Crocodile sighed, leaning heavily against the railing of the Moby Dick as it sliced through the calm, sun-dappled waters. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his thoughts were adrift, reflecting on how much had changed in the past year. After spending so much time with Whitebeard and his crew, he had been forced to confront a harsh truth—he had been naïve.
Challenging Whitebeard in the past had been the folly of an overconfident fool, and now, after witnessing the terrifying might of haki in action, Crocodile fully understood how outmatched he had been.
His hand clenched into a fist at the thought. "Rosinante," he thought with a surge of anger and shame. Just remembering the way the young teen carried himself, so calmly, so confidently, as if the power Crocodile had thought insurmountable was mere child's play to him. How many others had Crocodile underestimated? How many more could crush him without breaking a sweat?
"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, the word biting at his pride as he gazed down at his gold plated hook where his hand had been before Rosinante cut it off. And yet... even now, I'm still behind.
He had started training in haki alongside the Whitebeard pirates crew, but his prime years were lost—years he should have spent honing his skills, growing stronger. Now, even though his progress was steady, it was far too slow.
At this rate, a decade or more would pass before he even came close to mastering haki, let alone surpassing a monster like the young Donquixote. And by then? Who knows what kind of monster he would have grown to become? He bit down his frustration, though it churned inside him, always there, gnawing at the edges of his composure.
As Crocodile brooded, footsteps approached from behind, though he didn't bother to turn around. It was Teach, sauntering towards him as casually as ever, his broad grin stretched wide. He carried a crate in his arms, the old wood creaking under the weight of what looked like worn-out books and scrolls.
The crew had raided plenty of places over the years, gathering everything from treasure to ancient records, especially since rumors of the Ancient Weapons had become common knowledge after the World Government's revelation. Every pirate worth their salt now dreamed of seizing one of these legendary tools of destruction.
Teach had been one of the more enthusiastic members in the crew's search for knowledge, always poking around for bits of information here and there. And though Whitebeard was feared by the world, even he knew better than to face an Ancient Weapon unprepared.
That's why they had been actively gathering intel—out of necessity, not greed. Marco had been the one pushing for it, knowing that if someone else found one of these weapons first, the Whitebeard Pirates might face a foe even their captain couldn't handle easily. Whitebeard might survive the encounter, but the rest of the crew wouldn't stand a chance.
Teach, seemingly lost in his own world, passed by Crocodile. Just as he did, he stumbled, dropping the crate. Books and scrolls tumbled out, rolling across the deck in a messy sprawl.
"Damn! Ahahaha!" Teach let out a booming laugh, crouching down to pick up the scattered items, his massive hands clumsy with the old and fragile paper.
Crocodile turned slightly, his sharp eyes catching the deliberate motion in Teach's stumble. One particularly old, tattered scroll rolled toward him, and without a word, Crocodile extended a tendril of sand, discreetly pulling it into his hand.
Teach, who clearly noticed, pretended not to as he continued gathering the rest of the scattered documents, still chuckling to himself.
"Whoops, didn't see ya there, Crocodile!" Teach said with a grin, his voice a touch too cheerful.
"Gotta be more careful with this old stuff, eh?"
Crocodile offered nothing more than a grunt in reply, his attention already diverted to the scroll he had covertly seized. He didn't trust Teach. Though for some odd reason the entirety of Whitebeard's crew did. There was something slippery about him, something... dangerous. But that didn't matter. Crocodile had his own ambitions, and if this scroll contained anything useful, it would be his advantage alone.
With Teach finally collecting the last of the fallen books, he gave a careless wave before sauntering off toward the first division commander's cabin. Crocodile watched him go, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Teach's clumsiness was no accident. The man was scheming, always playing at something. But for now, it didn't matter. If Teach thought he could manipulate Crocodile, he was sorely mistaken.
Once in the privacy of his cabin, Crocodile unrolled the scroll. His eyes scanned the faded ink, his sneer deepening as the words began to reveal themselves. The more he read, the more his interest sharpened, and soon, he found himself consumed by the text.
The scroll detailed something ancient, something powerful—something Crocodile could use. It spoke of an Ancient Weapon, a key to unrivaled power, lost to time but rumored to be buried somewhere far from the World Government's prying eyes. Unlike the hearsay he had come across before, this felt real. Authentic. Dangerous.
His fingers tightened around the edges of the scroll, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of it—the possibilities. With haki alone, it would take decades to achieve what he wanted. Even then, Whitebeard was a force of nature. But with an Ancient Weapon? With that kind of power...
He could stand at the top of the world.
Crocodile's sneer turned into a full, sinister smile, his previous shame and anger morphing into ambition once more. He was no fool—he wouldn't walk into any traps Teach might have laid. But this... this was worth the risk.
"Whitebeard, Rosinante... all of you..." He laughed quietly, darkly, the sound echoing in his empty cabin.
" You have no idea what's coming."
A few minutes later, Crocodile found himself standing in the shadow of the most feared man in the world—Whitebeard himself. The tension on the deck was palpable, especially among the division commanders who had gathered around.
Crocodile had made his decision, and he knew it wouldn't sit well with some of them, but he didn't care. He had learned all he could under Whitebeard's care, and now, with the knowledge of an Ancient Weapon burning in his hands, he was ready to venture out and forge his own path.
Whitebeard put down the massive barrel of liquor he had been drinking from, the wood creaking as he set it aside. His sharp gaze landed on Crocodile, scrutinizing him for a moment before his booming voice filled the room.
"So, brat... you think you're ready to leave?" Whitebeard rumbled, a hint of amusement in his tone. His lips curled into a grin, though his eyes remained sharp, watching for any sign of doubt in Crocodile. But there was none.
Across the deck, Marco stood with his arms crossed, his frown deepening. Crocodile's departure didn't sit well with him. Over the past year, many in the crew had come to accept Crocodile as one of their own.
Despite his rough edges, he had fought alongside them, shared their battles, their victories, and their losses. Yet, even now, Marco could sense the restlessness in him. Crocodile was not a man content with following someone else's path for long.
Some of the other commanders shared Marco's unease. Vista, in particular, couldn't hide his frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, his usual calm demeanor cracking.
"Tch, such an ungrateful bastard," Vista muttered under his breath, eyes burning with anger. "If it weren't for Pops, does he really think he'd walk out of here alive? Who the hell does he think he is?"
His words found echoes in the murmurs of some of the other commanders. Fossa nodded in agreement, a deep scowl on his face, while Rakuyo glared in silent disapproval. These men had spilled blood together, shared trust built on years of loyalty.
The idea that Crocodile, who had barely spent a year with them, could turn his back on that now was a bitter pill to swallow.
Marco shot them a warning glance, his blue eyes sharp. "Enough. He was not truly one of our crew." His voice was calm but firm, instantly silencing the dissent. He didn't like this any more than they did, but this was Crocodile's choice—and more importantly, Whitebeard's decision.
Whitebeard guffawed, his laughter booming as he took another swig of liquor, brushing aside the tension in the room with a wave of his massive hand. He leaned forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over Crocodile.
"Gurararara…! Crocodile, brat! You've got guts, I'll give you that." Whitebeard's eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and pride.
"You're welcome to stay, you know. As long as you're under my care, no one would dare touch you. You'll be safe here." His voice was a low rumble, but it carried weight, like a mountain speaking to an ant.
Crocodile's jaw tightened at that, his eyes narrowing. Safe. That word rankled him. It wasn't safety he sought; it was power—power that no one, not even Whitebeard, could grant him while he remained sheltered beneath his wing.
"That's exactly the problem," Crocodile said, his voice steady and cold, cutting through the ship's thick tension. "As long as I stay under your shade, I'll never grow. You'll always be there, casting your shadow over everything." His gaze was hard, filled with ambition that seemed to sear through the air between them. "There is a reason I didn't agree to join your crew, it was because I didn't want to play it safe."
At that, Vista couldn't hold back anymore. He took a step forward, eyes blazing with indignation.
"You arrogant fool! Do you really think you've outgrown the strongest crew in the world? Do you think you can walk away from Whitebeard Pirates without consequence? If not for Pops, you wouldn't even be standing here! Who do you think you are, Crocodile?"
His words sparked a ripple of agreement from others, but Whitebeard raised a hand, silencing them. The old man's eyes were still locked on Crocodile, and though he wasn't angry, there was a gravity in his expression that made the deck still.
"There's truth in what he says," Whitebeard muttered, his voice a deep rumble. "No one grows strong in the shade. Not even my sons."
His gaze swept across the room, lingering on Marco and the other commanders. "Even the strongest of us need to face the seas if we're to find our limits." He turned back to Crocodile, his grin returning, but there was a hint of warning behind it.
"But let me tell you something, Brat. If you think this world will treat you kindly, you're sorely mistaken. You're more than welcome to walk away, but don't expect the sea to forgive you. It's a cruel mistress, and there are far bigger fish than you out there. And remember, the next time you target one of my men, your life is forfiet.."
Crocodile smirked, his confidence unwavering; internally, however, he felt the weight of Whitebeard's words.
"I've never been afraid of the sea, Whitebeard. But you're right about one thing—the world is cruel. And sooner or later, it's going to catch up with all of you." His eyes flicked to Marco, Vista, and the rest of the commanders. "You've forgotten what it means to be pirates."
That remark made the air in the room go cold. A ripple of unease spread through the gathered commanders. Crocodile continued, his voice sharp as a blade.
"Look at you. Sheltered. Safe. You think that as long as you have Whitebeard, you'll be untouchable. But the moment he's gone—and he will be gone one day—you'll be left scrambling. You'll be weak. You've gotten too comfortable under his protection, and you've forgotten the truth of this world. Sooner or later, that weakness will be your downfall."
Marco's fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and understanding. He knew Crocodile was right, at least partially. Whitebeard's presence had made them complacent. It had been a hard realization for many of them, but the sea was a place of constant danger, and they hadn't truly been tested in years.
Whitebeard chuckled, low and ominous. "You've got a point there, Brat. The sea will test us all. But let me give you one last piece of advice before you go chasing your dreams of vengeance and glory."
His eyes bore into Crocodile's with the weight of experience, of a thousand battles fought and won. "Don't forget who you are. You can forge your own path, but you'll never escape the shadows you leave behind."
Crocodile met Whitebeard's gaze, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them. "I won't forget, old man," he said, his voice dripping with resolve. "But you'd better hope none of you do either. Because if you do, this world will swallow you whole."
Without waiting for a response, Crocodile turned on his heel, his coat billowing behind him as he walked away. The tension in the room remained thick as the commanders watched him go, some seething, others thoughtful. Whitebeard leaned back, his laughter echoing through the room once more.
"Let him go," Whitebeard said, his grin wide. "He'll find his way—or the sea will crush him. Either way, we'll see what kind of man he really is."
********
Shimotsuki Village, East Blue
"Waaaah...!" The piercing cry of a baby echoed through the dojo, filling the room with the unmistakable sound of infant distress. Mihawk, standing stiffly nearby, shot me a sharp, irritated look.
His usual stoic expression gave way to a deep frown, clearly uncomfortable with the small, wailing creature in his arms. Social interactions had never been his strong suit, and handling a newborn seemed to be testing his patience in ways a hundred swordsmen never could.
Little Zoro, who had been peaceful and silent just moments before, now bawled loudly as Mihawk, looking entirely out of his element, awkwardly tried to hold him. His legendary precision and composure, which could slice through the strongest foes, were utterly lost in the presence of a crying infant. The sight almost made me laugh out loud.
"I told you this would happen," Mihawk muttered under his breath, his voice low and grumpy as he gingerly shifted Zoro in his arms, clearly afraid of dropping the tiny bundle.
"You'll get used to it," I teased, unable to resist. "After all, you did agree to take him on as your apprentice one day. Consider this... early training." I winked, watching the frustration flicker across Mihawk's face.
It had taken quite a bit of convincing on my part, but Mihawk had finally agreed to the idea of mentoring Zoro in the future. Tera and Arashi, Zoro's parents, had been beyond thrilled. Arashi, especially, had been overjoyed.
Though he was a descendant of the prestigious Shimotsuki bloodline, he had never shown much promise as a swordsman, a truth that weighed on him more than he ever let on. Now, the thought of his newborn son training under the greatest swordsman in the world was a dream he never thought possible.
When Mihawk, with his typical no-nonsense attitude, approached them and asked to take Zoro under his wing when the boy came of age, it was a moment of pure disbelief for the family. Arashi had been speechless, his eyes filled with a gratitude he couldn't quite put into words.
Tera, Zoro's mother, had bowed deeply in thanks, her expression a mixture of pride and determination. Even she, once a mountain bandit, knew how cruel and vast the world was. She wanted her son to have the strength to survive in it, to break free of the limitations of their small island village.
In the past year, Mihawk's presence had become legendary around these parts. His monstrous strength was no secret, especially after our so called "sparring sessions" that had literally erased more than two dozen islands in the nearby seas.
Fishermen had been forced to find new spots to work from because the islands they once frequented were simply... gone. Mihawk's duels were no mere training exercises—they were calamities that shaped the landscape itself.
Even Kozaburou, who had come to acknowledge and respect Mihawk for his swordsmanship, couldn't hide his delight at the opportunity this offered for young Zoro. The old man had long recognized young Zoro's talent, and now, seeing the potential for Arashi's child to be trained by such a force of nature was enough to bring a rare smile to his face.
"Well, I gifted my student a Supreme Grade sword, so it's only fair you give your future student something of equal value," I teased Mihawk with a grin, remembering the prized blade Kozaburou had entrusted to me for safekeeping as we were soon scheduled to depart from the village.
Mihawk gave a low grunt, clearly unamused by the suggestion. "I don't deal in sentiment, and if the kid truly aspires to become a swordsman, then he will need to find a blade of his own,." he grumbled, his focus still on holding Zoro without dropping him.
His discomfort was palpable, but he refused to admit it, his pride keeping him from handing the baby back.
Tera, sensing his discomfort, finally stepped forward and gently took Zoro from his arms, cradling the infant against her chest. Mihawk's shoulders visibly relaxed, though he quickly masked the relief with his usual stoic composure.
Tera bowed deeply once more, her voice soft but filled with emotion. "Thank you, truly. This will change our son's fate." Her words were simple, but they carried the weight of a mother's hope.
She, more than anyone, understood what Mihawk's tutelage could mean for Zoro's future. She didn't want her son to grow up weak, confined to the limits of their small island. She wanted him to see the world beyond, to be strong enough to survive it—and with Mihawk as his future mentor, she believed that would be possible.
The entire village had slowly come to understand just how vast and dangerous the world outside their shores truly was. Before me and my crew arrived, before Robin, the little scholar who had taken it upon herself to share knowledge, spoke of ancient civilizations and terrifying powers, they had lived in relative ignorance.
If anyone had mentioned giants, they would've been dismissed as madmen. But with Dora, the enormous giantess who now lived on the island, no one could refute the existence of such legends anymore.
Little Robin had opened their eyes to a world beyond their imaginations. Tales of devil fruits, giants, ancient weapons, and powerful pirate crews once seemed like myths. But now, with the presence of monsters and myths and the growing influence of outsiders, the village was beginning to grasp how dangerous—and full of opportunities—the outside world could be.
Arashi, standing nearby, gave a deep bow of appreciation, his eyes filled with gratitude. His hand rested gently on Tera's shoulder, his lips curving into a rare smile. For a man who had long struggled with feelings of inadequacy when it came to swordsmanship, this moment was a triumph.
He might not have been able to pass on the Shimotsuki legacy himself, but now, with Mihawk's guidance, Zoro would have the chance to become something far greater.
As Mihawk turned to leave, I couldn't help but call out one last teasing comment. "Try not to sink any more islands on your way out, alright?"
Mihawk shot me a withering look, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No promises, and don't forget that you sank more islands than I did." he replied flatly, before disappearing to make the final preparations before we left the island. He had gotten an urgent summons from the World Government, and this time there was no room for compromise or absence.
I glanced back at Tera and Arashi, who were still gazing down at their newborn son with pride. Zoro, now calm and nestled comfortably in his mother's arms, had no idea that his future had just been forever altered. From this small island, he would one day step into the world as a swordsman worthy of legends.
*****
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