The second half of the Grand Line.
An island where cherry blossoms drifted through the air.
A gentle breeze brushed their faces. A waterfall plunged down, sending up damp spray and ripples that spread in circle after circle.
Beneath a few cherry trees sat two imposing men.
Wearing a pirate hat, with golden hair hanging down and two upward-curving, crescent-shaped mustaches as striking as ever, Whitebeard held a bowl of wine. He gulped down a mouthful of liquor and stared at the man before him, looking startled.
"You say you're going to die?"
"Yeah. I don't have much time left."
Grinning, the Pirate King Gol D. Roger, who had been in the South Blue, had suddenly appeared here.
And he had sought out Whitebeard Edward Newgate.
"How can I not tell you're dying?"
Whitebeard set down his bowl and looked Roger up and down, frowning slightly.
"I'm sick."
Roger wasn't the least bit troubled by his impending death. On the contrary, he was remarkably carefree.
"Sick? Is there nothing Croccus can do?"
Whitebeard's expression grew somber. He raised his liquor, but somehow it didn't taste as good.
Roger shook his head and smiled without replying.
"Want Marco to take a look at you?"
"That kid on your ship? The Phoenix's power can cure illnesses?" Roger asked, slightly surprised. He pictured the young fellow wreathed in blue flames, who had once fearlessly challenged him.
"Gurarara!"
"My son is pretty strong."
Whitebeard looked rather proud.
Because of the Richest Group, his sons had taken quite a few hits to their pride.
Especially since the Cultivation Era began—they'd all felt the pressure.
One by one, they'd stopped slacking off like before and started training seriously.
"Maybe their era is coming."
Roger raised his bowl and clinked it against Whitebeard's. Then he gulped down