Although it was said that Stella was commanding the Slaves, in truth she only needed to give a single order. The Slaves aboard the ship were long accustomed to navigation and quickly adjusted the sails and rudder themselves. Thus, when Perona and Robin approached, Stella noticed them immediately.
Seeing the red mark on Perona's cheek and her clearly aggrieved expression, Stella smiled gently and patted her head.
"You little troublemaker, did you anger His Highness again?"
Perona puffed out her cheeks.
"No way! That big bad guy was bullying me!"
Her indignant look was almost comical. Stella couldn't help but laugh softly and comfort her for a few moments.
Perona's temperament was childlike and quick to shift; before long, she was distracted and no longer sulking.
However, Stella did not overlook Nico Robin, who stood quietly at the side. Robin looked as though she wanted to say something but hesitated.
"Robin, what is it?" Stella asked kindly.
Robin glanced at Perona before lowering her voice.
"Is it really alright… the way Perona acts around Saint Black? I've read that Celestial Dragons are usually quite…"
She trailed off, but the implication was unmistakable.
Stella smiled knowingly. She took Robin's hand and led her toward the ship's railing, the sea breeze brushing past them.
"It's fine," Stella said gently. "His Highness may seem domineering at times, but he's actually very easygoing."
Robin's eyes reflected doubt.
Seeing that, Stella began recounting her own story slowly, without embellishment.
When Robin learned that Stella herself had once been a Slave purchased by Black, her eyes widened in shock.
"To be honest, I was terrified at first too," Stella admitted. "But His Highness has treated us well. I've never seen him lose his temper with us."
In reality, Stella's words were not entirely accurate.
Black's patience had its conditions.
For beautiful women especially those who had appeared in the original timeline he displayed a notably higher tolerance.
If Aramaki committed a mistake, Black would discipline him without hesitation.
There was no denying it.
Blake was a hypocrite.
While Stella unconsciously helped smooth Robin's doubts, Black had already summoned Aramaki to his side.
"Aramaki," Black began calmly, "your strength now qualifies you as a top-tier powerhouse even among the seas. I need you to handle something for me."
"Please give your command, Your Highness."
Black withdrew a sheet of paper. On it was a drawing of an orange-red spherical fruit, patterned like flames and shaped somewhat like a dragon fruit.
He handed it over.
"Near the primary shipping lanes of the East Blue lies an isolated island."
"Special ocean currents surround it, pulling debris and vessels inward. It forms what sailors call an 'invisible prison in the sea.' Few who land there can leave."
"The beach is white. Coconut trees grow across the island. But aside from that, food sources are scarce and the environment harsh."
In a single breath, Black described the nameless desolate island where the Mera Mera no Mi had once appeared.
"I want you to locate that island," he concluded. "This fruit is there. Bring it back."
Aramaki studied the drawing. His brows knit slightly, but he asked no questions.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Black noticed the fleeting hesitation.
Because of his humble origins, Aramaki likely had never seen a Devil Fruit encyclopedia. He probably did not recognize the significance of the fruit depicted.
Black offered no explanation.
"Keep a low profile," he instructed. "I don't want unnecessary attention."
"I understand."
Aramaki bowed and withdrew.
He would need to depart the fleet quietly, secure a small vessel, and make his way from the West Blue toward the East Blue.
After Aramaki left, Black reclined once more.
This was a test.
If Aramaki completed the mission efficiently and discreetly, it would prove him worthy of greater responsibility.
If he acted recklessly or spread rumors, the loss would be minimal.
After all, it was merely the Mera Mera no Mi.
At worst, Black could present it to the Gorosei with a carefully crafted explanation.
If that happened, however, he would need to reconsider cultivating talent from among the lesser figures around him a distraction that would inevitably slow his own growth.
"I hope he doesn't disappoint me."
Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, Black watched the small boat disappear into the horizon.
This month's card draw had concluded.
Perhaps because the Mera Mera no Mi had been mentioned, fortune had favored him.
Portgas D. Ace (Youth).
This represented Ace at his strongest canonical stage after all, during the Marineford War, Ace had only been in his early twenties.
Black was no longer the same as before. He had already suppressed a young Borsalino. Facing Ace would not be effortless but it would certainly not be chaotic.
Within the card space, Black held a Japanese-style long blade its hilt nearly as long as its edge while dark red Haoshoku Haki radiated freely from him.
After mastering swordsmanship basics, the system had unlocked a new function: the card space could now simulate various weapons for him.
Opposite him stood an emotionless, AI-simulated Ace, Haoshoku bursting outward to clash with Black's.
"Want to negotiate?" Black said lazily. "You can't beat me anyway. Why not just drop the ability card?"
"Fire Gun!"
AI Ace ignored him completely and launched the attack.
With future-sight Observation Haki, Black sidestepped effortlessly.
"So negotiation's off the table. Fine."
His gaze sharpened.
The intensity of his Haoshoku surged, overwhelming Ace's and suppressing it outright.
The card space's realism was absolute. Under the pressure of Conqueror's Haki, Ace's movements slowed noticeably.
Black seized the moment.
Armament Haki flowed over his blade, turning it jet black as he slashed forward.
He was not yet a true master swordsman. He could not release flying slashes, and using a blade actually reduced his peak combat efficiency.
But within the card space, stamina was limitless and death impossible.
Ace, a combatant just shy of the very top tier, was an ideal sparring partner to refine his swordsmanship.
Even under suppression, Ace met the attack head-on.
"Shinka: Shiranui!"
His arms transformed into flames. The scattered embers coalesced into a blazing spear that collided against Black's blade.
Metal rang against fire sharp, rapid clashes echoing as sparks scattered.
Black deliberately refrained from using his strongest close-quarters techniques and limited his reliance on future sight. For a time, the two exchanged blows evenly.
Black's sword style bore no name. It was raw, direct pure chopping and slashing.
Ace's techniques, by contrast, were flamboyant and varied.
"Enjōmō!"
"Fire Fist!"
"Hotarubi: Hidaruma!"
"Enkai: Hibashira!"
"Dai Enkai: Entei!"
…
But spectacle meant little.
The disparity in overall strength remained clear.
Black did not possess crushing, overwhelming superiority, yet his combat power already rivaled that of a Yonko commander or a top-tier Shichibukai.
Against Ace alone…There was never truly any doubt.