On the whale-shaped ship Moby Dick, Whitebeard's laughter echoed out.
"Gurararara! This brat… should I take him in as my son? What a fun little brat!"
"Mythical Zoans, huh?" Marco looked at the information in the paper.
But what truly grabbed him wasn't the Zoans—it was the potion.
As the ship's doctor, Marco knew Pops' condition better than anyone.
In the early years it was fine. But in recent years, Pops' hidden injuries had been getting worse and worse. Right now, on the surface, he still looked like he had no problems.
But who knew when it would flare up?
If Pops ever went down… could they really hold onto what he'd left behind?
Marco hadn't stopped trying. Whether it was his regeneration flames or medicine, none of it could ease Pops' deep old damage.
So now…
Even if it was a long shot…
He had to get that potion and try it.
If it helped even a little—just a little—he had to fight for that chance.
"Pops," Marco said, lifting his head. "I need to go to the East Blue."
"Hm?" Whitebeard blinked, not fully following. "What for?"
Marco pointed at the potion section of the newspaper. "I need to see if it's real."
Whitebeard looked once and understood. His old injuries were getting harder to suppress, and Marco wanted to gamble on it.
"Go," Whitebeard said, nodding. "I don't think that brat has the guts to lay a hand on you. But be careful anyway."
"I understand, Pops." Marco's voice stayed steady. "He put this news out for a reason—probably for business. Otherwise, why broadcast it? If it were only for himself, he could've kept it hidden."
Not long after, a phoenix wreathed in blue flames rose into the sky.
A few days later—
East Blue, Goa Kingdom, the capital.
White Ghost was drinking with the king while Uta and the others prepared for that night's concert.
"Come, come, Mr. White!" the king said politely, raising his cup. "These are the finest liquors in Goa Kingdom. Please, drink more!"
After seeing the newspaper, the king remembered a report from a few days ago—there had been fighting near Foosha Village, and White Ghost's group had been there.
So he immediately sent people to invite them. They weren't pirates, so it shouldn't be a problem. And besides, the Navy hero Garp had been there too.
White Ghost's group was invited into the royal palace with great ceremony, and Goa Kingdom hosted them with lavish hospitality.
During the banquet, the king—already seventy years old—asked carefully, almost nervously, "Is that potion… really real?"
White Ghost nodded and explained, "One person can only properly absorb one bottle. If you drink more, it will only heal injuries."
The king was overjoyed. He bought a bottle for thirty million berries on the spot—and drank it right there.
The nobles at the banquet watched with their own eyes as the king swallowed the potion. Not long after, his hair began to darken faintly.
His face—previously full of deep wrinkles—grew ruddy and healthier, and it looked like the folds had lessened.
In an instant, the nobles went insane.
One after another, the old lords shouted, begging White Ghost to sell them a bottle. They didn't care about the price—they just wanted to "be friends."
Under the pressure of their enthusiasm, White Ghost grit his teeth and pulled out five more bottles to sell, all at thirty million berries each. If you didn't get one, that wasn't his problem.
White Ghost really wanted to auction those five bottles instead—but these nobles weren't like the Celestial Dragons. They were businessmen, sharp and calculating.
That night, White Ghost's room was suddenly full of people who absolutely shouldn't have been there.
The entire sea had already heard the rumor that White Ghost liked married women—and that he was shameless besides.
The first rumor had been spread by a certain Marine vice admiral who was jealous of him. The rest had been pushed by Morgans' gossip news.
Elena had made it simple: if he dared mess around, he could forget about climbing into her bed again—he could sleep on the floor.
So White Ghost behaved.
Even though it pained him to send them away.
And when they left, the resentful looks they threw back at him were so bitter it made his chest ache.
The crew spent days in Goa Kingdom eating, shopping, and wandering around. When they'd played enough, they prepared to depart.
At the port, the old king strongly recommended one of his young women, insisting White Ghost take her along.
White Ghost glanced at her. She looked like Sabo's little brother's future wife.
Better not.
Didn't he see Ain's eyes? The danger was practically visible.
By the time Marco finally found White Ghost's group, they'd already been drifting at sea for several days—and they were currently being attacked by multiple pirate ships.
Marco nearly wanted to complain out loud. These people were ridiculous. He'd chased them through several places already.
He circled overhead twice without descending. If he got mistaken for an enemy, it would be a hassle. Sure, he could fly—but there were plenty of people on that ship who could fly too.
Kuro had already noticed Marco in the sky. He waved, signaling him to come down.
When Marco landed on the deck, Kuro walked up with a grin.
"Long time no see, 'Doesn't Wash His Feet' Marco!"
"Is your whole ship this rude?" Marco ground out, glaring at Kuro—the same man he'd fought back in the New World.
Kuro chuckled. "Sorry. Habit. I know why you're here. Come on—the captain's up there."
Neither of them paid the battle off to the side any attention.
But Marco did glance over.
The two Mythical Zoan girls from the newspaper were cutting down pirates. Both were wearing Seastone cuffs and weren't using their abilities.
As he walked, Marco couldn't help sighing in amazement. "Your ship's people aren't ordinary."
Kuro smiled politely. "Not compared to the Whitebeard Pirates."
Marco thought, Naturally—though he didn't say it. He didn't feel like getting dragged into a fight again.
His Observation Haki told him plainly: none of these people were weak.
Especially that kid with the silver staff—he swung it with terrifying force, sweeping down a whole group in one strike.
And those two big, simple-looking brutes—one of them had grabbed a pirate captain and was just hammering him nonstop.
Marco finally couldn't hold it in anymore. "They're training?"
Kuro adjusted his glasses. "Mm. Captain's rule. No abilities. No Haki. Only your own body. Solve it with pure physique—build experience."
When Marco reached the figurehead, White Ghost was in the middle of viciously cursing into a Den Den Mushi.
"Ask Charlotte Linlin that fat hag if she ate so much cake her brain turned to mush! She actually thinks she can marry off the women on my ship?
"And she wants my formula too? She'll 'reward' me with a position? Put her on the line—I'll spit her to death!"
From the other end came a voice that sounded like it was forcing itself to remain polite:
"Mr. White Ghost, please watch your tone. You do understand we are one of the Three Emperors—"
Marco recognized it immediately.
Perospero. He'd dealt with him plenty.
"Tell Charlotte Linlin to bring the Big Mom Pirates to the East Blue," White Ghost snapped. "We'll line up and fight. Ask her if she dares come.
"If she won't, then wait in the New World. When I get in there, I'll cut her to pieces with my sword. The nerve of that woman!"
He slammed the Den Den Mushi shut and kept cursing.
"Does that fat hag have her brain knocked loose from giving birth too many times? What kind of face does she think she has, 'rewarding' me with a position?"
Then White Ghost turned his head—and saw Marco.
Without thinking, he blurted, "Oh—hey. 'Doesn't Wash His Feet' Marco."
Marco's face went black.
Now he finally understood where that ridiculous nickname came from.
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