Davy Jones lifted one of his tentacles, pointing toward Shanks' face—half illuminated, half shadowed by the dying light of dusk.
"You gave up from the very start on your chance to overturn the world," he said quietly. "You convinced yourself that without Joy Boy's awakening, it couldn't be done—and so you chose to wait, passively."
"That's why Buggy was angry with you more than twenty years ago. If the world truly needs a 'Joy Boy,' then why couldn't you be Joy Boy?"
Davy Jones shook his head.
"But I won't interfere with your personal choices. And as for your dream of a future where Joy Boy liberates the world and you sail freely… I'm not interested."
"I do have my own code," he continued, "but I am still a pirate. I was never meant to bring joy to this world. What I desire is fear—and I feed upon it."
He set his pipe down on the battlement, then suddenly reached out and seized Shanks by the wrist, drawing closer, tilting his head slightly as his tentacles writhed and shifted with a strange, fluid motion.
Even Shanks could not help but frown and tense up, his muscles coiled, Haki ready to burst forth.
"Neither your 'interests' nor your 'mission' mean anything to me," Davy Jones said. "They're empty words. They can't move me."
"My objective has been clear from the beginning. After Whitebeard, first comes Akainu, then Big Mom, and after that—one of you."
He opened his other hand. Resting on his palm was a black compass. Its lid snapped open on its own, and the needle spun violently for a moment before coming to rest—pointing straight at Shanks.
Shanks glanced down at the compass, his expression shifting with surprise.
"Red-Haired boy," Davy Jones said with a grin, "you've chosen the wrong ally—and the wrong person to confide in."
He released Shanks' hand and broke into loud laughter.
Shanks stepped back, instinctively pulling his arm close. For a moment, he thought Beckman's words might come true—that he'd lose the only arm he had left.
But Davy Jones had let him go. Shanks quietly exhaled, relief washing over him.
After regaining his composure, he said,
"I once knew a man who stood against the entire world—very much like you. Rocks D. Xebec. You know what became of him."
"The Joy Boy you're waiting for," Davy Jones replied, puffing on his pipe again, "won't he also stand against the world? Besides…" He chuckled. "I am not anyone else. I am Davy Jones."
"I am not Rocks. I will not be brought down by some wartime alliance between Joy Boy, you, and a so-called Marine hero."
"It seems I can't persuade you," Shanks said, forcing a stiff smile. "I'll still head for Big Mom's territory. If you change your mind, contact me."
He took out a special Den Den Mushi—a paired set that could only communicate with each other, excluding all third parties.
Shanks placed the snail on the battlement, bowed slightly, and said,
"My crew is waiting for me. I'll take my leave."
Davy Jones gave a slight nod, watching him depart.
Shanks descended the dark stone staircase of the tower. When he reached the bottom and pushed open the heavy doors, he found the halls of Silent Isle's castle already aglow with torchlight.
As he walked through the cobbled courtyard under the wary eyes of the pirates, he exited the fortress and soon spotted a familiar figure.
Buggy was by a campfire, arguing loudly with Scratchmen Apoo and Capone Bege. When he noticed Shanks approaching, the other two fell silent, their eyes fixed on the red-haired man.
Shanks gave them a nod, then raised his hand in greeting to Buggy.
"What do you want?" Buggy snapped, walking over with a scowl. "Why'd you go to see the Captain?"
That was exactly what the three of them had been arguing about moments ago.
Apoo and Bege believed "Red-Hair" had come to discuss the possibility of an Emperor's Alliance—that the Sea Demon and Red-Hair might unite to crush Big Mom, and then split her territory between them.
It was the kind of idea ordinary pirates would have.
But Buggy had flatly denied it. He knew his old friend far too well—perhaps was simply too disappointed in him to believe otherwise.
Shanks lacked the ambition, the hunger, the ruthlessness necessary for an Emperor's war.
He was still clinging to that drifting plank called "mission," floating aimlessly across the vast sea—waiting, silently, for Joy Boy to arrive.
To Buggy, Shanks was still aboard the Oro Jackson , still a trainee of the Roger Pirates, never having truly disembarked.
Shanks blinked, momentarily stunned by Buggy's words.
Then he realized that the "Captain" Buggy spoke of wasn't their captain, Roger—but Davy Jones.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but after a pause, he said calmly,
"Perhaps your war with Big Mom is inevitable… but if things go wrong, if you find yourself with nowhere to go—come find me."
Buggy scoffed. "I'm not going anywhere. We're going to win this war—cleanly and completely."
Shanks looked at him in surprise. Coming from Buggy—the same Buggy who used to fear for his life at every turn—that was unexpected.
"Don't let pride blind you," Shanks said. "Always leave yourself a way out."
Buggy kicked him in the backside with a laugh. "Get lost already, will ya?"
Shanks pursed his lips, said nothing more, and simply nodded. Turning away, he walked off toward the shore.
At the water's edge, he climbed into his small wooden boat. Glancing back, he saw Buggy once again shouting at Apoo and Bege by the campfire.
It seemed this trip had been in vain—they were even more resolute than he had imagined.
Lately, for some reason, visitors to see Davy Jones had been arriving one after another.
First Bartolomeo, then Shanks, and now Marco—the former First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, who had come in person.
With his short blond hair and horse-like face, Marco bore the will of the Whitebeard Remnants.
However, Davy Jones had little time or manpower to spare for negotiations with them. His focus now was the imminent war against the Big Mom Pirates.
"I understand," Marco said, looking at Davy Jones.
"This battle might not involve us directly, but sooner or later, it will affect us all. I want to take this chance to show our sincerity."
"If there's any way I can be of help, just say the word. I'll aid you in defeating Big Mom's crew."
He wasn't surprised by the coming clash between Davy Jones and Charlotte Linlin—the news headlines had already spelled out the causes and tensions.
Though he wished he could bring Davy Jones' power to Ace's side immediately, he knew he couldn't sway the captain's will. The best he could do was offer support.
He wasn't afraid to fight Big Mom either. In the past two months, the Whitebeard Remnants had fought nearly every prominent pirate faction in the New World—including Big Mom's own forces.
If this war could be won, it would at least ease the burden on Ace's group—removing one major threat from the seas.
"Captain," Crocodile said, removing the cigar from his mouth as he stepped forward. "Marco's strong—and trustworthy. You can let him join us."
Despite having once been defeated by the Whitebeard Pirates, Crocodile didn't let old grudges cloud his judgment. His words carried genuine respect.
That was long past. The Whitebeard Pirates were now scattered and broken, their power and influence greatly diminished.
Crocodile had long since abandoned his old obsessions; his eyes were fixed firmly on the present.
Following his advice, Davy Jones said to Marco, "Then come with us—to the pre-war council."
"I won't let you down," Marco said with a faint smile.
The group entered the gray-stone castle and gathered in the council hall.
Marco saw that all of Davy Jones' core officers were present—his elite, his best.
As they noticed Marco, murmurs spread among them.
He nodded politely, found an empty seat, and looked toward the projected whiteboard at the front of the room—along with the large image of a transponder snail set up for communication.
The atmosphere here was entirely different from that of the Whitebeard Division Meetings, Marco thought.
Those gatherings, shaped by countless battles and losses, were somber and heavy with grief.
This one, though solemn, was charged with energy—an aggressive spark that his own crew had long lost.
These people truly intended to bring down Big Mom, to expand their power in one decisive strike.
That was good.
Marco nodded to himself quietly.
At the front, Alvida took the microphone, cleared her throat, and gestured for everyone to quiet down.
She pressed a button on the transponder snail, signaling the official start of the meeting.
"Before we draft the battle plan," Alvida said, "we first need to understand our enemy."
She pressed another button, and a new image was projected—a pyramid.
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