Garp blinked, his brow twitching as the words sank in. "…Hah?"
His voice was low, but the shock behind it rang clear. This wasn't some petty report of smuggling or bar fights—this was betrayal of the blood-deep kind.
Sengoku adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing sharply as he processed the absurdity. "You're telling me… Momonosuke and the others were reported… by the Nine Red Scabbards themselves?"
His voice was calm, but only because it held back the incredulity boiling beneath. The Red Scabbards, the very souls who once shed blood to protect the Kozuki line…? Turning coat?
Momousagi's brows knitted into a hard line, and her arms crossed beneath her chest as she stared ahead, but her mind was reeling. "They turned on their comrades…? What could've possibly driven them to do that?"
There was no pity in her tone anymore—only cold calculation. She was a soldier, not a fool.
Kizaru stood with his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets, but his lips pursed into a tight line that broke his usual detached demeanor. "…Oi, oi… internal betrayal? That's not very elegant now, is it~?"
The lightness in his tone didn't reach his eyes. For once, they gleamed not with boredom, but something bordering on unease.
They were no strangers to the history of Wano. After Buggy's speech at the Furry Principality and the broadcasted events in Wano itself, even the Marines had combed through all available intelligence. The Nine Red Scabbards—Kozuki Oden's most loyal and formidable retainers—were renowned in Wano's records. To hear that some of them betrayed his son? It was shocking, even to battle-hardened veterans.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Blueno replied flatly, his arms crossed. "And frankly, I'm not surprised. You've all stood at the top for too long—you've forgotten what peace means to the people who've never had it."
He took a step forward, eyes narrowing.
"You think it's strange they turned on each other? But to us, it's perfectly natural."
A beat passed. His tone grew heavier, slower.
"Have you ever been so hungry that you chewed tree bark just to fool your stomach into silence? Have you watched someone you love die—not from war, but from poison in their drinking water? Have you ever held a child who stopped breathing in your arms and couldn't do a damn thing about it?"
The room went silent.
"No," he said coldly, "you haven't. None of you has seen real hell, much less lived through it. But the people of Wano did—for twenty years. That was their reality under Kaido's rule. And that's why they cherish what they have now under the Crimson Empire."
Blueno's voice dropped low, but it carried the weight of truth.
"Captain didn't just make empty promises. He acted. He waived their taxes for three years, spent tens of billions feeding every starving village, and even used his Devil Fruit abilities to purge the land of poison. He got his hands dirty. He didn't rule from above. He rebuilt Wano from the ground up."
He turned back toward the others.
"And now, some kid shows up from the past—a Kozuki, no less—trying to summon the old retainers like this is still his father's country. Maybe if he just wanted to revive the clan, people would've let it go. But he started calling the peace we built 'black magic.' Said the Empire must be overthrown, that Wano should return to the old ways."
Blueno scoffed.
"They didn't report him out of hatred. They did it because they didn't want to lose everything they bled for. Even the ones who still cared about Oden's name couldn't stomach the idea of throwing Wano back into chaos."
"It was because of that," Blueno said quietly, "that some of the former Red Scabbards reported their young master—Kozuki Momonosuke—when he tried to sabotage everything the people of Wano had finally built for themselves."
He paused, voice low but steady. "The peace of the Empire is not something they're willing to gamble away. Not again."
Blueno's eyes swept across the silent Marines before him.
"That's why I said—you wouldn't understand. Not truly." He gave a slight shrug. "One of you is a Hero of the Marines. Another, a former Fleet Admiral. One's an active Admiral, and the other is being groomed to become one. Each of you has walked through the chaos of this era with unmatched strength and authority."
He smiled, thinly.
"To the common folk, you're gods. You carved your names into this world with power alone while everyone else struggled to survive. For the rest of us—for them—this age hasn't been an opportunity; it's been a death sentence. While you rise, they endure."
Garp's jaw tightened. He said nothing—just a low grunt and a slight narrowing of the eyes. The silence was louder than any punch he could've thrown.
Sengoku furrowed his brow, folding his arms as his glasses slid slightly down his nose. He didn't speak. He just let the heavy weight of disappointment sink in.
Kizaru raised an eyebrow, eyes half-lidded as always. "Ara… that's a little harsh, don't you think?"But even his usual drawl couldn't hide the flicker of discomfort behind his sunglasses.
Momousagi clicked her tongue. "Tch."Her expression twisted—less in anger, more in bitter realization. Her fingers twitched toward her sword, but she didn't draw. Not yet.
The room felt colder. The jab wasn't physical, but its weight sank into the bones.
Every word had struck like a blade of ice.
They knew he was mocking them—no, dragging them—but none of them could refute it. Not honestly. Not without sounding like hypocrites.
There was a pause. Long, uncomfortable.
Then—
"Tch... nothing to see in this prison." Garp's voice cut the tension with a grumble, though it sounded more like surrender than dismissal. He turned sharply on his heel, fists stuffed into his pockets as he stomped toward the exit. "Let's get outta here."
"Yeah, let's go." Sengoku sighed, forcing a casual whistle as he followed Garp's lead. "I heard Crocodile's starting work on that reservoir in the east. Might as well take a look. Maybe he'll build a library next. At this rate, these pirates'll start publishing history textbooks…"
Momousagi lingered for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the far end of the cell. The three children were huddled in a corner, chewing on sticky rice balls with dirt-streaked hands and quiet, downcast eyes.
Her expression was unreadable.
But whatever sympathy she might've held earlier had long since faded.
No—what she felt now wasn't pity. It was disapproval. Deep and cold.
To disturb hard-earned peace, to rekindle conflict for some romanticized vision of the past... that wasn't noble. It was selfish.
The Crimson Empire may have risen from pirates, but even the Marines couldn't deny it: the people were safe. They were fed. They had hope.
And that was more than most nations could say.
With the arrival of Uta, the World Songstress, now a resident of the Crimson Empire, waves of civilians from across the seas continued to pour in. Her presence added something vital to the empire—culture. Color. Sound. She transformed a once war-hardened pirate realm into a land that pulsed with rhythm, drawing not just refugees but dreamers.
And now, with Vegapunk having voluntarily defected to the Crimson Empire's side, its development had entered a new golden age. Science and art, power and peace—the empire stood at the forefront of it all.
Looking at the current state of things, even Sengoku had to admit: the World Government didn't have a move left to play.
Deploying a grand fleet? A fantasy. Who knew how many of their warships would even make it to the Crimson Empire's outer sea?
The oceans were patrolled by Jinbei and Sunbell, who commanded legions of fish-men warriors beneath the waves. In the skies, Enel, Scopper Gaban, and the enigmatic Duolingo patrolled the winds like storm gods.
That was just the surface.
If it weren't for the risks of exposing the Revolutionary Army's connection to the Empire, Sabo—with his replica of the Fish-Fish Fruit, Model: Azure Dragon taken from a clone of Kaido—would've already joined the aerial division.
And even that wasn't the end of it.
They hadn't yet unveiled Shirahoshi, the true Poseidon. As long as Buggy willed it, the sea kings themselves could be summoned. He could blockade Mary Geoise, drown the Celestial Dragons, and shatter the Grand Line if he chose to.
He wouldn't. Not yet.
He was saving that power— or Raftel.
"They don't even feel like pirates anymore," Kizaru muttered, lips drawn into a rare straight line. "How terrifying…" With that, the Admiral turned back toward the corridor in silence, light flickering at his heels.
Momousagi lingered, arms crossed, brows furrowed. The gears in her mind were grinding. But after a long pause, she let out a sigh and followed behind them.
From the corner of the cell, a desperate voice rang out.
"Marines!"
It was shrill, young, panicked.
Momonosuke.
He had been chewing his rice ball quietly up until now, head bowed, spirit dulled. But now, something in Momousagi's hesitation had sparked hope in him. He scrambled to his feet, pressing his palms to the bars.
"Marine!! Listen to me!" he cried. "You've been deceived by those wicked Buggy Pirates! Please—if you help me take back Wanokuni… if you help me avenge my father, I swear I'll repay you a thousand times over!"
His voice cracked, eyes wild with urgency.
"We Kozuki always keep our word! Help us—please, Sister Marine!"
As he saw Momousagi pause, he quickly added in a softer, more pitiful tone, puffing out his cheeks and blinking wide eyes.
"Pwease, Miss Marine… I—I don't wanna be here… I just wanna go home…"
His exaggerated cuteness fell flat in the thick silence. Momousagi didn't respond.
But she didn't smile, either.
Last time he tried this routine—flashing puppy eyes and playing the innocent—Ain had kicked him so hard he'd lost several teeth. He'd learned a little restraint since then.
But even so, Momonosuke still underestimated the room.
He thought himself clever and able to eavesdrop with his still-developing observation, Haki. He could hear the conversation between Blueno and Momousagi from above, catching fragments of their tone and intent. But what he failed to grasp—what none of the three boys truly understood—was just who they were dealing with.
These weren't ordinary Marines.
They were legends—icons of an era shaped by blood and ambition. Garp, Sengoku, Kizaru, and even Momousagi had walked through fires the Kozuki boy couldn't begin to imagine. They didn't need Observation Haki to sniff out a brat's theatrics.
It was pitiful.
Blueno had been right. These boys weren't worthy of salvation.
To try and manipulate such veterans with juvenile tricks was not only insulting—it was exhausting.
Momousagi's eyes drifted down to the prison floor, where Momonosuke clung to the bars with trembling hands. What had once been pity in her gaze had curdled into something colder—revulsion.
Her tone was flat, almost clinical.
"Then you should continue to suffer," she said. "Suffer as the people of Wanokuni once did—while your father lived like a daimyo, and your clan ruled over their pain."
Her bootsteps echoed as she turned away.
"The Crimson Empire doesn't need the Kozuki name anymore. No one mourns the old Wanokuni."
And with that, she vanished down the corridor, her cape brushing the dust in her wake.
Silence hung in the cell until Momonosuke exploded.
"You Marines are all hypocrites!" he screamed, face flushed with rage. "You call yourselves justice? You abandoned the rightful heir to Wanokuni! I—I'm Kozuki Momonosuke! The true shogun!"
He bared his teeth, voice cracking into a shriek.
"You think I'll ever bow to those pirate bastards?! Never! I'll crush them all—Buggy, Blueno, all of them!"
Down below, a warden who had been quietly observing the tantrum finally let out a dry chuckle.
"Well said," he drawled. "I like that kind of spirit in a kid."
He leaned against the railing, a cruel smile stretching across his face.
"From now on, we'll cut the seastone content in your glutinous rice dumplings in half. Let's see how long that bravado lasts."
Pffft.
The effect was instant.
Momonosuke's face drained of color as he lost balance and toppled off the wooden trolley with a yelp. He crashed headfirst onto the prison steps with a loud thud, his skull catching the jagged corner.
A thin trail of blood immediately trickled down his temple.
"M-Master Momonosuke!"
Kin'emon rushed forward in panic, catching the boy in his arms. His voice cracked as he shouted, "Kanjuro! Get something—bandages! A cloth! Anything!"
Kanjuro crouched beside them, his expression tense... but only when Kin'emon wasn't looking.
In the flickering shadows of the torchlit cell, his lips curled into a faint, twisted smile.
"Ah… yes," Kanjuro said softly, his voice full of faux concern. "I'll take care of everything."
Above the prison's gloom, Garp and Momousagi paused just outside the heavy iron door. The sudden noise from below caught their ears, but they didn't need to investigate. A sweep of their Haki told them all they needed to know.
They understood the situation instantly… and chose to ignore it.
If that boy—Kozuki Momonosuke—had shown even a shred of true humility, perhaps they might have been moved to speak on his behalf. Maybe even ensured he was treated less harshly.
But now? Now, they were in no mood to lift a finger.
Back in the corridor, Blueno leaned against the railing, arms crossed as he looked down into the prison pit. A thin, mocking smile curved across his lips.
"Hmph… so you are Kozuki Oden's brat. Didn't think you'd be able to eavesdrop from that distance," he muttered. "In that case, I hope your ears are sharp enough to hear your own screams next time. Don't make me come back just to collect your corpse. That'd be a waste."
His words rang cold and flat.
From below, Kin'emon let out a hoarse roar, his fury barely concealing the helplessness in his voice.
"You monsters! Damn you and your Buggy Pirates! You'll pay for this one day!"
Blueno didn't even flinch. He glanced over his shoulder, the smirk never leaving his face.
"Oh? So now you feel a fraction of what the people of Wanokuni endured… and suddenly, it's unfair?"
With that, he turned and walked away, vanishing into the upper shadows with a sound like a door closing on justice.
In the depths of the SMILE Mineral Prison, Kin'emon stood frozen, Blueno's words echoing inside his head like a curse. Slowly, his gaze fell on Momonosuke, who lay sprawled across the cold stone floor, his face smeared in blood, his body twitching slightly.
It was a wretched sight.
And yet... the words of the jailer returned to him—words spoken without malice, only fact:
"What are you feeling now? That's not even half the suffering the people of Wanokuni lived through."
Kin'emon's heart clenched.
How could they have been so blind?
They'd been here for only a handful of days. Just days—and already, they were unraveling.
The citizens of Wanokuni had borne this torment for twenty years.
"Ahhh—!!"
A shrill, agonized scream shattered the silence. Momonosuke's eyes shot open as he jolted upright, clutching his head in agony.
"Kin'emon! It hurts—it hurts! Something's... It's like something's crawling into my skull!"
Kin'emon didn't answer. His face was pale, drawn with fear and fury. He knew what this was.
The SMILE toxin had entered his young master's bloodstream.
The poison seeped through skin slowly under normal conditions, but a wound like that? It was an open door, accelerating the spread tenfold. The sensation was like having one's flesh split open from the inside.
Kin'emon clenched his jaw, tears burning the corners of his eyes as Momonosuke screamed in his arms.
He could do nothing.
He could do nothing.
Now… now they understood. This was the true horror the people had endured. And still, they had survived, year after year, without food, medicine, or hope.
Kin'emon lowered his head.
They had failed—not just as samurai but as men.
There was no one coming to save them. No hero waiting in the wings. The Marines had left. The Crimson Empire had turned away. And the world had moved on.
Soon, the three of them—Momonosuke, Kin'emon, and Kanjuro—would be nothing more than husks, consumed by the very toxins they once allowed to poison their people.
And perhaps, in that cruel, twisted symmetry, justice would finally be served.
While Momonosuke and his retainers suffered in silence, forgotten in the depths of the SMILE Mineral Prison, far above their misery, the winds of destiny shifted once more.
Buggy, lounging in his crimson-adorned command room, had just lowered Egghead Island from orbit when his Den Den Mushi buzzed.
"Captain, I've secured the fourth Road Poneglyph rubbing!"
It was Doringo, his ever-eager subordinate, reporting in.
Buggy grinned, his golden tooth catching the light as he replied, "Good work. I'll have Blueno pick you up."
The call ended with a confident click. For a moment, Buggy sat back in his throne-like chair, the weight of the moment slowly settling over him.
Back when he first landed in this world, lost, confused, and swept up in events beyond his control, l—he never imagined this would be his path.
To become the next Pirate King, following in Roger's footsteps.
Not even Shanks could have predicted this turn of fate. The boy he had placed all his hopes in—Monkey D. Luffy—was still on his journey, still growing, still fighting. The so-called "new era" hadn't arrived the way Shanks envisioned.
No.
This era wasn't Luffy's. It was Buggy's.
A few minutes later, the grand hall of Onigashima echoed with the arrival of every major figure in the Buggy Pirates. Captains and lieutenants. Veterans and revolutionaries. Even Dragon, Sabo, and Ivankov had shown up, their faces painted with curiosity and just a hint of unease.
Buggy rarely summoned them all unless something big was going down.
Snap.
Buggy's fingers cracked through the air, and Dogo immediately understood the signal.
A scroll of paper unfurled across the great conference table as Duolingo stepped forward and laid down the fourth Road Poneglyph rubbing.
Ssshhh-clack.
Just then, a swirling portal opened midair.
Blueno stepped through, silent and imposing, carrying three long black cases. With solemn precision, he placed them beside the new rubbing.
The room fell into a hush.
No one needed to ask what was inside. They already knew.
Robin herself had prepared the first three rubbings—painstakingly protected and stored under Buggy's direct order. And now, with Duolingo's find, the set was complete.
Four Road Poneglyphs.
All the pieces to the grand puzzle that led to the Final Island.
To Raftel.
To Laugh Tale.
"Captain Buggy... what is this?" Lucci asked, though their voice trembled with hope.
Buggy chuckled softly. A rare, measured sound.
"You already know," he said, rising to his feet. "The four Road Poneglyphs are complete. The time has come to move."
He raised his gloved hand, eyes gleaming.
"We sail to Raftel. First to claim the legacy of Roger, and then—to own this era outright!"
A breathless beat of silence followed, and then the entire room erupted.
Cheers. Laughter. Cries of victory.
For most of them, it hadn't even been two full years since the war at Marineford. In that time, Buggy had risen from a World Government pawn to one of the most terrifying forces in the world.
He had become something more than a Yonko.
He had become the storm itself.
Now, all that remained was the treasure that had started it all.
From the corner of the room, Scopper Gaban—Roger's former crewmate and legendary navigator—stepped forward, laying out the four rubbings across a charted sea map.
Even now, decades later, his fingers moved with a steadiness earned through countless voyages.
"Locked on," he muttered after a moment, tapping the final coordinates.
"I never thought I'd sail those waters again. Back then, with Roger, I thought it would be my last time. But now…" Gaban looked up and smiled. "I get to go once more."
Buggy didn't say much in response. He didn't need to.
He simply turned toward the towering glass windows overlooking the harbor, where the Big Top, his flagship, waited gleaming under the morning sun.
He raised a fist.
"Hoist the sails! We're headed for the world's greatest treasure!"
A roar thundered in reply.
"To Raftel!!!"
"To Raftel!!!"
"TO RAFTEL!!!"
---
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