The New World raged like a living beast that night. The storm was unrelenting, waves rising as tall as fortress walls, crashing against the hull of a lone galleon that cut through the maelstrom with grim determination. The sea foamed with fury, lightning tore the heavens apart, and thunder rolled endlessly—like the laughter of gods mocking the mortals who dared to challenge their domain.
Most ships, whether flying the banners of the Emperors of the Sea or the World Government, had long since turned back, rushing toward the first half of the Grand Line. But this vessel, stripped of all colors and crests, flew no flag of allegiance. Its sails, patched yet unbroken, strained against the howling wind, its timbers groaning as though they too questioned the sanity of their course.
Yet the ship sailed on—deeper into the New World, toward the heart of the storm. Sailors scrambled across the slick deck, shouting to one another above the roar of the tempest.
"Reef the mainsail! Tighten the fore line…!" one bellowed, while another clung desperately to the rigging, his knuckles white as he fought to keep balance. The ship pitched and rolled, a toy in the hands of the sea, but somehow—through sheer will—it stayed its course.
At the prow stood Issho, unmoving. Rain hammered against his shoulders, yet he stood as still as a statue carved from the storm itself. His blind eyes were lifted toward the churning horizon, as if the darkness before them held no mystery to him. The wind tore at his cloak, waves crashed against the bow and drenched him from head to toe, but his serene expression never faltered.
Behind him, Jinbei—currently a captive of the Donquixote family—watched in silent confusion, his broad form steady against the rocking deck.
"Where exactly are we heading?" Jinbei's deep voice rumbled through the storm. "And what is it that you need my assistance with? I don't think I can be of much help unless you tell me what it is that you need my assistance with…?"
He could no longer contain the question that had haunted him for days ever since they left port in Dressrosa. His words carried not anger, but the quiet frustration of someone without clarity.
He had been captured. That much was true. And yet, unlike the countless other fishmen who had met their end under the heel of the Donquixote Family, he had been spared—treated not as a prisoner, but as a guest. He was given food, freedom to walk the deck, and even treated with a level of respect he had not expected from men who had declared any fishmen not aligned with the Donquixote family as hostile.
And now, here he was—sailing deeper into the New World, aboard a nameless galleon with no allegiance, caught in a storm that seemed determined to swallow them whole. Issho did not turn. His voice, calm and soft as the falling rain, somehow cut through the roaring winds.
"Patience, Jinbei-dono. I will reveal your purpose soon enough."
The words only deepened Jinbei's frown. The fishman crossed his arms, water streaming down his blue skin as lightning illuminated his scarred face.
"I've been patient long enough," he muttered. "Your family's young master took me prisoner. Yet you let me roam your ship freely. You feed me, let me breathe the open air, and still—no chains, no questions, no orders. If this is a trick, it's a strange one."
Issho finally turned his head slightly, his pale, unseeing eyes glowing faintly under the lightning flash.
"I gave you my word, did I not?" he said, smiling faintly. "You are no prisoner… Not anymore. You are here because Ross—Kun thought that you could help us out of your own volition. And perhaps…" his expression grew more solemn, "because you are the type of man who wouldn't feel at ease until the debt is repaid, is it not, Jinbei…?"
"A debt of life...?" Jinbei repeated, his brow furrowing. "For sparing my life is it…?"
Issho said nothing more. Only the sea answered—a booming wave crashing over the deck, drenching them both to the bone. The ship's hull groaned, but still it pressed forward through the howling tempest.
As the silence stretched, Jinbei clenched his jaw. His honor as a warrior warred with his instincts as a survivor. He had considered escaping many times since he boarded this ship; maybe in Dressrosa under the eyes of Donquixote Rosinante he didn't have a chance.
But aboard this ship… the opportunity was always there—no guards, no locks, no chains. Any other fishman in his place would have slipped overboard and vanished into the depths. As long as he managed to slip past this blind swordsman before him, he was confident in escaping into the darkness of the sea below.
But Jinbei was not just any fishman. His pride would not allow it, at least not until he repaid the said debt in some manner. If he left now, after being spared, after being treated not with cruelty but with a strange, distant respect—what would that make him? A coward? A fugitive? No. Whatever purpose these men had for bringing him here, he would see it through. He would repay this unexpected mercy in kind—even if it led him into the lion's den.
Jinbei's deep voice rumbled again, quieter this time, carrying through the storm like distant thunder.
"Then tell me this, Issho-dono…" he began, his tone heavy with suspicion and restrained curiosity, "what kind of mission could compel a family as powerful as the Donquixotes to seek the aid of a captive?"
Lightning tore across the heavens, painting both men in fleeting silver light. The storm howled louder, as if urging the blind swordsman to answer.
Issho stood motionless at the prow, the rain cascading down his face in steady rivulets. The faintest hint of a smile curved his lips—a smile that held neither mockery nor warmth, but something far more enigmatic.
"One," he said softly, "that perhaps only a fishman could accomplish."
The words hung in the air, swallowed by the thunder before Jinbei could respond. The fishman's eyes narrowed, a deep furrow forming across his brow as his mind raced. Before he could speak, Issho continued, his voice calm and unshaken by the storm raging around them.
"Tell me, Jinbei…" he asked, tilting his head slightly toward him, "how much do you know of the relics of the past—those ancient stones the world calls Poneglyphs?"
The very mention of the word seemed to shift the atmosphere. The wind screamed louder, the sea roared beneath them, and lightning split the sky once more, as if the world itself reacted to that forbidden name.
Jinbei froze, his expression darkening. "…The Poneglyphs?" he muttered, his tone low, wary.
Jinbei's voice rumbled once more, quieter but steadier than before. "So that's your goal, huh…? You have found the whereabouts of one of the many Poneglyphs...""
The next lightning strike illuminated his face—and for the briefest moment, Jinbei saw not the calm, humble swordsman who had spared him… but something far greater. A presence that seemed to weigh upon the air itself, as if gravity bent around him, drawn to his will.
Then the light faded, leaving only darkness and storm once more. The galleon plunged into the black maw of the sea, its bow slicing through walls of water as if driven by fate itself.
Issho's voice carried through the storm like the low hum of a temple bell—calm, steady, yet impossible to ignore.
"And what if I were to tell you, Jinbei-dono…" he began, his tone devoid of any emotion, "that we need your help in confirming the location of one of the Poneglyphs?"
Lightning arced across the clouds, illuminating the blind swordsman's face—his calm expression unbothered by the rain that lashed against him. He did not turn, did not raise his voice, yet the quiet certainty in his words carried more weight than any shout could.
"Would you help us?"
It wasn't a demand. It wasn't even a plea. It was a simple question spoken as if Issho already knew the answer. Jinbei stared at him, the wind tearing at his soaked clothes, his great arms crossed over his chest. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his deep voice rumbled above the crashing waves.
"Do I even have a choice in the matter?"
Issho finally turned his head slightly, the rain dripping from the brim of his hat. "Like I told you before," he said, his tone as calm as the sea before a typhoon, "you are free to leave if that is what you wish. No one will stop you."
He paused, letting the words settle before continuing. "However, I advise you not to set foot upon Donquixote territory again. I do not know why Ross-kun is showing you special consideration, but take my advice, Jinbei-dono—do not test that man's generosity. You might not walk free a second time."
There was no malice in his words—only an unshakable truth that carried the weight of experience. Issho had seen enough of men like Rosinante to know that mercy was a fleeting thing, granted rarely and withdrawn swiftly.
Jinbei's brows furrowed. He had already suspected that the Donquixote patriarch had a hand in sparing him, but to hear it spoken aloud… that was something else entirely. He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing against the downpour.
"But… why me?" he asked, his voice quieter now, though no less firm. "Surely, your family has no shortage of fishmen loyal to your banner. And considering your family's hostility with Brother Tiger and the Ryugu kingdom royalty… are you sure you want to trust me with something this important?"
He wasn't wrong. Many of his kind had already abandoned Fishman Island and sworn allegiance to the Donquixotes, lured by promises of freedom and power. Capable warriors, skilled navigators—there was no shortage of them. So why choose him, a prisoner?
Issho turned fully toward him now, his blank eyes seeming to look straight through the storm and into Jinbei's soul.
"If we questioned your character, Jinbei-dono…" he said quietly, "…do you think we would be asking for your assistance?"
The rain hammered harder, masking the silence that followed. Issho's voice softened, but there was steel beneath the calm.
"At least this way," he continued, "you can walk free without the weight of a debt on your back. You'll have earned your freedom—fair and square. Don't you think that will let you sleep easier?"
The words struck deeper than Jinbei expected. The ocean roared around them, the ship groaning as it fought the waves, but the fishman's mind was elsewhere.
He knew himself better than anyone—his pride, his code, his unshakable sense of honor. To walk away with nothing asked of him… it would've gnawed at him. Like a wound that refused to heal. He looked at Issho again, the blind swordsman standing unflinching against the storm, his aura calm yet immense—like a mountain that would not bend no matter how hard the wind blew.
A sigh escaped Jinbei's lips, carried away by the howling wind. "You drive a hard bargain, Issho-dono," he said finally, his tone tinged with reluctant acceptance. "You make it sound like I'd be the one dishonoring myself if I said no."
Issho smiled faintly, bowing his head ever so slightly. "I have no desire to guilt a man into doing my bidding," he said. "But the world is shifting, Jinbei-dono. The tides that once carried empires now turn against them. Perhaps it is only fitting that a son of the sea helps us uncover what lies beneath its depths."
A bolt of lightning split the heavens above them, briefly revealing the raging waters ahead—the silhouette of distant mountains barely visible through the sheets of rain. Wano lay beyond those storms.
And somewhere beneath its now submerged island, if the intel provided by Rosinante was true, slumbered a Red Poneglyph—a fragment of truth the world itself had tried to drown. Jinbei's eyes narrowed, his powerful hands tightening around the ship's rail. The ocean called to him—deep, dangerous, and full of secrets.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice rumbling like the depths themselves. "I'll see this through, Issho-dono. But make no mistake—once my part is done, I'll be gone."
Issho's lips curved into that same faint, knowing smile. "That's all I ask."
Jinbei's voice rumbled low beneath the crashing thunder, steady yet laced with a wary tension. "Well, now that I've agreed to help you in your task of finding this Poneglyph, Issho-dono… Perhaps you could at least tell me where exactly we're headed?"
His tone wasn't defiant—merely cautious, grounded in the pragmatic instinct of a seasoned warrior. Even bound by his word, Jinbei was no fool. He would not blindly follow anyone, not even a man like the blind swordsman before him, into unknown danger.
The New World was a sea of monsters—both the kind that walked on land and those that lurked beneath the waves—and Jinbei had no wish to invite calamity upon his kin of Fishman Island through reckless action.
Issho remained silent for a moment, the rain sliding off his wide kasa straw hat in glistening rivulets. His unseeing eyes were lifted toward the heavens, as though he could read the stars even through the storm. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, deliberate—every syllable carrying weight.
"The Land of Samurai."
For a heartbeat, only the storm answered. Then Jinbei's frown deepened, his gills flaring slightly as a chill—not from the rain—ran through his spine.
"You mean…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "…Wano?"
Issho inclined his head, just enough to confirm what Jinbei already feared.
"The domain of Kaido…" Jinbei muttered, almost to himself. "The Emperor of the Seas… Hundred Beasts Kaido."
Even for a man as resolute as Jinbei, that name carried the gravity of terror—and doom. Few who had set foot in Kaido's territory ever returned. The seas surrounding Wano were as treacherous as the man who ruled them—storms that defied nature, whirlpools large enough to swallow entire fleets, and watchful eyes of the Beast Pirates who saw everything that moved beneath their emperor's sky.
The ship groaned violently beneath another crashing wave, and Jinbei's hands instinctively gripped the rail tighter. His mind raced. Had he been too hasty in agreeing to this? Even he—a fishmen who prided himself in facing any kind of adversary head-on—knew better than to casually wander into a Yonko's domain.
Issho chuckled softly then, the sound low and almost good-natured, though Jinbei could hear the steel beneath it.
"I take it you disapprove of our destination," he said.
Jinbei shot him a look, though he knew the blind man couldn't see it. "Disapprove?" he repeated incredulously. "Issho-dono, you are asking me to sail straight into the lair of one of the Four Emperors! Forgive me if I do not find that comforting."
The blind swordsman smiled faintly, turning his head toward Jinbei. "I assure you, my friend… I have no intention of fighting the dragon in his own den."
The reassurance did little to calm Jinbei's nerves. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, then asked the question that had been forming in his mind since the revelation.
"Wait…" he said, his voice now a low growl of disbelief, "…Issho-dono, are you telling me that you intend to steal a Poneglyph—from the hands of another Emperor of the Sea?"
The ship tilted violently, waves slamming into its side as though the very ocean had reacted to his words. The crew shouted, racing to stabilize the sails, lightning tearing the sky open in blinding flashes. Yet amidst all that chaos, Issho stood unmoving, his coat billowing behind him, as calm as if he stood in a field of spring blossoms instead of the fury of the New World.
"I prefer to think of it as safeguarding a piece of true history," Issho said, his tone unreadable.
Jinbei blinked, staring at him in disbelief. "Safeguarding? From Kaido? You make it sound like you're asking to borrow a cup of tea, not an artifact guarded by one of the most dangerous pirates alive!"
The faintest hint of amusement tugged at Issho's lips. "Then perhaps, Jinbei-dono, it is fortunate that I am not easily frightened by men nor monsters—no matter how large their shadow may be."
The storm howled across the New World like a living beast, its fangs of lightning flashing against the night sky. Waves the size of mountains crashed against the ship's hull, yet the galleon pressed forward—unyielding, as if driven by something greater than the will of the sea itself. Amidst the chaos, the blind swordsman stood unmoved at the prow, his tattered cloak fluttering like a banner of defiance.
Issho's calm voice cut through the roar of thunder.
"And as luck would have it, the entire country of Wano is devoid of the Beast Pirates' main force—and their captain. Kaido and his men have sailed off somewhere into the first half of the Grand Line… chasing shadows, as they often do."
His words were casual, but to Jinbei, every syllable carried the weight of impossible calculation—like a man who had already seen the shape of the board long before his opponent made a move.
Issho continued, his tone quiet yet steady.
"And if it puts your heart at ease, Kaido himself is unaware of the red Poneglyph that lies beneath his very feet. He's been scouring the seas in search of it, blind to the fact that it sleeps below Wano itself." The thunder cracked again, echoing the growing unease in Jinbei's chest.
"So even if we were to take that Poneglyph away," Issho said softly, "he wouldn't have the slightest clue. That relic is too precious—too dangerous—to remain under the care of a drunken tyrant."
For a long moment, Jinbei said nothing. The rain coursed down his face, mingling with the beads of sweat gathering on his brow. Unbeknownst to him, Issho's observation haki was sweeping through his emotions like a silent tide—reading every tremor of doubt, every pulse of hesitation that rippled through the fishman's soul.
Issho was not the type to speak idly. The red Poneglyph was not a legend to him—it was a mission. One he had been entrusted with by Donquixote Rosinante himself. According to what Ross had shared, the Poneglyph was hidden in a secret cavern deep beneath the submerged foot of Mount Fuji—an ancient passage sealed by the Kozuki family generations ago. Only a fishman strong enough to brave the crushing depths and currents could hope to reach it.
That was why Jinbei was here.
"Red… Poneglyph?" Jinbei muttered under his breath, his voice trembling slightly—not out of fear, but realization. He wasn't hearing the rest of what Issho said; the moment that word escaped the blind swordsman's lips, his mind had already begun racing back through years of memories.
He had seen one before—resting at the bottom of the Sea Forest. A monolith of secrets, resting beside another obsidian black stone etched in unreadable script. Two Poneglyphs, side by side—until one day, the red one was gone.
Vanished.
The memory hit him like a harpoon to the gut. The red Poneglyph of Fishman Island had disappeared years ago without a trace. A relic said to be immovable—unbreakable—had been stolen from beneath the ocean itself. When it happened, the entire Fishman Kingdom had been thrown into turmoil. The Ryugu Palace had been interrogated by the World Government; Cipher Pol agents swarmed the seas, demanding answers. The disappearance of a Poneglyph was not just an event—it was a crime against history itself.
And yet… no culprit was ever found.
Back then, the Donquixote Family had been nothing—a fledgling pirate crew, newly entering the New World, their name barely a whisper compared to the great powers of the sea. But now, standing here before Issho, Jinbei began connecting the dots.
If Issho and Rosinante had the means to move a Poneglyph… then perhaps they had already done it before. Perhaps the "impossible theft" of the Fishman Island Poneglyph was not an act of gods or ghosts— but of men.
The Donquixote Family had fooled them all.
They had hoodwinked the World Government, silenced the investigators, and hidden the truth beneath layers of political deceit and unsolved mystery. They had stolen one of the world's greatest treasures—and no one even suspected.
A chill ran down Jinbei's spine that not even the cold rain could mask. His powerful frame stiffened as realization dawned upon him, and though the sea around them raged, the true storm now brewed within his mind.
Could the Donquixote Family have truly deceived the world itself?
He wanted to ask—to demand the truth from Issho right there and then. But some instinct deep within his warrior's heart screamed for silence. There were questions that brought answers only in death, and the calm man standing before him now was no simple swordsman—he was a demon in human form, cloaked in serenity.
Issho's blind eyes turned toward him, a faint smile playing at his lips as though he could hear the storm of thoughts raging in Jinbei's mind.
"I suppose," he said at last, his tone deceptively mild, "I can trust Jinbei-dono to keep any matter regarding the Poneglyphs to himself in the future…?"
It wasn't a question—it was a quiet decree. A velvet-gloved warning that carried more menace than any threat shouted in anger. For a fleeting instant, Jinbei saw him differently—not as the calm, kind-hearted blind swordsman the world whispered about, but as something far more dangerous. A man who smiled at the storm because he would go to any length to protect the interests of his family.
Lightning split the sky, painting Issho in a halo of gold. The wind whipped his cloak around him like the wings of a vengeful spirit, and Jinbei finally understood why even the Donquixote Family's enemies spoke his name with reverence.
This was a man who would move heaven and earth— or sink them both— to protect the secrets of his family.
Jinbei swallowed hard and bowed his head. "You have my word, Issho-dono. Whatever I see or learn on this voyage… will sink with me to the depths."
Issho's smile deepened ever so slightly. "Then I am glad we understand each other."
And as the storm raged on, the ship pressed further into the New World— toward Wano, the land of gods, beasts, and buried truths— while beneath the howling wind and crashing waves, two men carried the weight of history in silence.