Watching Roger's Execution at the Start of My Life as a Pirate

Atlas understood what Luslan was trying to say, and he understood his concerns. Strictly speaking, they had no conclusive evidence for this operation. The Shichibukai did not fall under the Navy's command, either. If they arrested Crocodile just like that, Sengoku would be put in a difficult position. The World Government would never agree to it.

But Atlas could leave those headaches to Sengoku. His own job was simply to complete the mission. He trusted the Navy to shield him from the World Government's objections.

"Achoo!"

Sitting in his office at headquarters, Sengoku sneezed for no apparent reason. It left him puzzled. With his constitution, how could he catch a cold? Was Garp talking about him again?

Forget it. Sengoku went back to the documents in his hands.

"Luslan, do we have any Seastone Handcuffs aboard? Put a pair on Mr. Crocodile. He's a fearsome Logia user, after all."

Atlas gave the order to Lulans with a teasing edge to his voice.

"Huh? Yes, we do. Vice Admiral Jonathan prepared some for us before we left." Luslan hurried into the storage room to find them.

"He prepared them specially? Well... heh."

Atlas remembered the meaningful look Jonathan had given him earlier and let out a dry chuckle.

The Five Elders

"Whoa! That scared me half to death!"

Not far above the place where Atlas and Crocodile had fought, an albatross in a top hat and black suit patted his chest with remarkably human solemnity. He seemed badly shaken. Then he descended slowly and examined the camera in his hands, checking the pictures he had just taken.

"Thank goodness. It's not broken!"

After putting Crocodile in Seastone Handcuffs, Atlas threw him into the warship's temporary prison. He ordered the crew to bring him food regularly—just enough to keep him from starving. Navy warships were sensibly designed, with kitchens, training rooms, sleeping quarters, prisons, and everything else they needed.

The voyage back went smoothly. Within days, Atlas and the others reached the port at G-8 Fortress. After handing the battered Crocodile over to the fortress prison, Atlas headed straight for Jonathan's office.

Jonathan was the base commander, after all. Atlas had brought back a major catch, so naturally he had to report the details of the operation.

Knock, knock, knock...

"Come in!"

Jonathan still had his wine-red hair and thick handlebar mustache. Dressed in a white shirt, he lounged casually behind his desk. He showed no surprise when Atlas entered. Instead of his usual inscrutable look, he greeted Atlas with a broad smile.

"Reporting, Vice Admiral Jonathan! Mission accomplished! The Alabasta incident was the work of Crocodile, a current Shichibukai. He's now under arrest!"

Atlas noticed Jonathan's expression but thought little of it. He assumed Jonathan was pleased by how quickly he had completed the mission.

"I already know. Here, take a look at this!"

Jonathan picked up a newspaper from his desk and handed it to the puzzled Atlas.

The first thing Atlas saw was a headline in enormous letters: "Shocking! What the Navy Did to Shichibukai Crocodile! Will the World Government Abolish the Seven Warlords?"

Most of the article gave a detailed account of the fight between Atlas and Crocodile, then used it to analyze the state of the world. It claimed the World Government had broken its pact with the Shichibukai and that the balance of power was about to collapse.

There were pictures, too: Crocodile beaten almost beyond recognition, and Atlas looking imposing. If Crocodile ever got out of prison, would he hunt this reporter to the ends of the earth?

Atlas checked the byline. The reporter's name was Morgans.

Morgans? Isn't he that news king of the Underworld? No wonder Atlas's Observation Haki had picked up a huge bird while he was fighting Crocodile. He had heard the man was a Bird-Bird Fruit user.

Atlas had paid him no mind at the time. Morgans had only been watching the fight, which was no crime. He had not expected the man to be bold enough to speculate so freely about the World Government.

"So you knew already, Vice Admiral Jonathan."

Atlas looked at Jonathan's eager-to-watch-the-drama expression and sighed helplessly.

"Of course I did. Admiral Sengoku's going to have a headache over this!" Jonathan looked delighted by the prospect. He had played a part in the affair himself, so he knew they had no solid evidence of Crocodile's crimes. But the Navy had already arrested the man. They could hardly let him go now.

The Room of Authority, Mary Geoise, atop the Red Line.

"Outrageous! Who gave the Navy the authority to arrest a Shichibukai? This is a challenge to the World Government!"

The bald elder wore a white robe and glasses, and held a long sword in his arms. He roared in fury. What angered him was not Crocodile's arrest itself, but the Navy's role in it. There was a hint of defiance toward the World Government in what it had done, and all five elders agreed that the Navy had to be kept under control.

"Saint Nazzaro, calm down! This isn't the time to hold the Navy accountable," Saint Lacroix objected from his seat nearby. He was a bald elder in a black suit, with a birthmark on his face.

"What we need to discuss is how to deal with Crocodile and... whether to retain the Seven Warlords of the Sea system," added a blond member of the Five Elders in a red suit.

"Absolutely not! We cannot abolish the Seven Warlords of the Sea system now. You should know that perfectly well..." Saint Nazzaro rose from his chair. Looking around at the others, he continued more slowly, "The system doesn't merely keep pirates in check. It also stops the Navy from growing too powerful!"

"That's enough, Saint Nazzaro, Saint Lacroix, Saint Alberic. The Seven Warlords of the Sea system will not be abolished. Let's stop bringing it up." Sensing the tension rising, Saint Jiménez hurried to smooth things over.

In truth, all five knew the system could not be abolished unless... the Navy came entirely under their control, and they gained the power to appoint every Fleet Admiral. For now, that was plainly impossible.

"Very well. How shall we deal with Crocodile?" With the matter of the system settled, Saint Dexter raised the next question at an unhurried pace. He wore a black suit and flat black cap, with white curls and a scar on his left cheek.

None of them cared whether Crocodile lived or died. What mattered was the Navy's attitude, which would tell them how much control they still had over it.

"Hmph! Call Sengoku and demand an explanation!" It was Saint Nazzaro again. His temper was clearly no better than before.

"Agreed!"

"Agreed!"

"Agreed!"

"Agreed!"

Saint Lacroix soon called Sengoku. The Den Den Mushi took on the appearance of a man with frog-like glasses and a braided beard on his chin.

"Hello, Sengoku speaking!"

"This is Saint Lacroix. We want to know what the Navy intends to do with Crocodile."

"Saint Lacroix, the Navy's position is to imprison Crocodile in Impel Down and remove him from the Shichibukai!" Sengoku had clearly prepared his answer. The Navy had long been dissatisfied with the Seven Warlords of the Sea system. This was a perfect chance to reduce their number, even if abolishing the system altogether was out of the question.

"What did you say, Sengoku? The Navy has overstepped its authority!" Saint Nazzaro could not hold back. He spoke into the Den Den Mushi in a low, stern voice.

"Saint Nazzaro? This is the Navy's will. Justice will not be defiled!" Sengoku's voice was firmer than ever, leaving no room for argument.

"The Navy is nothing but—" Saint Nazzaro tried to continue, but Saint Lacroix stopped him.

"Fine. We'll do as you say..."

Click!

The call ended.

Reactions Across the World

Sea Circle Calendar, year 1505. An unnamed stretch of the New World, Grand Line.

A large three-masted ship with a whale-shaped bow sailed steadily through the heaving sea. Great waves battered its hull, but not one pushed it off course. Like its master, Edward Newgate—Whitebeard, the strongest man in the world—it stood unshaken amid the surging tide of a new era.

Aboard the Moby Dick.

A young man of twenty-eight with a blond punk hairstyle and a dagger at his waist rose from the deck. His open shirt exposed the tattoo of the Whitebeard Pirates, while the disorder around him still bore traces of last night's party. His drooping eyelids made him look half asleep. He was Marco, first-division commander and ship's doctor of the Whitebeard Pirates.

Marco had sailed and fought alongside Whitebeard since he was very young. Like Whitebeard, he had little ambition. All he wanted was to live peacefully on the sea with the "family" aboard this ship. To him, Whitebeard was every bit a real father.

"Hm? A new paper today?"

Marco waved down the News Coo overhead. He rummaged through his pockets for a while before finding a crumpled banknote, then took the newspaper under the bird's disdainful gaze.

"Seriously, all our money goes toward throwing parties for Pops!"

It was not that Marco was poor. The Moby Dick simply held parties all the time, while Pops secretly sent his own money back to his hometown. The rest of them spent theirs on booze. Marco was a famous pirate in the New World, after all.

"Shichibukai? Navy Supernova? Kanos Atlas?"

Marco curled his lip at the bold headline and read on. Soon his brow furrowed. Crocodile meant nothing to him; the so-called Shichibukai were a joke. The Navy Supernova was another matter. For someone so young to be that strong... the Navy had grown increasingly formidable in recent years.

"Zehahaha... Captain Marco, what are you reading so intently?"

A dark-skinned man with a mass of black hair suddenly leaned in beside Marco and asked with a curious grin.

On closer inspection, the man looked rather comical. His shirt hung open, showing thick chest hair, and several of his teeth were missing. A green bandanna was tied around his forehead. His neck and wrists were bare of jewelry.

An iron claw-like weapon hung at his left hip. His smile looked honest and guileless, but bottomless ambition lay hidden in his eyes.

"Oh, it's you, Teach. Here—a Navy man beat that Crocodile guy."

Seeing Teach's interest, Marco handed him the newspaper.

Blackbeard paused, then took the paper and gave it a few deliberately casual glances. He burst out laughing. "That Navy brat's something else! But Pops is looking out for me. All I want is to stay aboard and eat Cherry Pie every day. Zehahahaha..."

"Honestly..." Marco shook his head helplessly at Blackbeard's lack of ambition. He took back the newspaper and ran toward Whitebeard's quarters.

No one saw Blackbeard's face darken the moment Marco turned away. Jealousy surfaced in his eyes.

"Making a name for himself across the seas... Lucky bastard... Just wait a little longer..."

"Huh? Wait for what, Teach?" Thatch, who had been sleeping nearby, suddenly woke and asked groggily.

"Zehahaha! Nothing... I'm waiting for you to wake up and make me Cherry Pie!" Blackbeard's honest, good-natured smile returned at once. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"You, honestly. I'll make you some in a bit." Thatch gave Blackbeard a helpless, affectionate look. Blackbeard loved Cherry Pie, so the two saw each other often and were closer than they were to most of the crew.

"Pops! Pops! Look! Some young Navy man beat Crocodile!"

Meanwhile, Marco had reached Whitebeard's door and was calling out. Whitebeard emerged from his quarters, his enormous shadow instantly engulfing Marco.

"Oh? That brat who plays with sand? Gurararara!"

Whitebeard had not yet grown frail as he would more than a decade later. His striking long blond hair fell naturally around him, and his signature crescent-shaped white mustache bobbed as he laughed.

"Yeah, the same Crocodile who tried to challenge you before. I heard the World Government invited him to become a Shichibukai. I never thought a young Navy man would beat him. The Navy really is getting stronger."

Worry crept into Marco's voice as he spoke.

"Gurararara! He's just a brat. I'm Whitebeard!"

Whitebeard laughed, reassuring him.

Marco felt his worries melt away, and his smile returned. "Pops is the strongest man in the world!"

Onigashima, Wano Country.

A towering, powerfully built figure with a pair of horns sat in a chair. With his left hand, he tipped a gourd marked with the character for "Heaven" to his lips and drank deeply. In his right hand, he held the newspaper that had just arrived. His face was lost in shadow, hiding his expression.

"A Navy brat? Too bad he isn't a Zoan user... Hahahaha!"

Whole Cake Island, Totto Land Waters, New World.

A middle-aged woman in a pink slip dress sat in the hall, her belly so large it was hard to tell whether she was fat or pregnant. She shoveled food into her mouth with her huge hands. Now and then, drool fell from her cavernous mouth, hissing as it struck the floor and corroding holes in it at once.

"Mama, today's newspaper." Perospero stood beside Big Mom, holding a paper as he reported to her.

She gave no response. Big Mom remained intent on devouring the food before her.

"Mama, a young Navy Supernova defeated that Crocodile." Perospero was used to this. He continued recounting the news.

"The Navy? What about Garp?"

Charlotte Linlin abruptly looked up from her food and stared at Perospero. Her eyes, ringed with crudely applied purple shadow, widened like saucers. Perospero stumbled backward in fright.

Shakky's Rip-off Bar, Sabaody Archipelago.

An elderly man with long, wavy white hair, a thick beard on his chin, and round glasses sipped his drink as he studied the newspaper on the table. His expression was hard to read, but a smile tugged unconsciously at his lips.

"The tide of a new era, is it? Roger... is this the age you wanted? A Navy Supernova... Shanks is in for a rough time."

The End

The training room at G-8 Fortress, Grand Line.

The training room, lined with sheets of iron, stood empty except for its equipment and a young man hammering at a massive block of steel with his bare body. Fists, elbows, knees, back—he used everything he had. It was Atlas!

Irregular cracks and fistprints covered the steel, and splashes of blood testified to Atlas's efforts. He had stopped growing at eight feet ten. The delicate features of his youth were gone; at nineteen, his face was resolute, its lines and features sharply defined as though carved with a blade.

Life at sea had darkened his once-fair skin to bronze. His gaze was keen, and the slight upward sweep of his brows lent him an austere air. He wore no standard Navy cap, leaving his short hair neat and uncovered. For all that, there was an infectious, sunlit vitality about him.