The warm fire crackled softly in Dr. Kureha's medical cabin, a cozy contrast to the harsh, biting cold that howled outside against the walls.
Outside, thick blankets of snow drifted lazily past the frosted windowpanes.
Inside, the atmosphere felt deceptively serene. Nico Robin sat quietly in a rocking chair, today's freshly delivered World Economic News resting on her lap. Nearby, a young Bonney slept soundly, snugly wrapped in layers of thick blankets, while Ginny softly hummed an old, comforting tune from the Sorbet Kingdom.
It was a rare moment of peace.
Robin turned the page, her eyes scanning the text. Suddenly, her fingers froze. A shadow crossed her face.
"...Impossible," she whispered.
Ginny paused her humming, glancing over from Bonney's bedside with a concerned look. "What's wrong, Robin?"
Without saying a word, Robin handed the newspaper across the room. The front page was dominated by bold, black letters:
MASS BREAKOUT AT IMPEL DOWN!
Golden Lion Shiki Leads Unprecedented Escape from the Great Prison!
Beneath that alarming headline was a list of infamous names, individuals feared across the four seas and the Grand Line. Robin read them aloud, her voice tight and hollow:
Golden Lion Shiki
Byrnndi World, the "World Destroyer"
Douglas Bullet, the "Demon Heir"
Captain John
Patrick Redfield
Ginny's gentle smile vanished completely. She took the paper, her eyes racing over the frantic reporting.
"The Marines suffered catastrophic losses... Several high-profile Level 6 prisoners escaped during the chaos... The World Government has launched an emergency worldwide manhunt..."
Slowly, Ginny folded the newspaper and set it down. She gazed out the window at the swirling blizzard. "The sea... is about to get stormy again."
Robin nodded silently, her mind racing with the implications for a world already shaken by the death of the Pirate King.
Far from the winter island, the Black Pearl glided through the serene, crystal-clear waters under a brilliant, cloudless sky.
But the peaceful atmosphere on deck didn't last long. The entire crew gathered at the railing, their eyes fixed on a strange, coffin-shaped raft drifting alongside the ship.
Pintel scratched his bald head in confusion. "So... who exactly are you supposed to be?"
The young man sat calmly on his small craft, seemingly unfazed by the imposing black ship next to him. A wide-brimmed black hat cast a shadow over his sharp, predatory golden eyes.
Beside him lay a massive, black-bladed cruciform sword—a weapon that instantly caught the attention of every seasoned fighter on deck.
Monkey D. Dragon stepped up to the railing, his dark cloak fluttering slightly in the sea breeze. He studied the stranger with quiet intensity. "I've seen him before."
All eyes turned to Dragon.
"It was two years ago," he continued, his voice low and steady. "At Gold Roger's execution in Loguetown."
Jack Sparrow raised an intrigued eyebrow, adjusting his tricorn hat. "Oh? A fan of the dramatic arts, was he?"
"He stood there all alone in the rain," Dragon nodded. "Watching the scaffold. He never cheered when Roger died. Just watched in silence."
The swordsman finally rose, his movements smooth and deliberate. The massive blade remained strapped to his back as he gazed up at the crew.
"My name," his calm, piercing voice carried effortlessly across the water, "is Dracule Mihawk."
He paused, his golden eyes locking onto Jack. "I believe... we meet again. For the first time."
A heavy silence settled in. Pintel blinked, glancing at Ragetti. "...What?"
Ragetti scratched his scraggly growing beard, wincing. "...That sentence right there just hurt my head, it did."
Crocodile let out a thick plume of cigar smoke, her sharp, feminine features tightening in irritation. She adjusted her heavy fur coat, the gold hook on her hand catching the sunlight.
"Just wonderful," she sighed dramatically. "Another eccentric to deal with."
But Jack was all smiles. "I actually enjoyed that introduction. Quite poetic." He tipped his hat with a flourish that could only be described as theatrical.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service."
Mihawk offered a slight, formal nod. "I know who you are. You stirred up quite a bit of trouble two years ago in Loguetown."
Jack puffed out his chest with pride. "Ah, the cannon. A brilliant display of ballistics, if I do say so myself."
"The cannon," Mihawk replied flatly. "I thought the fool who fired it—and the man standing beside him—would meet their end. Yet, here you are."
"Still very much alive," Jack grinned, gesturing to himself. "And rather famous, I might add."
Mihawk's gaze flicked briefly to a weathered bounty poster nailed to the Pearl's mainmast. "Two hundred and fifty million Berries. Quite impressive for a man of your... unique character."
Then, Mihawk's demeanor shifted. The atmosphere grew noticeably colder as his hand moved toward the hilt of his weapon. "However, I didn't come here for small talk. I came to challenge you, Jack Sparrow."
Before Jack could even think of a witty comeback, a heavy figure stepped between him and the railing.
It was Joshamee Gibbs.
The old pirate drew his trusty cutlass, its weathered steel showing the scars of countless battles and hasty repairs. "If you want to fight the Captain, lad... you'll have to get through me first."
Jack blinked in genuine surprise. "Gibbs?"
Pintel looked horrified. "Uncle! What are you thinking? The Captain's sword skills are way better than yours!"
Ragetti nodded in frantic agreement. "And your bones creak every single morning, you old coot! They're creaking right now!"
Just then, a distinct, muffled pop resonated from Gibbs' lower back, but the old sailor paid it no mind, his focus entirely on the intruder. "Shut up, both of you," he barked, aiming the tip of his cutlass straight at Mihawk.
"I challenge you."
Mihawk didn't say a word, his golden eyes meticulously assessing the man in front of him. He took in the stance, the white-knuckled grip on the hilt, and the heavy, uneven breaths escaping Gibbs.
"Very well," Mihawk finally replied, his voice low. "But not here. I prefer my ground stable."
He gestured toward a fog-enshrouded island looming in the distance. "We fight on land."
Jack grinned, pointing a ringed finger at the mist. "Funny enough, I was just about to suggest that misty island myself. It'll save the upholstery."
"Hold on a second." Everyone turned to Crocodile, who had a questioning look on her face.
"How did you find us? We've been at sea for quite a while, so no one should know where we are," she explained.
Now all eyes were on Mihawk, who simply shrugged. "It was a coincidence. I was also drifting at sea, searching for a clue about your whereabouts when I spotted your ship and the flag."
"Sounds like a decent explanation. Now, let's get to land," Jack commanded before Crocodile could dig deeper.
The Black Pearl shifted its course, dark sails catching the wind as it guided Mihawk's raft toward the shore. As the mysterious island drew closer, an uneasy tension settled over the ship.
Emporio Ivankov crossed his massive arms, his heavy makeup frowning. "...I'm not feeling this vibe, candy-boys. Not one bit."
Crocodile squinted through the rising fog at the shoreline, her Logia instincts screaming at her.
Dragon's gaze remained fixed on the dense canopy of the island. Hidden beneath his green cloak, the winds whispered of unseen danger. Beside him, Bartholomew Kuma stood like a silent, towering monolith.
Only Jack seemed completely unfazed. "Looks cozy enough. Just needs a tavern, but cozy."
The Pearl came to a stop on the sandy beach. As soon as the crew set foot on the island, the temperature took a nosedive.
"Blimey... It's freezing," Pintel grumbled, shaking like a leaf.
Ragetti tilted his head back to stare at the sky. "...Why are there clouds only here?"
Everyone followed his gaze.
Right above the island, dark, swirling storm clouds were gathering with a menacing energy. Yet, just a few hundred meters out at sea, the sky was a brilliant blue, completely clear.
Dragon squinted, recognizing the strange weather pattern typical of the unpredictable Grand Line—or something even more sinister.
"Alright then," Jack clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "Let's have ourselves a proper duel."
Mihawk stepped forward onto the sand. Instead of reaching for the legendary sword strapped to his back, he delved into his ornate coat.
With two fingers, he pulled out a tiny, decorative kitchen knife. It was no longer than a man's hand. He held it out, casually pointing the tiny blade at Gibbs.
"This," Mihawk said, his tone dripping with nonchalance, "is the smallest blade I own."
A stunned silence enveloped the beach. Then, Gibbs' face turned a deep, furious red. "...You're mocking me."
"No," Mihawk replied coolly. "I simply don't hunt rabbits with a beast-slaying sword. Using anything more against you would be an insult to the craft."