Inside the captain's cabin, the dazzling glow of gold, silver, and precious jewels illuminated the space, reflecting off the faces of the crew.
Ace sat cross-legged on a massive treasure chest, tossing a heavy gold coin into the air and catching it with a grin. "Shiraishi, looking at this stash, it's safe to say we won't have to worry about buying logistics supplies or fine wine for a very long time."
"Indeed. But monetary assets are merely secondary variables," Shiraishi replied calmly, gently polishing the silver glove on his left hand.
The pale blue gem embedded within it caught the light, pulsing with a faint, crystalline luminescence. "The primary takeaway from this operational phase was verifying the practical combat integration of the Rebirth Cores."
Stepping onto the main deck, Shiraishi peered out over the expansive, azure waters of the East Blue. Behind him, the captured pirate crew worked with frantic efficiency, setting the sails and adjusting the rigging.
Having witnessed Shiraishi bypass Marine Vice Admiral Garp's terrifying offensive and casually freeze the harbor solid, these ordinary sailors now regarded him with a level of reverence reserved for gods.
"Captain Shiraishi," the makeshift first mate called out, bowing deeply. "At our current nautical velocity, the vessel will make landfall at Frostmoon Village by tomorrow morning. Per your prior directive... are you truly planning to let us go once we arrive?"
Shiraishi turned his head slightly, his tone even yet carrying an undeniable weight. "That was the original parameter of our agreement.
If you wish to take a small portion of the gold and live peacefully as ordinary citizens, I will not restrict your freedom."
The first mate immediately dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed against the wooden planks. "Please let us remain under your command!
The seas are growing more chaotic by the day, and following a master of your caliber is our greatest chance of survival. We are willing to serve as the permanent foundational crew of this ship!"
"Very well," Shiraishi nodded slowly. "Maintain our current heading. But remember, navigating toward the Grand Line requires far more than raw muscle. We still lack a truly elite navigator to chart our course through the specialized weather anomalies ahead."
While Shiraishi was handling the ship's administrative duties, a silent tension permeated the stern deck.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Accompanied by a series of low, concussive bursts of air, a young man with pitch-black hair and a stark, brooding expression was performing standard physical conditioning.
He wore a simple weighted vest, carrying out high-intensity strength training that would have instantly torn the ligaments of an ordinary human.
It was Uchiha Madara, thoroughly dominant within the physical vessel of Menma Namikaze.
Ever since crossing the space-time threshold into the One Piece world, Menma's consciousness had voluntarily entered a profound state of deep dormancy, retreating into the innermost recesses of his spiritual subconscious to escape his past traumas.
This left Madara in complete, unchecked control of the physical body.
"Hmph."
Madara slammed a massive iron weight onto the deck, his eyes flashing with a mix of fierce pride and deep annoyance. His gaze flicked toward Shiraishi's silver glove.
To a sovereign shinobi who had reached the absolute apex of power through decades of bloody warfare, meticulous planning, and rigorous training, Shiraishi's sudden acquisition of a sovereign "external plug-in"—the Mythical Zoan capabilities—felt profoundly irritating.
External adaptations are ultimately illusions, Madara thought, his jaw tightening as he wiped the sweat from his brow. In this world, physical density and spiritual willpower dictate the absolute parameters of strength. If this vessel is fragile, I will simply forge it into an unbreakable blade.
Aside from slowly adapting the dark entity of the Negative Nine-Tails to the atmospheric laws of this world, Madara spent every waking hour pushing the human body to its absolute limits, seeking to unlock the latent physical energy unique to the inhabitants of the One Piece universe.
"You seem exceptionally focused, Madara," a gentle, melodic voice echoed from the shadow of the cabin door.
Unohana Retsu stepped onto the deck, her pristine white haori fluttering softly in the sea breeze. Her hand rested naturally upon the hilt of her zanpakutō, Minazuki, her dark eyes reflecting the serene vastness of the ocean.
Madara didn't stop his movements, his voice cold and raspy. "If you don't continuously elevate your base parameters, you become nothing more than a historical footnote. This world's power ceiling is far more chaotic than the old world."
Unohana smiled faintly, though a spark of pure, unadulterated battle aura flashed deep within her pupils.
"A chaotic world simply means there are more refined targets to test one's blade against. Shiraishi mentioned that our next destination houses an exceptional sanctuary of swordsmanship."
"Ah, the Isshin Dojo," Shiraishi walked over, joining the conversation as the outline of a green, verdant island slowly materialized on the horizon line.
"The master of that dojo, Koushirou, originates from a highly specialized lineage of craftsmen and samurai from the Wano Country. The swordsmanship practiced there isn't just about raw destructive output—it focuses on the spiritual connection between the wielder and the steel."
Unohana's fingers tightened slightly against her scabbard, her smile widening by a fraction of a millimeter. "The spiritual connection between the wielder and the steel... how profoundly intriguing. I look forward to sampling the unique flavor of this world's concept of the 'Way of the Sword'."
As the ship sliced through the cresting waves, approaching the peaceful shores of Frostmoon Village, Shiraishi gazed intently at the looming docks. He knew that their brief clash with Garp had already placed their names on the high-priority watchlists of Marine Headquarters.
Before the inevitable storm of the Grand Line enveloped them, he needed to thoroughly analyze the core foundational systems of this world—be it Haki, specialized swordsmanship, or the true nature of Devil Fruit lineage factors.
And Frostmoon Village was the perfect place to start.
Meanwhile, back at the East Blue Marine branch office, the atmosphere was thick with suffocating tension.
Bang!
Garp slammed his fist onto the wooden desk, shattering it cleanly into two pieces. He ignored the terrified trembling of Captain Huang Quan and stared directly at the freshly drafted bounty reports sent via Den Den Mushi.
"A flying Mythical Zoan that commands freezing blasts... and a sniper who can shoot down multiple artillery shells simultaneously with standard arrows?" Garp barked, tossing a half-eaten rice cracker into his mouth.
"These aren't the types of rookies the East Blue is supposed to produce! Keep a continuous surveillance grid locked onto their coordinates. If they are heading toward Loguetown, I'll personally break their wings before they can ever dream of setting foot in the Grand Line!"
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