Oro Jackson

"Bzz..." The spatial entrance slowly opened.

Allen appeared in the doorway, his face somewhat pale, fine beads of sweat covering his forehead, his steps even slightly unsteady.

Supporting himself against the doorframe, he looked at these completely renewed "old" seniors, their presence soaring to the heavens, and let out a long, deep breath:

"Whew... finally... got it done..."

His voice was thick with exhaustion.

"You old geezers... every single one of you knows how to make trouble... Being this 'nanny'... is more tiring than fighting Imu..."

Gentle light shone in from outside the space. Allen looked up at the external clock linked within his consciousness, and his gaze instantly sharpened:

"Everyone! Welcome back to being 'young'!"

"There are only five days left until the time we agreed on for the final assault—Table Flip Day!"

A group of figures filed out one after another! No longer legends in their twilight years, they were peak beasts that had swum upstream through the river of time! Their overwhelming presence spread like something tangible, stirring the winds and clouds around the deserted island! Their Fighting Spirit soared high into the sky!

Whitebeard's signature golden curls fluttered in the wind, his bulging muscles seeming forged from steel and iron. Murakumogiri rested casually on his shoulder, and every step he took seemed to make the island tremble.

Holding a massive barrel of alcohol, he threw back his head and drank deeply. "Gurarara! Amazing! It's been so long since my body felt this light! Marco, bring me another ten barrels!"

Beneath Zephyr's thick, jet-black crew cut, his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. He silently clenched and loosened the Crusher mechanical gauntlet, feeling the surging power and fluidity within it, far beyond anything from before. The corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. "Hmph, it's... somewhat useful."

Rayleigh's golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, the weathered traces on his face replaced by youthful vigor.

He stretched his muscles and bones, producing a series of sharp cracks, then winked mischievously at Allen. "Thanks, brat. Feels like even the gaps between my bones are filled with strength. Now I can chop down another ten or eight Celestial Dragons without breaking a sweat!"

Shakky smiled elegantly at the side, her finger continuously tracing circles in Rayleigh's palm. When Rayleigh met the burning look in Shakky's eyes, he instantly understood and hurriedly reassured her with his gaze: Later.

Gaban and the other Roger Crew members kept their energy contained, yet their eyes were like unsheathed blades. They excitedly moved their limbs, impatient to find something to chop up.

Blazing Fighting Spirit burned in everyone's eyes!

Five days! Only five days remained until the Final Battle that would overturn the world!

This group of peak beasts that had swum upstream through the river of time had already bared their sharpest fangs.

Holy Land Marijoa cast a vast, heavy shadow beneath the setting sun, as though it too were silently awaiting... the arrival of the storm!

Gol D. Allen's Table Flip Plan had finally entered its final countdown!

Deep within a secret island in the New World, the air was filled with the salty, fishy scent of seawater, the fragrance of ancient trees, and an indescribable pulse of life.

Allen stood at the edge of a huge magic array in the center of the base. At its center floated a slowly rotating emerald sphere condensed from pure life force—the Life Spring.

He suddenly thrust Heavenly Demise Sword into the corpse of a Sea King as large as a small mountain before him.

The blade shone brilliantly as the Sea King's enormous body shriveled and weathered at a visible rate, eventually turning into drifting ash.

The vast life force became a stream of green light, absorbed by Heavenly Demise Sword before being injected into the sphere at the center of the array.

The sphere's glow brightened slightly.

Fine beads of sweat covered Allen's forehead, and the hand gripping the sword hilt trembled faintly.

Every extraction was an immense drain on his mind and stamina, but the resolve in his eyes did not waver in the slightest.

"Five days... only five days left..." he muttered hoarsely. He had to store enough Life Spring. This was the key to turning the battle around.

On the deck of the Marine warship Dog Head, sailing through relatively calm waters of the New World.

The sunlight was perfect, and the sea breeze pleasantly intoxicating.

Garp sat cross-legged in the middle of the deck, more than a dozen empty bags of rice crackers scattered around him.

As he grabbed a huge handful and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing with loud crunches, he complained indistinctly, "That Magma Head Sakazuki! All he talks about every day is 'Absolute Justice' and 'eliminating pirates.' The atmosphere at headquarters is so stifling that this Old Man can barely breathe! Even the rice crackers don't taste good anymore! Patrols are much better—out of sight, out of mind! Guhahaha!"

As he spoke, rice cracker crumbs sprayed all over the soldier beside him.

Sengoku sat behind a temporary desk beneath a parasol, a mountain of documents piled before him.

He pushed up his glasses, his brows tightly furrowed, and sighed as he reviewed the papers. "Garp, watch your image! And we're carrying out a patrol mission, not on vacation! Tsuru, look at him... sigh!"

He felt his old Fleet Admiral ailment—his tendency to worry about everything—acting up again.

Chief Officer Tsuru sat elegantly in a wicker chair, slowly sipping red tea. She paid no attention to Garp's noise or Sengoku's complaints, as if she were enjoying a genuine afternoon tea.

"Let him be, Sengoku. It's rare to get a few peaceful days. Isn't it nice to be away from Fleet Admiral Akainu's 'enthusiasm'?"

The corner of her mouth held a trace of barely perceptible mischief.

Fujitora stood quietly by the railing, his eyes closed, Staff Sword in hand.

He was not sleeping. Rather, he was using his extremely wide-ranging Observation Haki to carefully sense the rhythm of the sea, the direction of the wind, even the distant swimming of fish schools.

His face bore a peaceful expression, and he even seemed to be enjoying this tranquility far from the center of power.

"Hmm... the sea's 'weight' is as reassuring as ever today."

How was this a Marine deterrence patrol through the New World?

It was clearly a recuperation trip of collective "playing hooky" and escaping reality by three decorated old veterans, plus an admiral tagging along for some peace and quiet.

The soldiers tactfully kept their distance from the central area and went about their own business.

"R-Report!!!"

The soldier in the lookout tower spoke in a trembling voice, carrying unbelievable terror and nearly cracking. "Straight ahead! An... unidentified ship has been spotted! It's... it's the Oro Jackson!!!"

"Pfft!"

Sengoku sprayed a mouthful of hot tea directly onto the documents. His glasses slid down to the tip of his nose as he jerked his head up, his face plainly saying, Are you fucking kidding me?

"What?!"

Garp instantly threw aside his bag of rice crackers and launched himself toward the bow like a cannonball. He snatched the binoculars from a nearby soldier, moving far too quickly for an old man.

"Let this old man see! Which blind idiot dares make a joke like this... huh?!"

His eyes instantly widened behind the binoculars, his mouth opening wide enough to fit a fist.

Chief Officer Tsuru's hand holding the teacup paused slightly, and her brows drew together.

She did not immediately rise, instead analyzing the situation calmly. "The Oro Jackson? The ship that vanished with Roger over twenty years ago? Is it a replica? Or... an illusion created by some Devil Fruit ability?"