Davy Jones, the Terror Ghost Island officers, and the "Supernovas" filed one after another into the large wooden hall. What had seemed spacious before quickly became crowded.
Law gestured for everyone to find a place to sit.
Porche waved toward the doorway, and soon a young maid came hurrying in—likely a local islander. Porche leaned close and whispered a few words in her ear.
A quarter of an hour later, the maid returned, carrying trays of tea, fruit, and pastries. She bowed politely to the assembled group before quietly leaving.
Davy Jones sat by the window, gazing outside through the clear glass for a moment before turning back to the room.
"Tell me," he said. "What do you all know about Punk Hazard? Speak freely."
The others exchanged glances. After a moment, all eyes naturally settled on Law.
Whether in terms of his grasp of information or his standing within the crew, Law was the most suited to explain.
Sitting at the edge of a long bench, Law leaned forward slightly, his hands resting around the hilt of his cursed blade, Kikoku. Lifting his head, he said evenly, "Captain, allow me to explain."
Davy Jones nodded, reaching into his coat to pull out his long-stemmed pipe and a pouch of tobacco. He packed the bowl, then realized he'd used the last of his matches.
Perhaps it's time to embrace something new—like a steel lighter, he mused.
Porche quickly stepped forward, bending gracefully as she struck a match and lit the tobacco for him with a smile. Davy Jones glanced at her a moment longer than usual.
Off to the side, Buggy raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't expected Porche to be that quick-witted—carrying matches with her at all times.
Why didn't I think of that? he thought bitterly.
When Porche straightened up beside him, the blue-haired woman shot the "clown" a smug little grin.
"Punk Hazard," Law began, unfazed by their small antics, "was declared a restricted zone by the World Government two years ago. The reason, as we've mentioned before, doesn't need repeating."
"Three days after we took control of Terror Ghost Island—and after we wiped out Snack's remaining forces—I ordered one of the surviving soldiers from his unit to make landfall on Punk Hazard."
"I maintained contact with him the entire time through a Den Den Mushi. To my surprise, Punk Hazard wasn't as filled with toxic gas as the rumors claimed. He wasn't wearing protective gear, yet even after half an hour he felt no dizziness, no nausea."
"That proves either the island's poison gas has completely dissipated, or the concentration is now so low that short exposure isn't lethal."
"The soldier also reported seeing living creatures on the island. He shouted through the line that he'd seen a dragon—then was suddenly attacked. After that, contact was lost."
A dragon?
Everyone's gaze instinctively shifted toward Drake, knowing that this "Supernova" could transform into a massive carnivorous dinosaur—an Allosaurus.
But why would there be a dragon on Punk Hazard? Could it be something like Drake's form?
Under their curious stares, Drake remained calm. He rested his hands on his knee as he crossed one leg over the other, his mouth pressed into a firm line, silently absorbing the information.
"In short," Law continued, "that soldier's 'sacrifice' confirmed both the feasibility and the danger of landing on Punk Hazard."
"We attempted a second landing not long after."
Buggy, Perona, and Porche all shook their heads almost in unison—already predicting how that would have ended.
Law's eyes, shaded beneath his hat brim, turned toward Davy Jones. "But this time, something strange happened—both on the island and around its surrounding waters."
Davy Jones drew in a slow puff from his pipe, looking at Law expectantly, just as a faint brr-brr-brr-brr vibration sounded from within his coat. Raising a hand, he motioned for Law to stop.
He pulled out a Den Den Mushi and lifted the receiver.
"Who is it?"
"Captain, it's me," came the smooth, mature voice on the other end—Alvida.
"What is it?" Davy Jones paused, then added, "I'm in the middle of a strategy meeting with Law and the others."
Alvida still oversaw intelligence gathering under Davy Jones. Her unique position allowed her to bypass Crocodile and Jinbe, reporting directly to the captain when necessary.
His added remark was a subtle cue: if the information wasn't meant for all ears, she should wait and speak to him privately later.
Alvida immediately understood his intent. "It's about the Undersea Trade Route—and the Whitebeard Remnants. I believe it's urgent enough to report right away."
Her phrasing implied that the information was public enough to share with those present; she had simply compiled it for Davy Jones's review.
"Proceed," said Davy Jones, exhaling smoke from the tendrils that framed his face.
"The Undersea Trade Route is progressing smoothly," Alvida began.
"In the first half—'Paradise'—we have the 'Northern Kraken' Kraken and the 'Sea Bull' Momoo. In the latter half—the 'New World'—we've secured cooperation from the Sun Pirates and the New Fish-Man Pirates."
"Jinbe-san remains stationed at Fang City, maintaining the route's stability. A new convoy of merchant and passenger ships has safely arrived at Thriller Ghost Island, where Crocodile-san has taken over the relay."
"The voyage reports were all positive. The protection fees have been fully collected in advance."
"We also inspected their cargo. Any ship found attempting to traffic merfolk, fishmen, or anyone identifiable as part of our territories—was dealt with immediately. The offenders were executed on the spot."
"Hm." Davy Jones gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, signaling he was listening.
The others in the room were already familiar with parts of this operation. None looked surprised—they simply listened in silence.
"Next," Alvida said, her tone sharpening slightly, "is intelligence on the Whitebeard Remnants."
"The faction led by 'Fire Fist' Ace has become embroiled in a brutal, drawn-out conflict."
Buggy couldn't help interjecting, "What now? That guy Ace—can he ever stop giving me headaches?"
Whether Alvida heard him or not, she continued without pause.
"Their initial enemy was a man calling himself 'Whitebeard II'—Edward Weevil. He has eaten the reborn Tremor-Tremor Fruit."
Davy Jones's expression didn't change, but everyone else's faces did. They all knew how devastating the Tremor-Tremor Fruit could be—those who had seen it in action, and those who had merely heard of its world-shaking power.
It had been more than a month since the Marineford War. It wasn't surprising that the Devil Fruit had resurfaced—someone was bound to find it eventually.
But that it had fallen into the hands of a man claiming to be Whitebeard's son—that made things far more interesting.
If Weevil could somehow prove his bloodline, it could threaten Ace's authority, potentially causing rifts within the Whitebeard remnants—fragmenting them from within.
Alvida went on.
"Under the manipulation of his mother, Miss Bakkin—Stussy, Weevil launched an assault on the remnants' headquarters, demanding Ace, Marco, and the other division captains submit to him."
"Ace and Marco refused outright, publicly denying Weevil's claim of being Whitebeard's descendant, and attempted to subdue and capture him instead. Enraged, Weevil retaliated, and a fierce battle broke out between the two sides."
"If that were all, the situation might still have been contained," Alvida continued after a brief pause. "However, Blackbeard chose that exact moment to intervene."
"Blackbeard—Teach?" Buggy muttered, recalling the name. "That bunch disappeared after the Marineford War. I thought the Marines had finally caught those fugitives."
By now, Blackbeard had long since lost his title of Warlord of the Sea, and being hunted by the Marines was no surprise. But to appear here—clearly, he had been keeping a close eye on the Whitebeard remnants, waiting for an opportunity.
Unfazed by Buggy's grumbling, Alvida pressed on:
"The arrival of a third party escalated the conflict into a full-scale war. It's said that Blackbeard's true goal… is Weevil's Tremor-Tremor Fruit."
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