Meanwhile, at the New Marineford naval harbor—
The grand "World Conference" had come to an end.
The fervor inside the assembly hall had yet to fully fade, but out here at the port, the noise had already shifted into the bustle of departure.
Ships bearing countless different flags began to raise their sails and weigh anchor.
Kings and representatives from across the seas—some brimming with ambition, others weighed down by heavy thoughts—boarded one after another, preparing to carry what they had seen and heard back to their homelands.
And yet—
At one relatively quiet berth along the harbor…
A towering, out-of-place figure lingered, showing no sign of leaving.
Marshall D. Teach.
Blackbeard.
The reason he had gone to such lengths—risking even a dangerous deal with the World Government—to secure "nation" status for Hachinosu…
Was simple.
To legitimize his territory.
To gain the right to conduct lawful trade with other nations.
To break free from a system built purely on plunder and black-market dealings—
And to truly establish a stable, sustainable "Pirate Empire."
His decision to attend the Marines' "World Conference" had been half provocation, half pragmatism.
On one hand—
He wanted to irritate Gern.
You want to hold a grand conference and show your authority? Fine. I'll walk in as a "king" and see if you've got the guts to act in front of everyone.
On the other hand—
He had intended to use the gathering of world leaders to quietly establish contacts.
To find potential trade partners willing to deal with the "new nation" of Hachinosu—
Especially in gray or high-demand markets like weapons, rare resources, and intelligence.
Unfortunately…
Reality struck him like a slap across the face.
During the conference itself, he had been relegated to a corner on a miserable little stool, ignored entirely.
And now, after its conclusion—
Amid the constant flow of people in the harbor—
He deliberately lingered in a conspicuous spot, even forcing what he believed to be a "friendly" smile onto his face, scanning the surrounding representatives.
The result?
Everywhere his gaze fell—
People looked away instantly, pretending not to notice him.
Or their expressions shifted, their steps quickened as they hurried off.
Or worse—
They detoured entirely, choosing a longer path just to avoid coming within ten meters of him.
Groups that had been in lively conversation fell silent the moment he approached.
The atmosphere froze.
A few polite nods—distant, perfunctory—and then they scattered.
Even those fiercely loyal to Gern—
Like King Neptune of Fish-Man Island, or Pedro of the Mink Tribe—
Didn't bother hiding the trace of mockery in their eyes.
Blackbeard stood there like a walking plague sign planted in the middle of a bustling street.
Wherever he went, people dispersed.
Forget negotiations—
He couldn't even get a proper greeting.
"Captain Teach…"
Lafitte, who had been following silently behind him, finally spoke.
His tone was helpless, but honest.
"As unpleasant as it is to say… no one is willing to openly engage with a 'nation' that appeared out of nowhere—whose background is unclear—and is widely known to be founded by a brutal pirate."
He paused, then added the most critical point, his gaze sweeping subtly over the surrounding Marines maintaining order.
"Especially… not here."
Not on Marine territory.
Not after the Fleet Admiral had just delivered a rousing speech, establishing the Marines as protectors of all races and the core of a new world order.
What country representative would dare—
Under the Marines' watchful eyes—
To openly converse and negotiate with a Yonko pirate who had just clashed with them and caused the disappearance of a Marine hero?
That would be a direct insult to the Marines.
And an invitation for disaster.
Blackbeard's face darkened to the point it seemed it might drip ink.
His teeth clenched.
He understood it.
Of course he did.
But that only made it worse.
He had come here to provoke Gern—
And instead, he had made a fool of himself.
Reduced to nothing more than a spectacle.
A background piece.
Just as the oppressive silence stretched on—
Accompanied by the faint, watchful gazes around him—
A steady, familiar set of footsteps approached.
Unhurried.
Measured.
Gern Reginald Sigmar.
He walked alone.
Gone was the formal Fleet Admiral uniform from the conference.
Now, he wore a simple white shirt and dark trousers, his iconic coat draped loosely over his shoulders.
Hands in his pockets.
Relaxed.
As though he were merely taking a casual stroll after a meal—
And had just happened to arrive here.
He stopped in front of Blackbeard, maintaining a distance neither too close nor too distant—just enough for a clear conversation without any suggestion of intimacy.
Blackbeard froze for a split second.
Then his lips curled wide, revealing that familiar gap-toothed grin.
Though this time—
It carried a hint of forced bravado. Of bruised pride.
"Zehahahaha!! Heaven-Shaker!" Blackbeard roared, using volume to mask his embarrassment. "That was quite the game you played!"
"You've got the whole world dancing in your palm—and standing on the moral high ground while you're at it!"
"Hell, I almost feel like applauding you!"
"Is that so?" Gern shrugged, utterly unfazed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"But…"
His gaze sharpened slightly as it settled on Blackbeard.
"Your 'nation' is the more surprising development."
"The World Government… actually came to you."
The words landed like a needle.
Piercing straight through the thin veil covering Blackbeard's legitimacy.
But Blackbeard didn't flinch.
Instead, he puffed his chest out, grinning wider—almost proudly.
"Oh? And what of it?" he shot back, openly flaunting his ties with the World Government, his tone laced with both arrogance and probing intent.
"If you're willing to recognize my country—give me legitimate trade rights and diplomatic acknowledgment…"
He spread his arms exaggeratedly, like a merchant presenting his wares.
"Who knows? I might just be in a good enough mood…"
"To tell you everything those high-and-mighty old geezers promised me."
His eyes gleamed with calculation.
A counterplay.
Using the World Government's secrets as leverage—
To force the Marines' hand. To break his isolation.
Gern watched him quietly.
Then his gaze drifted—
To the exposed chest beneath Blackbeard's open coat.
To that massive, grotesque X-shaped scar stretching diagonally from shoulder to abdomen.
And suddenly—
He chuckled.
A low laugh.
Filled with naked ridicule… and a trace of pity.
"A fence-sitter…" Gern shook his head lightly. "Has no credibility, Teach."
His eyes returned to Blackbeard's face.
He tilted his head slightly, then gestured toward the scar with his chin, his tone turning sharper.
"Look at that scar…"
"Back then, the fact that the Golden Lion didn't finish you off…"
"That really was one hell of a stroke of luck."
He paused, then added with cutting mockery:
"And now?"
"You're walking around like a target riddled with weak points—just begging for someone to take a shot."
"How does that feel?"
"YOU BASTARD!!!"
The grin vanished.
Replaced instantly by rage.
Gern's words had struck dead center—
At Blackbeard's deepest insecurity.
That scar—so close to killing him.
And beyond that—
The humiliation.
Despite his overwhelming power, he had never truly earned respect.
Instead, he was watched, used, and looked down upon—
Like a target.
Like a scavenger.
A hyena.
"Don't you forget—" Blackbeard stepped forward suddenly, his aura erupting with dangerous intensity.
Darkness gathered in his left hand—gravity twisting space itself.
White shockwaves flickered along his right.
"I'm still one of the strongest Yonko out there!!!"