The New World was a beast all its own.
Even for a man like Lupin — armed with the blood of a former Marine Commander in his veins and knowledge of a future not yet written — the seas beyond the Grand Line were something else entirely. Unpredictable. Violent. Alive. Storms could rip a galleon to pieces in moments. Islands moved like living things. And pirates out here? Pirates didn't care about rules, reputations, or mercy.
But for the first time since waking up in this world, Lupin didn't feel alone.
He stood on the deck of the Moby Dick, the salty breeze carrying the scent of the open sea, of sweat, and steel. Around him, Whitebeard's crew moved with the kind of reckless energy you only found among those who'd stared death in the face and laughed. Deckhands sparred for fun. Commanders barked orders. Musicians played half-forgotten songs no one bothered to remember the words to.
And for the first time in a long time, Lupin felt like he belonged somewhere.
"Yo, Black Rose!" a voice called out, rough and familiar.
Lupin turned, spotting Thatch strolling his way, one of his knives spinning casually between his fingers. The Fourth Division Commander's grin was wide as ever.
"You settling in alright? Nobody tossed you overboard yet, huh?"
"Not yet," Lupin smirked, adjusting the dark cloak slung over his shoulders.
"Good, 'cause Pops says it's time you earned your keep."
That made Lupin raise a brow. "What kind of job?"
Before Thatch could answer, a burst of blue flames flashed from above. Marco landed beside them in a smooth, effortless motion, the First Division Commander's expression unreadable as always.
"We've been watching you," Marco said, his voice calm, measured. "Most rookies take a while to find their place here. But you… you've got good eyes. Good instincts. And you don't flinch."
Lupin kept his face steady, though the words meant more to him than he'd ever admit out loud.
"What's the assignment?"
"There's a pirate crew nearby causing trouble on an island under Pops' protection," Marco explained. "The Grey Vultures. They've been hitting villages, stringing up anyone who resists. Normally we'd send a squad, but this time…"
He exchanged a look with Thatch.
"…Pops wants to see what you're made of."
Thatch grinned. "Don't sweat it. You'll have backup close by. We ain't suicidal. But you're leading this one, Black Rose. Call it your initiation."
Lupin's lips twitched into a half-smile. "Sounds like my kind of fun."
"Just one thing," Marco added. "Don't hold back. Anyone who crosses us out here pays for it in blood. Kill or capture — your choice."
"Understood," Lupin said simply.
That night, the crew gathered around a roaring bonfire. The air was thick with the scent of salt, grilled meat, and cheap rum. Laughter echoed across the deck as old war stories were traded like precious coin.
Lupin sat on the edge of the gathering, his pistol resting against his thigh, quietly observing. Faces he'd only known through manga panels not long ago were now living, breathing people.
Vista was locked in an arm-wrestling match, laughing as he effortlessly overpowered another swordsman. Jozu tore into a slab of meat the size of a barrel lid. Izo nursed a drink beside Marco, his sharp gaze occasionally flicking toward Lupin.
And at the center of it all sat Whitebeard. Massive, larger than life, a grin tucked beneath that famous mustache. A force of nature, a man who could bring the sea to its knees.
"You look like you're scheming something," a playful voice drawled at his side.
Lupin turned to see Haruta grinning at him, eyes bright with mischief.
"Not scheming," Lupin replied. "Just watching."
"Good. Watching means you're smart," Haruta said, taking a long swig from a bottle. "But around here, smarts'll only get you so far. You'll need guts, too."
"I've got plenty of those."
Haruta chuckled. "We'll see tomorrow, Black Rose."
The next morning,
The island was an ugly thing. Jagged cliffs, thick forests, and a weather-beaten town in the middle. The Grey Vultures had made it their nest. Thirty men, all killers by trade. Their captain, Kargan Vulture, was known for hanging dissenters from trees and leaving them as warnings.
Didn't matter. Lupin had faced worse.
He crouched at the forest's edge, his pistol gleaming faintly in the morning light, cloak trailing in the breeze.
A soft chime echoed in his mind as the system updated.
[Daily Quest Complete: Physical Training]
+5 Edit Points
He ignored it. Bigger things to worry about.
"Move in," he ordered quietly.
A handful of Whitebeard men assigned to back him up followed. They moved like wolves through the trees, closing in on the town.
Lupin found a good perch on a rocky ridge. He raised his pistol, his eye steady as it locked onto a sentry leaning lazily against the main gate.
One squeeze of the trigger.
The guard crumpled.
The silence shattered a heartbeat later as the battle erupted.
Gunfire. Steel on steel. Shouts of rage and pain. The chaos Lupin knew too well.
He slipped through it like a shadow. Every shot counted. When a pirate lunged at him with a scimitar, Lupin ducked low, placed the barrel against the man's throat, and fired.
[Combat Kill +100]
The system's ping barely registered.
By the time the sun started to sink, the Grey Vultures were dead men. The town's people slowly crept from their homes as Whitebeard's banner rose over the square.
Lupin stood over Kargan Vulture's corpse, the smoke from his pistol curling in the evening light.
"Tell Pops it's done."
Back aboard the Moby Dick,
Whitebeard's laughter rolled over the deck like thunder.
"You handled yourself well, Black Rose!" the old man boomed, raising a cup big enough to drown a lesser man. "I see why Thatch spoke for you."
He grinned wide, eyes sharp beneath that mustache. "To family!"
The crew's roar of approval shook the timbers.
And in that moment, Lupin wasn't a ghost of a dead man. He wasn't a stranger lost in someone else's story.
He was Black Rose, a pirate of the Moby Dick.
And his real plans were only just getting started.