beyond their understanding. Even the ground beneath Rayleigh splintered and cracked, forming a deep crater as if the island itself could barely withstand the fury of the Dark King.
Denjiro staggered.
He had faced monsters before. He had felt the terror of Kaido's presence, the overwhelming might of the Yonko—but this?
This was different.
This wasn't the calculated menace of a conqueror ruling with an iron fist.
This was vengeance given form.
Rayleigh's golden eyes burned with a fury so primal that even the strongest of warriors would hesitate before stepping forward. His entire body radiated a storm of power, the very air warping around him.
Shakky, who stood to the side, could barely speak, but she forced the words out.
"Rayleigh... if you lose yourself to rage, Bullet wins."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—Rayleigh exhaled.
Like a tide withdrawing, the force eased, the weight lifting just enough for everyone on the beach to catch their breath. The cracks in the ground stopped spreading, the waves slowly returning to their rhythm.
Rayleigh rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers as if to release the last of his built-up tension. But his expression did not soften. If anything, it grew darker.
He turned his gaze back toward the horizon, toward the endless sea. Toward the hunt that was about to begin.
"Bullet… you bastard." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of a storm. "You think you can just take our past and twist it for your own gain?"
He took a step forward. The ground groaned beneath him.
"You're about to learn a lesson, a last lesson that I wish I had imparted long back."
Another step.
The sea parted slightly, bowing beneath his presence.
"There's a reason they called us the King's Crew."
His fingers twitched at his hip where a sword once rested—a habit of old times.
"And there's a reason we were led by the only man who ever conquered the sea."
Rayleigh turned back to Denjiro, his expression set in stone.
"Tell the world to listen carefully…"
A storm was brewing.
And the Dark King was stepping back into the world.
Shakky watched in silence, her sharp eyes studying Rayleigh's back as he gazed toward the horizon, his presence radiating an unshakable resolve.
On the surface, he was calm, composed—a man of experience who had long mastered the art of keeping his emotions in check. But Shakky knew better.
She had spent decades by his side, witnessing the highs and lows of his journey. And if there was one thing she could recognize without fail, it was when Silvers Rayleigh was suppressing a storm.
Even now, the very air around him seemed to hum with a restrained, unforgiving fury. It wasn't the reckless rage of a man blinded by emotion—it was something far worse.
It was controlled. Measured.
A rage compressed, refined, and sharpened into something deadly.
And she knew exactly where it was going to be unleashed.
On Douglas Bullet.
Shakky sighed, exhaling a thin trail of smoke from the cigarette resting between her fingers. She didn't try to stop him.
She wouldn't.
She couldn't.
Rayleigh wasn't a man who could be swayed once his mind was set, and even if she tried, it would be pointless. The moment he had heard Bullet's name, the hunt had already begun.
What troubled her, however, was not what Rayleigh would do.
It was what Bullet had done to earn this fate.
She had seen countless monsters rise and fall in this brutal world. She had seen men like Whitebeard shake the seas, seen Kaido tear through nations, and even seen the likes of Rocks D. Xebec, whose mere name still sent shivers down the spines of those who remembered.
And yet…
She couldn't shake the feeling that Bullet had just made the greatest mistake of his life.
Not because he was strong.
Not because he had betrayed Oden.
But because he had made the fatal error of crossing the wrong crew.
Because if there was one thing she was sure of…
When Rayleigh finds him, Bullet will regret the day he ever dared to stand against the Roger Pirates.
Shakky took another drag from her cigarette, her gaze lingering on Rayleigh's silhouette as he prepared to depart.
"Don't take too long, old man," she muttered under her breath, a small smirk tugging at her lips despite the weight of the situation.
She knew Rayleigh wouldn't stop until he settled this.
And she almost felt sorry for Bullet.
Almost.
****
Marineford, Grand Line
"You've got to be mad, Garp… You really think this is some kind of joke?" Sengoku roared, his voice echoing through the dimly lit war room. A thick stack of documents flew from his hands, scattering across the table as he rose to his feet. He cared little for the decorum expected of a Fleet Admiral—not when the message Garp had brought back had shaken him to his very core.
Unlike most high-priority discussions, not even the Admirals had been called in for this one. Sengoku had even refrained from informing Tsuru. This was too dire, too volatile.
Garp, usually the embodiment of carefree bravado, sat stiffly in his chair. His jaw was clenched, and his broad fists tightened against his knees. The usual glint of mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced by something darker.
"No… I didn't see anything with my own eyes," Garp admitted, his voice uncharacteristically heavy. "By the time we got there, it was already over. But I could tell—Whitebeard and Shiki were definitely there. And alongside them…" He hesitated for a brief moment before locking eyes with Sengoku, his gaze unwavering. "His presence was unmistakable."
Sengoku's breath hitched. He wanted to refute it, to reject the very notion. Instead, his fingers curled into a fist as he glared at Garp. "So how the hell can you be so sure, you bastard?" he snapped, his frustration bubbling over. It wasn't that he doubted Garp—on the contrary. He had always trusted his instincts, and that's what terrified him the most.
Garp exhaled sharply, the weight of his next words pressing against his chest like a boulder. He leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of a nightmare resurfacing.
"He's alive, Sengoku," Garp said, his tone grim, absolute. "I'd bet my life on it… Rocks is alive."
The room fell into a suffocating silence, but the storm brewing between them was deafening.
"What are we going to do now, Garp?" Sengoku muttered, rubbing his temples as he slumped back into his chair. The weight of the revelation crushed down on him, leaving his usually sharp mind momentarily blank. "If he's truly alive… if he's roaming freely out in the seas, you know what that means."
His words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Garp exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "You're the Fleet Admiral, aren't you? The one who's supposed to lead the Marines. So why ask me?" He let out a dry chuckle, but the humor was short-lived.
Sengoku's piercing glare silenced him instantly. "You still have the nerve to joke at a time like this?" his voice was sharp, edged with frustration. He leaned forward, his hands pressed against the table.
"If what you're saying is true… if Rocks really clashed with both Whitebeard and Shiki at the same time and walked away from it, do you think anyone in the Marines—except you—would even stand a chance against that monster?"
Sengoku was not a man given to exaggeration. He was practical, measured. He had seen the impossible happen enough times to know better than to underestimate the legends of the sea. Even now, he was still reeling from the fact that Shiki had survived an attack from an Ancient Weapon. But Rocks D. Xebec… that was an entirely different beast.
He clenched his fists. Though he bore the title of Fleet Admiral, he harbored no delusions about his own strength. If Rocks had truly returned, then the current generation of Marines was woefully unprepared.
Garp studied Sengoku carefully before speaking. "Are you going to inform your superiors?"
The question was deceptively simple, but Sengoku knew exactly what Garp was getting at.
The Elders. The World Government.
If this news reached them, it would ignite a storm unlike any before. The last time the World Government had flexed its might, they had launched an attack on the Sorbet Kingdom, wielding an Ancient Weapon like it was nothing more than a blunt instrument.
And what had come of it? Big Mom had walked away unscathed. Now Shiki had resurfaced. And looming over it all… the supposed resurrection of the most dangerous pirate the world had ever seen.
Sengoku exhaled sharply. His grip tightened on the armrest of his chair.
"This is going to be a nightmare," he muttered.
"And there's something else you need to know," Garp said, his voice low and grave. He leaned forward, his broad hands resting on the table, fingers twitching slightly as if barely restraining his unease. "I believe it was him who went after Kuzan on that island. And more than that… I fear the bounties placed on Marines were his handiwork as well, Sengoku."
Sengoku's eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "No… that's not possible," he said, shaking his head. "Do you really think someone like Rocks would spare his opponents? That's not the man we knew."
Garp's fists clenched. "That's exactly what worries me, Sengoku," he said, his voice edged with something rarely heard from him—doubt.
"This isn't the same Rocks we fought all those years ago. The man we knew would have faced his adversaries head-on, no matter the odds. But this one…" He exhaled sharply. "This one is far more sinister. He's working from the shadows now—pulling the strings, manipulating the board. And I believe the incident in Wano… had his hands all over it."
Sengoku's blood ran cold.
Back then, when Rocks had still sailed the seas, there had at least been one advantage—they always knew where he was, what he wanted, and could predict his next move, no matter how reckless or chaotic. He was a force of destruction, but an open one.
Now, the roles had reversed.
They were the ones in the light… while Rocks lurked in the shadows. And that, more than anything, was what terrified Sengoku the most.
Sigh…
Sengoku exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples before leaning back in his chair. "I'm going to reassign Bogard back to the New World alongside you," he said, his tone firm. "With monsters like these resurfacing, we can't afford to have someone of his caliber wasting away in the East Blue."
Bang!
Garp's fist slammed against the table with such force that the wood creaked under the pressure, making Sengoku jolt in surprise.
"Absolutely not!" Garp barked, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. Then, realizing his outburst, he quickly cleared his throat and forced himself to regain composure.
"Ahem… What I mean to say is, if Rocks really is back like I suspect, then there's a high chance he might target my hometown. Keeping Bogard stationed in the East Blue would be the wise choice."
Sengoku narrowed his eyes. Something was off. Garp was never one to object so strongly to a tactical reassignment, and for all his recklessness, he was no fool. He knew as well as Sengoku did that Bogard's skills would be far more useful in the New World.
So why was he so insistent on keeping him in the East Blue?
The truth was, Garp had no intention of leaving Rouge and Ace unprotected. If Rocks was truly back, then the chaos that followed him would spread like wildfire, and there was no telling who he might come after. If by some cruel twist of fate Rocks learned of Ace's lineage, the consequences would be unthinkable.
He knew Bogard couldn't hold a candle to a monster like Rocks. But Bogard wasn't meant to fight—he was meant to flee, to secure Rouge and Ace's safety before the storm reached them.
And under no circumstances could Garp reveal the true reason for his insistence. Not even to Sengoku.
So instead, he masked his concern with an excuse—one that wasn't entirely a lie, but not the whole truth either. "If Rocks retaliates, my homeland will be the first to suffer. Keeping Bogard there is the best move."
Sengoku studied Garp for a long moment, his sharp gaze searching for something unspoken. But in the end, he simply let out another sigh and leaned back in his chair.
"Fine," he muttered. "Have it your way."
"Garp, for now, keep this matter to yourself," Sengoku said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken warning. "And that includes Raylene and the others. Spreading word of this without concrete proof will only backfire on us. With the Reverie just around the corner, we cannot afford to let chaos break loose."
His mind was already racing, scrambling to devise countermeasures before this information spiraled out of control. The political climate was already volatile—one wrong move, and it could turn into a disaster unlike anything they had seen before.
A heavy silence settled between them for a moment before Sengoku leaned forward, his brows furrowed. "Speaking of the Reverie… do you have any idea why Doflamingo of all people would agree to visit the Holy Land?"
His voice was laced with suspicion, and rightfully so. The very idea made no sense. Someone like Doflamingo—a pirate who had clawed his way to the top and was now recognized as one of the Emperors of the Sea—was willingly walking into Mary Geoise, the heart of the World Government, surrounded by enemies.
It was a death trap.
Garp merely shrugged. "How the hell am I supposed to know what goes through the minds of pirates, especially someone as twisted as him?" He scoffed, crossing his arms. "But if Doflamingo himself is walking straight into enemy territory, then one thing's for sure… this Reverie is going to be something special."
Sengoku pursed his lips. He didn't like this. Not one bit.
A thought struck him, and he saw an opportunity.
"Garp… maybe you should—"
"Don't."
Garp's interruption was immediate, his voice like steel. He didn't need to hear the rest to know exactly what Sengoku was about to say.
Sengoku sighed but pressed on. "You should know better than anyone, Garp. It would be beneficial to have you stationed at the Holy Land during the Reverie, part of the Marine retinue overseeing security. Every representative of the affiliated nations will be there. If something happens—"
"I said don't."
Garp's expression darkened, and for a brief moment, his easygoing demeanor vanished. His voice carried an unshakable finality.
"You know damn well I'm never setting foot in that den of bastards," he said, his tone heavy with disdain. "I don't care what political games the World Government or the Donquixote Pirates are playing—I won't be a part of it."
Sengoku studied him, the tension between them thick in the air. He knew there was no changing Garp's mind on this.
No matter what, Garp would never compromise his principles. Not for the World Government. Not for the Marines. Not even for him.
"Fine," Sengoku muttered, rubbing his temples. "But don't come complaining to me when everything goes to hell."
Garp smirked. "Oh, don't worry. It always does."
"You bastard… you're looking forward to the chaos, aren't you, Garp?" Sengoku growled, his voice dripping with exasperation.
Across the table, Garp's lips curled into a grin, that all-too-familiar glint of mischief flashing in his eyes.
"Me…?" Garp pointed to himself innocently. "Now why would I ever look forward to something like this?"
Sengoku's glare intensified. "Liar."
They both knew the truth.
Garp was a warrior, through and through. No matter what mischief he caused, no matter how much he laughed and joked, at his core, he was a fighter. A man who lived for battle, who sought the thrill of a true challenge. And ever since Roger's execution, he had been left wanting.
Sure, there were monsters still prowling the seas after Roger's death—Kaido, Big Mom, Whitebeard himself—but none of them ever ignited that fire in Garp. None of them gave him the same feeling.
But now?
Now, the world was shifting again.
The sea was birthing a new era of pirates—monsters who refused to stay buried. Scarlett had returned; his old rival had possibly returned from the dead, her youth restored. Even Shiki had somehow crawled back from the grave. And Whitebeard… Whitebeard was no longer sitting idle—he was on the offensive.
All of this had happened in just a few short years.
Everything Sengoku thought he knew about the world's power dynamics was crumbling before his eyes. The balance was no longer tilting—it was shattering.
And yet, across from him, Garp looked as if he were standing at the edge of a battlefield, grinning like a madman, waiting.
Sengoku could only sigh.
Damn him.
"At least try to act your age, Garp," he muttered, rubbing his temples as he fought off an impending headache.
Garp simply leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, his grin widening.
"Where's the fun in that?"