Inside the Twin Capes Lighthouse. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and expensive rum.
"So that's how it is. No wonder... no wonder you felt so familiar."
Crocus sat at the heavy wooden table, staring at Ace. A faint, uncharacteristic moisture gathered at the corners of his aged eyes. He set down his glass with a trembling hand and let out a long, ragged sigh.
"That bastard Roger... he really did it. He left a spark behind before the end. And to think he trusted that old war-dog Garp to keep it hidden."
Moments ago, Buggy had—with more tears than words—revealed Ace's true lineage to his old shipmate. Ace hadn't put on any airs with the man who had kept his father alive long enough to reach Laugh Tale. He spoke calmly of his journey with Sabo and the absolute ambition of the Eclipse Pirates.
"You didn't hide," Crocus noted, his voice turning stern with elder concern. "You tore through the East Blue like a storm. Marineford is already reaching for their swords. The Grand Line isn't a playground, boy. The magnetic fields alone will swallow a crew of amateurs. Do you even have a Log Pose?"
"Calibrated and ready," Carina said, flashing the device on her wrist with professional pride.
"Good." Crocus nodded. Then, his eyes sharpened, shifting from a nostalgic friend to the world's most elite physician. "Ace... out there, I felt a pulse of vitality coming from you that defies medical logic. Is that your fruit?"
Ace didn't hesitate. He held out his right hand, and a cluster of crimson-gold Suzaku's Celestial Flame ignited in his palm.
"Mythical Zoan: Model Vermilion Bird," Ace explained. "The fire destroys, but it also restores. It can stitch a body back together in heartbeats."
Crocus stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. He leaned over the table, his face inches from the dancing gold flames. He didn't see fire; he saw the raw power of creation.
"This... this is a medical miracle," Crocus whispered. He looked up at Ace, his expression dead serious. "Ace, do you realize what you're holding? This isn't just a healing ability. It's a strategic weapon that could break the balance of the world."
Sabo and Carina leaned in, the gravity of Crocus's tone chilling the room.
"On this sea, even the strongest—the Four Emperors themselves—are limited by one word: Talent," Crocus said, gesturing to his own weathered frame.
"The human body has a ceiling. Train too hard, push too fast, and you create 'Hidden Injuries.' Muscles tear, bones develop micro-fractures, and Haki strains the spirit. Most spend their lives hitting that ceiling and bouncing off. But your flames..."
Crocus pointed a shaking finger at the Celestial Fire. "Your flames can smooth over that cost! With you as their sun, your crew can engage in 'Self-Destructive Training'—pushing their bodies until they literally break. As long as the spirit doesn't snap, your fire can force their bones and muscles to rebuild tougher, denser, and faster than nature ever intended. You can force them to break the ceiling of their own talent."
The room went deathly silent. Sabo looked at his hands. He remembered the island training—how after Ace healed his internal bruising, his strength felt... different. Sharper.
"In other words..." A dark, predatory glint sparked in Ace's eyes, and a slow, confident smirk spread across his face. "If they have the will to endure the pain... I can use this fire to forge a ship full of monsters that have transcended human limits."
"Theoretically? Yes," Crocus said with a heavy nod. "It is a trump card. Use it well, young King."
The Next Morning. Twin Capes Harbor.
The Black Eclipse had replenished its supplies. Its black sails unfurled, snapping like a whip in the morning breeze.
"Doctor Crocus! Stay healthy! I'll bring you back some premium booze from the New World!" Buggy yelled from the stern, waving a handkerchief frantically.
Ace stood at the bow, giving a respectful nod to the old man on the shore.
"Go! Son of Roger!" Crocus shouted, his voice booming over the waves. "Let this sea, which has been quiet for twenty years, finally see what you're made of!"
As the black warship vanished over the horizon, the smile on Crocus's face faded into a look of profound peace. He turned and walked back into the lighthouse, heading for a hidden compartment in his desk. He pulled out a dust-covered, gold-plated Transponder Snail.
Purupurupuru... Purupurupuru...
It rang for a long time before a click signaled a connection.
"Hello? This is Rayleigh."
The voice on the other end was lazy, flavored by the sound of a heavy hangover. "Crocus? You old fossil... what could possibly possess you to call me after all these years?"
"Rayleigh. Put down the bottle and listen."
Crocus looked out the window at the turbulent Grand Line, his hand tightening on the receiver.
"A ship just crossed Reverse Mountain. A black warship with a burning sun skull."
"The Captain's name is Portgas D. Ace."
Crocus took a jagged breath, his eyes stinging. "Rayleigh... Roger's blood is alive. He didn't just survive; he's a monster. His ambition... his talent... he was born to flip this world upside down."
On the other end of the line, the sound of pouring wine stopped abruptly. A sharp shatter echoed—the sound of a crystal glass hitting the floor.
The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat.
Then, the Transponder Snail's features shifted, mimicking a look of profound shock, followed by a low, trembling, and triumphant laugh.
"Is that so?"
The "Dark King's" voice was thick with emotion. "That... is the best news I've heard in twenty long years."
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