Chapter 30: Waves in the New World

The morning sun rising over Marineford did absolutely nothing to brighten the mood of the Fleet Admiral.

Sengoku sat behind his ruined, splintered desk, staring at the front page of the World Economic Journal.

The veins on his forehead were pulsing with a terrifying, rhythmic intensity.

By ordering the Marines to suppress the bounty to protect the Cipher Pol Pluton mission, Commander-in-Chief Kong had inadvertently handed “Big News” Morgans the ultimate conspiracy story.

And Morgans had run with it.

THE ANOMALY ENTERS THE GRAND LINE!South Blue Beastmaster Battles Garp the Fist to a Standstill!

World Government Paralyzed!

Beneath the screaming headline was a massive, high-definition photograph of Victor D.

Costa, looking exasperated and dangerous, taken directly from his bounty hunter license.

Below that were grainy, terrifying photos snapped from a distance by Morgans’ albatross reporters: a miles-wide ice continent, the towering crimson form of BetelGammamon, and the sheer, atomized devastation of the boiling ocean at Reverse Mountain.

Because there was no official Marine bounty attached to the article, it didn’t look like Victor was just another rookie.

To the criminal underworld, it looked like the World Government was genuinely too terrified to put a price on his head.

“I have been a Fleet Admiral for over a decade,” Sengoku whispered, his voice trembling with sheer, unadulterated rage as he crushed a rice cracker in his fist.

“And never in my life have I seen a public relations disaster of this magnitude.”

He slowly turned his glare toward the long leather couch in the corner of the office.

Vice Admiral Garp was fast asleep, his arms crossed over his chest, a massive snot bubble expanding and contracting with his loud, rhythmic snores.

“GARP!” Sengoku roared, the sheer volume rattling the windows.

“WAKE UP AND PAY FOR MY DESK!”

The snot bubble popped.

Garp snorted, scratching his belly, and let out a booming laugh.

“Bwahahaha!

Relax, Sengoku!

The kid’s got spine!

The seas were getting boring anyway!”

And Garp was right.

The seas were no longer boring.

Because as the newspaper birds scattered across the globe, the ripples of the clash at Reverse Mountain were turning into tidal waves.

Deep in the New World, cutting through the treacherous waters, sailed the massive, whale-shaped flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates, the Moby Dick.

Marco the Phoenix, First Commander of the crew, casually tossed the morning paper onto the lap of the strongest man in the world.

Edward Newgate, “Whitebeard,” sat hooked up to his medical equipment, a massive jug of sake resting beside his naginata.

He picked up the paper, his yellow eyes scanning the headline.

“Gurarararara!” Whitebeard’s booming laughter echoed across the deck, shaking the very air.

“A kid with the ‘D’ causing chaos without even raising a pirate flag?

He dropped a continent on Garp?

The old Marine must have been fuming!”

Sitting on a barrel nearby, wiping soot off his face, was the Second Commander, Portgas D.

Ace.

Ace hopped down and leaned over to look at the photograph of Victor.

As his eyes locked onto the dark-haired, sharp-eyed boy in the picture, a strange, unexplainable shiver ran down Ace’s spine.

It wasn’t fear.

It felt like a phantom weight settling over his shoulders, a weird, instinctual feeling of absolute safety, like someone was watching his back from across the world.

Ace rubbed the back of his neck, grinning a wide, reckless grin.

“A South Blue bounty hunter, huh?

I don’t know why, Pops, but I really want to arm-wrestle the guy who punched Garp in the face.”

“If he makes it to the New World, you just might get the chance, son,” Whitebeard chuckled, taking a massive swig of sake.

On a snowy, perpetually frozen winter island, the Red Hair Pirates were recovering from a massive, multi-day banquet.

Benn Beckman, cigar dangling from his lips, walked over to where his captain was passed out against a tree, half-buried in the snow.

Beckman kicked the tree trunk, dropping a pile of snow directly onto Shanks’ face.

“Wake up, boss,” Beckman said, holding out the newspaper.

“The world’s getting loud again.”

Shanks gasped, bolting upright and shaking the snow out of his vibrant red hair.

He grabbed the paper, rubbing his hungover eyes.

He stared at the photograph of the ruined, boiling ocean, and then his eyes widened as he looked at the massive, bipedal, flaming red triceratops standing on the ice.

Shanks didn’t look worried.

He threw his head back and burst into joyous, uproarious laughter.

“Look at this, Beckman!” Shanks cheered, slapping the paper.

“A giant fire-dinosaur!

And he fought Garp to a standstill?

The new era is a wild one!

A bounty hunter who can level continents…

the seas are shifting!” Shanks stood up, kicking an empty barrel.

“Boys!

Wake up!

Bring out the reserve sake!

We’re drinking to the new rookie!”

On Whole Cake Island, inside the sprawling, candy-coated chateau, the atmosphere was considerably more sinister.

One of the Four Emperors, “Big Mom” Charlotte Linlin, sat on her massive throne, aggressively shoveling a mountain of cream puffs into her mouth.

Standing beside her, sweating nervously, was her eldest son, Perospero.

Perospero finished reading the news report out loud.

Big Mom didn’t care about the boy’s “D” initial.

She didn’t care that he humiliated the World Government or fought Garp.

Her massive, terrifying eyes were locked exclusively onto the photographs of the Sky-Rift Roc and BetelGammamon.

“MAMAMAMA!” Big Mom shrieked, her saliva dripping onto the floor.

“A giant metallic bird?

A red dinosaur that breathes solar fire?

I don’t have those!

I don’t have anything like those in my collection!”

“Mama, please calm down,” Perospero stammered.

“He’s all the way in the first half of the Grand Line…..”

“I don’t care where he is!” Big Mom roared, slamming her fist onto the armrest and shattering it.

“Send a fleet to Paradise!

Capture that Beastmaster boy alive!

I want his pets!

I want that dinosaur in my book of rare creatures right now!”

High above the clouds, on the skull-shaped island of Onigashima, Kaido of the Beasts was deeply, violently bored.

He sat cross-legged on the floor of his cavernous stronghold, taking a massive gulp from his gourd of sake.

His top commander, King the Wildfire, stood silently reading the dispatch from the World Economic Journal.

“According to the intercept, he took a direct hit from Garp’s Meteor Impact and managed to launch a counterattack that vaporized the battlefield,” King reported, his voice stoic.

Kaido paused.

He slowly lowered the gourd, snorting a thick cloud of smoke from his nostrils.

A dark, terrifying rumble echoed in his chest.

“Wororororo,” Kaido chuckled darkly, his eyes glowing in the gloom.

“Garp finally found a brat who doesn’t shatter like glass.

A beastmaster who commands mythical monsters?

Good.

Let him cook in Paradise.”

Kaido grabbed his massive, spiked kanabo club, resting it on his shoulder.

“If he survives the first half of the Grand Line and makes it to the New World…

bring him to me.

I want to see if his beasts can survive a real fight.”

The panic wasn’t contained to the Emperors.

The Seven Warlords of the Sea were feeling the tremor as well.

In the sunny, vibrant kingdom of Dressrosa, Donquixote Doflamingo was sitting by his lavish poolside, a glass of expensive red wine in his hand.

But the vein popping furiously on his forehead ruined the relaxed aesthetic.

Standing before him, trembling uncontrollably, was the executive Trebol.

“I-It’s him, Doffy!” Trebol whimpered, pointing a sticky finger at the newspaper.

“The brokers in the South Blue confirmed it!

The missing weapons shipment from the Centaurea Kingdom…

the illegal artillery we supplied to the King…

it was stolen by this exact rookie!”

Doflamingo’s grip tightened.

The crystal wine glass shattered in his hand, spilling red wine over his pink feather coat like blood.

“He stole thousands of crates of heavy artillery and disappeared into thin air,” Doflamingo hissed, his signature grin stretching into a murderous grimace.

“He just cost the Donquixote Family hundreds of millions of Berries.

A South Blue nobody playing god.

Tell our brokers in Paradise to keep a very close eye on Victor D.

Costa.

If he steps foot in the Underworld, I want to know about it.”

Halfway across Paradise, deep beneath the Rain Dinners casino in Alabasta, Sir Crocodile sat in his dimly lit office.

He scowled deeply, tossing the newspaper onto his desk.

Paradise was supposed to be his playground.

The fact that an unaffiliated, chaotic monster capable of atomizing an ice continent had just entered his half of the ocean was a massive logistical nightmare for his Operation Utopia.

Standing in the shadows of the office was his vice-president, Nico Robin.

“Miss All Sunday,” Crocodile growled, lighting a thick cigar with his golden hook.

“I don’t care if the World Government is afraid of him.

An anomaly like this moving through our waters is a liability.

Track his movements.

Ensure his path does not cross with Alabasta.”

“As you wish, Mr.

Zero,” Robin replied softly, her eyes lingering on the photo of the young man who had dared to strike Garp.

On the island of Amazon Lily, hidden within the Calm Belt, the Kuja Pirate ship had just returned to port.

Empress Boa Hancock lounged on her throne, looking utterly disinterested as one of her attendants held up the morning paper.

Usually, Hancock despised any news involving men, tossing the papers aside without a second glance.

But as she looked at the headline, her sister Marigold stepped forward.

“Sister,” Marigold said softly, bowing her head.

“The article is true.

But it does not tell the whole story.

That is the man who rescued the orphans from the South Blue.”

Hancock’s disinterested expression faltered.

“That boy?”

“Yes,” Marigold nodded, a rare smile crossing her face.

“He is an anomaly, sister.

He wields terrifying Haki, capable of evading my strikes with his hands in his pockets.

But…

when one of the little girls started to cry, he completely abandoned our duel.

He dropped his weapons, turned his back on me, and dropped to his knees in the sand just to comfort her.

He destroyed a pirate armada, just to keep those children safe.”

Hancock stared at her sister in genuine shock.

A man who possessed overwhelming power, but wasn’t a selfish, arrogant beast?

A man who threw away his pride to comfort a crying child?

For the first time in her life, a soft, genuine smile touched the Pirate Empress’s lips as she looked at Victor’s photograph.

“It seems,” Hancock murmured, resting her chin on her hand, “that Victor D.

Costa might be the only tolerable man on the seas.”

While the Emperors plotted, the Warlords panicked, and the Fleet Admiral nursed a migraine, the cause of all the global chaos was completely oblivious to his new infamy.

High above the clouds, soaring smoothly over the Twin Capes and officially entering the airspace of the Grand Line, the Sky-Rift Roc carried the teardrop carriage through the bright blue sky.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was entirely relaxed.

“I’m just saying,” I argued, leaning back in my captain’s chair and looking at the map.

“We are in the Grand Line now.

We should land at the first island and find a restaurant.

I want to see if the fish taste different here.”

“But I want meat!” Gammamon whined from the opposite bench, crossing his stubby white arms.

“We had fish three days ago!

Grand Line fish is still fish!

I want a giant steak!”

“Gammamon, you’re a triceratops, you’re supposed to be a herbivore,” I pointed out dryly.

“BetelGammamon is a carnivore!” he countered happily.

“If we don’t get meat, I’ll evolve and eat the restaurant!”

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

The World Government, the Marines, and the horrors of the Grand Line were waiting for us down below.

But right now, my biggest problem is a hungry dinosaur.

“Fine,” I chuckled, looking out the window at the vast, mysterious ocean stretching out to the horizon.

“Steak it is.

Let’s see what you’ve got, Grand Line.”

Word Count: 2011

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