"That brat, Evan... this is a deception too far!"
Sir Crocodile's voice was no longer a suave baritone; it was a jagged rasp of pure, unadulterated fury. He stood in the center of his opulent, dimmed office, his hook glistening dangerously under the lamp. "I am going to chop him, cut him down, and peel that filthy, arrogant shell right off his body!"
"Daz!" Crocodile barked, slamming his flesh-and-blood hand onto the mahogany desk.
The impact didn't just rattle the glass; it triggered his Devil Fruit. A small mountain of sand erupted from his palm, burying the tabletop and spilling onto the expensive rug. His face was a mask of shadows, his eyes bloodshot. "Prepare the crew. We are ready to accelerate. We attack with everything we have. No more shadows, no more games. Total annihilation!"
He sank into his chair, his mind spinning. "Why... why is that brat connected to that bastard Ivankov?"
The mere thought of the Okama King made Crocodile's skin crawl. It was a ghost he had tried to bury under layers of sand and blood for over a decade. He reached up, agitatedly slicking back his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. As he rubbed his scalp, he felt a few more strands come loose—a physical manifestation of the sheer stress Evan had induced.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his spiral. Reiju Vinsmoke stepped in, her expression perfectly neutral, the picture of a professional mercenary. To Crocodile, she was a high-priced asset; to Evan, she was the ultimate inside agent.
"Mr. Crocodile," Reiju said, her voice cool and steady. "Our forward scouts have completed their reconnaissance of the target area. I'm afraid I have some... complications to report."
Crocodile looked up, his cigar smoldering. "Speak."
"We found a trace of a high-level signature. Specifically, the naval hero himself—Vice Admiral Garp."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a lesser man. Crocodile's eye twitched. Garp. The Fist. The man who had cornered the Pirate King.
"In light of this," Reiju continued, "the difficulty of this operation has shifted from 'conquest' to 'suicide mission.' That man is an old monster. He's a relic of the era that produced Roger. If he's protecting the brat, the cost of engagement triples."
She wasn't lying about Garp being there—Evan's diary had confirmed the old Marine's presence long before any physical scout could have. But in Crocodile's eyes, this just made the Vinsmoke intelligence network seem terrifyingly efficient.
Crocodile took a long, shaky drag of his cigar, his gaze lingering on Reiju. He had underestimated the Germa connection. "Your intelligence network is... impressive," he conceded, his voice tight. He raised a hand to touch his hairline, feeling the slight recession that had accelerated over the last forty-eight hours.
"I know what this is, Vinsmoke," Crocodile growled. "You're telling me this because you want more money. Fine. It's the eleventh hour. No matter who the enemy is—even if it's the Devil himself—I have to move forward. Tell me your price. I'll pay it."
He spoke with a hollow pride. Baroque Works was a financial titan, but with the Royal Army seizing his external assets and Evan sabotaging his logistical lines, Crocodile was effectively operating out of his personal vault. He was hollowing himself out, burning his life's savings to fund one final, desperate strike.
"Mr. Crocodile is truly a man of vision," Reiju smiled, a sharp, predatory look. "Very well. We shall finalize the transfer. When do we strike?"
"The sooner the better," Crocodile snapped. "Tomorrow. At dawn."
Evan had given him three days, but Crocodile knew that every hour he waited was an hour Evan spent digging deeper into his secrets. He needed a lightning strike. He needed to end this.
As soon as Reiju left the room, she pulled out her miniature Den Den Mushi. Her fingers flew across the receiver, sending a coded burst of information to Nami.
[Message from Reiju: The Sand Crocodile has snapped. Total offensive scheduled for tomorrow. I'll handle my exit strategy once Evan gives the word.]
She looked back at the closed door of the office, almost pitying the man inside. "How do you plan to handle Garp, Sir Crocodile?" she murmured to herself.
"I will unleash a sandstorm that will swallow the city whole," Crocodile muttered to the empty room, as if answering her. "A disaster of that scale... the Navy won't have a choice. Garp is a 'hero,' isn't he? He'll be too busy saving civilians from being buried alive to worry about me. While he plays rescue worker, I'll take the brat's head."
On the other side of the desert, Nami stared at her own diary, her face pale. She quickly relayed the intel to Vivi and Robin.
"Tomorrow?" Vivi gasped. "And he's going to use a sandstorm? A city-destroyer?"
Robin frowned, her mind analyzing the tactical implications. "He's trying to divide and conquer. Garp is strong, but he's one man. He can't be in two places at once. If the city is dying, the Marines are neutralized."
"But... can a human really fight a sandstorm?" Nami asked, her voice trembling.
The three women shared a look. They had grown up on the legends of the Grand Line, but the scale of a Warlord's true power was still daunting.
Meanwhile, Evan sat around a campfire with the Straw Hats, having just received the full report from Reiju.
"So, the Crocodile wants to play with the weather," Evan said, tossing a small stone into the flames.
"This isn't a joke, Evan," Nami hissed, pointing at the diary. "Reiju says he's going to bury us. Do we need to call in a favor from the old man? Or maybe you can... you know, strike it down with lightning?"
Zoro looked up from sharpening Wado Ichimonji. "I could try to cut the wind, but a storm that big... it's a lot of sand."
Evan smiled, his eyes glinting with the reflected firelight. "I could stop it. The desert might be his playground, but the sky belongs to me. A few high-intensity discharges would fuse the sand into glass before it even reached the gates. I could end the 'Grand Centane' before it starts."
He paused, looking over at the captain. "But the real question is: do you want me to intervene?"
Luffy was sitting cross-legged, tearing through a massive shank of sea-king meat. He stopped chewing, his expression shifting from gluttonous joy to that singular, focused intensity that defined him.
"No," Luffy said, swallowing the meat in one gulp. "Evan, you've done enough. You've broken his army, you've taken his money, and you've gotten us this far."
Luffy stood up, cracking his neck. "There aren't many people left around him. Just the big guy and the Crocodile himself. This is the Captain's job. Captain versus Captain. That's how it has to be."
Evan felt a surge of genuine satisfaction. This was exactly the response he had hoped for. He wanted the "Co-Captain" life—the life of the strategic advisor who fishes off the side of the boat while the heavy hitters do the heavy lifting.
"The sandstorm is my problem," Luffy continued, his voice dropping into that serious register. "You handle the 'disaster' part, Evan. Keep the girls safe. Keep the city from blowing away. But the Sand Crocodile? He belongs to me."
Evan reached out and patted Luffy on the shoulder. "Spoken like a true King. This is your trial, Luffy. Don't just win—grow. Every enemy like this is a 'mentor' in disguise. They teach you how the world works by trying to crush you."
Luffy grinned, clenching his fists as a visible aura of fighting spirit seemed to radiate from him. "Leave it to me. I'm the man who's going to be King of the Pirates. A little sand isn't going to stop me."
Evan leaned back, his smile widening. "Then tomorrow, we watch the king of the desert fall."
[Diary Entry: The stage is set. Crocodile is desperate, Luffy is fired up, and I've successfully offloaded the manual labor to the protagonist. This is the peak of the 'Co-Captain' experience.]
[Luffy needs this. He needs to bleed for this victory. That's how the 'nourishment' of battle works. As for me? I'll be in the back, making sure the 'hero' Garp doesn't get too bored and decides to punch our ship for fun.]
[Tomorrow, the sand settles.]