And so, a massive pirate fleet set sail from the Sabaody Archipelago, heading for the North Blue. While this fleet looked mighty and imposing, it was, in truth, a paper tiger.
If you looked closely, you'd notice that each pirate ship carried very few crew members, and those who remained were mostly missing arms or legs. Nearly everyone was wrapped in thick layers of bandages.
For these wounded, battered remnants to go picking a fight with the Silver Pirates was nothing less than a suicide mission, handing over their heads on a silver platter.
A fleet this large naturally drew the attention of the Marines. After some investigation, they discovered these were the very pirates who had escaped Kizaru in the New World.
That's right. The Marine who had fought them and then suddenly vanished was none other than Kizaru. As for why he disappeared so abruptly, it was because Kong had assigned him a new mission at that moment.
So he simply abandoned the chase. Wiping them out wouldn't have taken Kizaru much time at all, but he was just too lazy to bother. In his eyes, these ragtag nobodies couldn't stir up any real trouble on the seas anyway.
"What do you think they're planning now?" Inside Marine Headquarters, a group of officers were discussing the pirates' intentions.
"No idea." One officer shook his head. He wasn't a pirate, so how could he possibly know what they were scheming?
"Well, if you were one of these pirates, what's the first thing you'd want to do?"
"Revenge, obviously. The Marines captured so many of their people. They'd definitely want payback."
"Exactly. They want revenge. But they surely wouldn't go after the Marines now, not after seeing our strength. So there's only one target left: the Silver Pirates."
Once they pinpointed the likely target, the Marines relaxed a little. Kizaru always left holes behind for them to patch up.
"So what do we do now?"
"For the time being, nothing. Let them fight among themselves, dog eat dog. If they manage to cripple each other, even better. We Marines can just sit back and reap the spoils. Although the chances of that are next to nil."
With that, the Marine officer sighed. How he wished this pirate alliance were a little stronger. Hoping they'd mutually destroy each other with the Silver Pirates was just unrealistic.
After all, even a fleet led by a Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral couldn't necessarily do much against the Silver Pirates, let alone a hastily cobbled-together bunch of small fry.
Shirakawa, for his part, was completely unaware of what was brewing. Even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared, just as that Marine officer had thought. These people were only coming to deliver their own heads, and they might even boost his bounty in the process.
As for what Shirakawa was doing right now, he was watching a street performance. The kind where a performer takes a mouthful of alcohol and then spits fire. Honestly, Shirakawa couldn't help but admire such people. Didn't that burn their mouths?
And seriously, if they accidentally swallowed that alcohol, wouldn't it scorch a hole right through their intestines?
It was entertaining enough, so Shirakawa clapped along with the surrounding crowd, then fished a large bill out of his pocket and dropped it into the performer's donation box.
The performer glanced at the big note in the box and shot Shirakawa a grateful look.
Some people look down on street performers, seeing them as lowly and undignified. But Shirakawa didn't feel that way at all. To him, they were no different from glamorous celebrities. One was just famous, the other unknown.
Just like Soul King Brook in the future. Before he became a star, he performed for regular islanders, treated like a pet, locked in a cage for their amusement.
But after he shot to fame, his crazed fans from all over the world would even dare to challenge the Marines' authority. To them, Brook's word carried more weight than any Marine's.
After strolling around a while longer, Shirakawa felt an empty sensation in his stomach. To an ordinary person, this would just be a growling belly signaling hunger.
He picked a very luxurious restaurant and walked in. Only the wealthy or powerful could afford to dine here.
No sooner had he stepped through the door than a server approached and greeted him.
"Good day, sir. How many in your party?" The server offered a professional smile.
"Just one."
"Very well. Please, follow me." Shirakawa's clothes were quite ordinary, just a white trench coat, but he wore it with such an aristocratic air that the server never once underestimated him. There was none of that "shoo away the poor-looking customer" nonsense you might read about in those rich-boy novels.
"Oh crap, what's he doing here?!"
At that moment, the duty manager spotted Shirakawa and nearly passed out from sheer fright. This restaurant was a front for a certain organization, and its upper management were all members of the group behind it.
Just that morning, they had received special notice about the Silver Pirates and had been ordered to commit every single member's face to memory.
The purpose was precisely to avoid accidentally offending any of them.
The manager had initially brushed it off. There were so many restaurants in this city. What were the odds they'd be unlucky enough to draw this exact one?
But as it turned out, his luck was that terrible. They really had walked right in. And the one who showed up was none other than the highest-bounty captain. Thank goodness he'd memorized every face of the Silver Pirates beforehand.
"Sir, would you mind handing over your weapon? Our establishment does not allow guests to carry weapons inside."
After Shirakawa was seated, the server politely made this request. He hadn't recognized who Shirakawa was. If he had, he'd never have dared say such a thing.
"Oh? And if I refuse?" Shirakawa's eyes narrowed.
"In that case, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to leave."
The manager, who had been watching his server seemingly lock horns with Shirakawa, rushed over immediately.
"What's going on here?" the manager demanded, his expression stern as he addressed the server.
"Manager, this gentleman refuses to leave his weapon with us for safekeeping. So I was asking him to leave."
Hearing that, the manager almost fainted from rage.
"Who do you think you are, telling him what to do?! Get the hell out of here! I'll serve this guest myself." The manager gave the server a swift, hard kick.
"My dear guest, what would you like to eat?" He then turned to face Shirakawa, plastering on an ingratiating, greasy smile.
One look, and Shirakawa knew the man had recognized him.
"Bring me one of every best dish you have. And a bottle of your finest red wine."
"Absolutely! Right away, sir. I'll see to it at once."
The moment the manager turned his back, his expression snapped right back to its stern, no-nonsense default. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to humble himself like this.
But this man was someone he absolutely could not afford to offend. He had no choice but to swallow his pride.
"Please, just let him be here for a simple meal," the manager prayed silently.
If Shirakawa decided to cause trouble here, his own head might well go rolling.
/-\
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