The End of an Era

The New World, somewhere in a hidden stretch of sea.

Not a single smile remained aboard the Moby Dick.

The burly men of old had red-rimmed eyes, grief etched across their faces and an indescribable confusion lingering in their gazes.

"Whitebeard."

The name that had ruled the seas for decades, the name that had stood at the pinnacle of an era, the name for which every one of them had been willing to lay down their lives, was fading away bit by bit.

"Pops."

Outside the sealed doors of the main ship's cabin, an atmosphere of sorrow and solemnity hung in the air.

Whenever the crew happened—or deliberately chose—to pass by those doors, they could not help but softly call out that word.

It was the bond that tied every Whitebeard together. They were family.

"When you get old, you really become useless."

Edward Newgate sat quietly in his enormous stone chair, looking somewhat weary.

He had lived far too long. He was tired.

"Pops, don't say that."

Ace, now much more mature, knelt on one knee in the first seat beneath Whitebeard, tears welling in his eyes.

Everyone had known this day would come sooner or later, yet when it truly arrived, it was still unbearably hard to accept.

He had yet to let Pops see the name Whitebeard rise to the top of the world. How could Pops have the heart to abandon all his sons?

If only time could slow down a little more. Just a little more.

"Are you men or not? What kind of sight is all this crying?"

Whitebeard glared reproachfully at his foolish sons in the cabin, all of whom had lowered their heads and were desperately holding back tears. He felt both gratified and annoyed.

His foolish sons were just like him.