Banquet

However, Swain could not be bothered with such meaningless comparisons. He bent his legs slightly, then sprang into the air with explosive force. His movements were agile and sharp, stirring a light breeze.

He landed steadily on the deck with a soft thud. "Long time no see, Whitebeard." His voice was calm and resolute.

"Brat, you know it's rude to call me that!" Whitebeard said with some authority. His towering body was like an immovable mountain, his thick white mustache fluttering in the wind, while his eyes carried an imposing presence even without anger.

Yet the sons around him were all grinning mischievously, apparently knowing that Whitebeard was not truly angry. Their laughter echoed through the sea breeze, wild and unrestrained.

Swain said helplessly, "I came to see Dr. Vegapunk today."

"You really are a strange brat. I advise you not to get any crooked ideas," Whitebeard said flatly this time.

His gaze scrutinized Swain, as though he wanted to see straight through his heart.

Then he added, "At least while I'm still alive."

Everyone assumed Whitebeard was merely warning Swain. Only Marco's expression suddenly changed upon hearing those words, before quickly returning to normal.

He knew that Whitebeard was likely entrusting his family to Swain with those words. At the very least, he understood what they meant. Once Whitebeard died, their destination would be to join the Swain Pirates. Yet he was still unwilling to accept it. Even at this point, their group was still a flock of sheep sheltered by their father.

Complex emotions surged within Marco. He recalled the storms he had weathered with Whitebeard—the battles, the victories, the defeats, the laughter, and the tears.

They had once been a force feared across these seas, yet now they faced such a choice.

Perhaps the name Whitebeard Pirates