"No, no," Ragetti interjected. "What if the storms in the Grand Line just have a thing for old folks? Like they're drawn to wrinkles or something?"
"That's a possibility," Jack pondered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe the sea just has a personal vendetta against Gibbs."
Gibbs shot them a look, his eye twitching in irritation. "...That's highly likely," Pintel and Ragetti chimed in together.
"I really regret teaching any of you about navigation," Gibbs sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Crocodile had finally had enough. She slammed her golden hook down on the wooden railing with a resounding CLANG, squashing her cigar against the wood.
"This circus needs to stop."
All three pirates froze in place.
She pointed a sharp, leather-clad finger at Jack's chest. "Use. The. Compass. Now."
Jack gave a sheepish grin, clearing his throat. "Right. Absolutely, love."
Nearby, Ivankov leaned in closer to Gibbs, his voice dropping to a surprisingly soft tone. "Can I ask you something, Joshamee-boy?"
"Hm?"
"Aren't you... a bit too old to be playing pirate in these dangerous waters?" Ivankov asked, not out of malice, but with genuine curiosity.
"Jack has immense, chaotic potential. Crocodile has survived the New World. Van Augur is a terrifying sniper. Pintel and Ragetti are young and reckless. But you... you're just an ordinary old man, aren't you?"
Gibbs' defensive smile slowly faded. His gaze dropped to the sun-bleached deck planks, the weight of his years pressing down on him.
"...Yes," Gibbs whispered, his voice heavy. "I'm the weakest one here. In talent. In potential. In raw strength. I can't move mountains or part the waves."
Dragon listened quietly from the shadows of the mainmast.
Gibbs broke the heavy silence, his gaze fixed on the sea. "You know, sometimes when I drink... I can't help but wonder. If I had been born with the kind of monstrous strength these devils have... could I have protected my family from the Marines?
Could I have saved them?"
His words hung in the air, and the only sound that filled the void was the gentle rhythm of the waves lapping against the Pearl's hull.
Jack turned his attention to his old first mate. The usual wild, theatrical look on his face softened into something rare and profoundly human.
He recalled the day two years ago, in a dingy tavern in the East Blue, when he had taken a chance on a scared, broken ex-merchant who had joined a rough pirate crew just to survive.
A man who clearly didn't fit in with the cutthroats.
A man who had held a cutlass awkwardly, who had apologized after every punch he threw, and who had nearly met his end during his very first raid.
Jack couldn't help but smile faintly, his eyes softening. "...Still stuck on the past, Gibbs?"
Gibbs looked away, clearing his throat with a rough sound. "...Old habits, Captain."
Jack didn't respond with words. Instead, he reached deep into his frock coat and pulled out an ancient, weathered brass compass.
The crew on deck—Dragon, Kuma, Ivankov, and Crocodile—instinctively gathered around, drawn in by an unexplainable force. Jack flicked the lid open with a sharp click.
Immediately, the needle began to spin wildly. Round and round it went, a blur of silver against the glass.
Ivankov watched, his large shoulders slumping. "...It's completely broken, Straw-Boy."
Crocodile shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "No. It does that... sometimes."
Ragetti nodded seriously, his wooden eye wide. "Aye. We've drifted for days on end because of that spin."
Pintel chimed in proudly, crossing his arms. "It takes time."
Jack paid no mind to the chatter around him. His gaze was fixed on the glass, his breath creating a slight fog on its surface. The needle was caught in a wild, erratic dance.
Ivankov let out a dramatic sigh. "We're going to starve out here! We'll drift forever into the belly of a Sea King. We're—"
SNAP.
The needle froze in place. Jack blinked in surprise. "...What?"
Everyone leaned in closer, peering over Jack's shoulder.
The compass needle wasn't pointing toward any far-off horizon or legendary island. Instead, it was rigidly aimed sideways, unwavering.
It was aimed directly at Gibbs.
The old navigator blinked, glancing behind him at the empty deck, then back at the compass. "...Why is it pointing at me, Jack?"
Jack frowned, a rare look of genuine confusion crossing his face. "...I honestly have no clue, mate."
Crocodile stepped forward, irritation etched on her face. "It's pointing behind you."
"Captain!" Van Augur's voice rang out from the crow's nest above.
Everyone turned their heads up in unison. The sniper, cloaked in his black cape, aimed his long rifle, Senriku, toward the misty eastern horizon, right behind Gibbs.
"There! Someone's adrift out there!"
Jack's hand shot to his hip, deftly pulling out his brass spyglass, flicking it open and bringing it to his eye.
In the distance, cutting through the vast, empty blue, a tiny, fragile raft floated lazily on the surprisingly calm waters. On it sat a solitary young man.
He looked to be in his early twenties, yet he exuded an unsettling, unshakeable calm.
A wide-brimmed black hat adorned with a pristine white feather sat atop his head, while a dark, ornate coat draped over his broad shoulders. His patterned trousers and a striking crimson shirt, completely open at the chest, added to his striking appearance.
Around his pale neck hung a simple, heavy cross pendant, and resting across his knees was an absolute beast of a weapon—an enormous cruciform greatsword.
His sharp, predatory golden eyes were locked ahead, calm and unblinking like a hawk's, showing no sign of worry as he floated alone in the treacherous Grand Line on just a few bound logs.
Crocodile squinted, her hand inching toward her cutlass. "...A swordsman? Out here in the middle of nowhere?"
Dragon observed the stranger in silence, his sharp gaze picking up on the faint, dormant aura of a monstrous ambition radiating from the young man.
Even Kuma turned his head slightly, his hand resting on his Bible.
Jack lowered the spyglass, a strange, electric sensation settling deep in his chest. He peered past the solitary swordsman on the raft.
Beyond the drifting youth, a thick, unnatural veil of silver mist lazily rolled over the water.
Concealed behind that shimmering curtain was an island. It loomed dark and silent, shrouded in an oppressive, ghostly fog, even though the bright blue sky shone brightly everywhere else.