Marco squinted, focusing his gaze on the horizon.
There, sailing across the waters, advanced a small yet majestic galleon. Its figurehead, a roaring dragon's head, cut through the waves, while the sails—perfectly arranged on all four masts—fluttered to the rhythm of the wind.
And an unmistakable presence surrounded it...
THE RED FORCE!
The ship of the Red-Haired Pirates!
"Dad! Red-Haired Shanks is arriving!" Marco shouted urgently, raising his voice so that everyone could hear.
And everyone heard it.
All those present turned in unison toward Whitebeard.
But he… didn't move a single inch.
He remained seated, his imposing body leaning slightly back, and the enormous bottle of sake resting on his knee. Without the slightest hurry, he brought it to his lips and drank.
The liquid slid down his throat slowly, as if he hadn't heard anything at all.
His gaze, hidden beneath a shadow that fell across his face, was fixed on the sea, but showed no agitation.
Only tranquility… and a proud disdain that spoke more than a thousand words.
Marco understood immediately.
The message was clear: if the Red-Haired one came to talk, they would talk. If he came to fight, they would fight. But they would not be the ones to make the first move.
However, the rest of the crew did not share that serenity.
The mood on the deck began to shift.
They didn't look favorably upon the Red-Haired crew. Not after what had happened.
...
The wood of the Moby Dick creaked softly under his steps, while his sandals marked a rhythm.
"…"
The planks rumbled with each footfall, announcing his arrival long before his words. Even the sound of the waves seemed relegated to the background.
No one dared to speak.
The echo of his footsteps was the only thing filling the deck.
Shanks.
He walked without rush, with no need to act haughty, but with a presence so imposing that the very atmosphere seemed to tighten with his arrival. It wasn't arrogance. It was authority, and it was felt clearly.
Whitebeard's pirates followed him with their eyes, visibly tense. Some furrowed their brows, others clenched their teeth, and there were those who already had their fists closed, struggling to contain a hostility they didn't want—or couldn't—hide.
After everything they had lost at the hands of Tiberion Hanma, the last thing they wanted was visitors. Especially not from another Emperor.
And he... felt it. He sensed it in every glance.
But he said nothing.
Though his face spoke for itself.
And then, without warning, he released a small portion of his Conqueror's Haki.
A humming wave spread like an invisible pulse across the deck. Some pirates involuntarily stepped back, others were forced to bend slightly without even noticing, their eyes wide open as a chill crept down their spines.
Several simply collapsed, falling unconscious under the crushing pressure.
And he kept walking. As if nothing had happened.
The Haki lasted barely a second. Just enough. Enough for everyone to feel it.
So that no one would forget who he was.
Marco, Jozu, and several commanders frowned deeply. They didn't fall, of course—but the pressure was real.
They had already lost too many brothers.
The wound left by Tiberion Hanma was still open, and now Shanks was arriving… another Emperor… imposing his presence as if this ship belonged to him.
What was he after?! What was he trying to do?! Take advantage of their weakness?!
They didn't like it. Not at all.
But before any of them could make a move, Whitebeard—who until that moment had remained silent, seated like a living statue—
Upon seeing several of his sons collapse under the pressure of the Haki, could no longer hold back.
With a single, firm motion, he rose, and without a word, grabbed the hilt of Murakumogiri.
He lifted it with both hands, and the very instant he raised it from the ground, his own Conqueror's Haki exploded.
A dark blast surged from his body like a storm. The sky seemed to darken for a few seconds, and the edges of his naginata began to spark with black lightning.
"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BRAT?!"
His voice boomed with monstrous fury, and then, with a fluidity that completely defied his age, he launched a downward slash, aiming straight for Shanks' head.
Shanks frowned.
He hadn't underestimated him—of course not—but neither had he expected Whitebeard to react with such violence, so quickly.
Even so, he didn't flinch.
He had already weighed the risks before coming, and if he had appeared before the world's strongest man, it was because he didn't fear him.
With total calm, he unsheathed Gryphon.
And without stopping, raised his weapon just in time to intercept the strike.
And in that exact instant, the clash of both Conqueror's Hakis shook everything.
A burst of black lightning exploded between the two blades, illuminating the deck with a sinister flash.
The pressure was so overwhelming that the planks of the Moby Dick cracked, the sails flapped violently, and the masts groaned as if they would snap at any moment...
An invisible shockwave spread out from the point of impact, tearing through everything in its path. Several pirates were thrown into the air without being able to resist, as the space around them distorted.
The sea on both sides of the ship churned violently, raising irregular waves that slammed against the hull.
And up above... the clouds split apart!
The black lightning kept dancing around them, spiraling like serpents.
Gryphon vibrated against Murakumogiri.
And in the middle of it all, Shanks held his gaze, not taking a single step back.
"Whitebeard... I came to talk to you about something important. Can't you even grant me that basic courtesy?" he said, making his stance clear.
He had clearly sensed the killing intent in that strike... Whitebeard had genuinely tried to cut him down.
And that was already too much.
Yet Whitebeard didn't back down either.
With furious eyes, he spoke with contempt.
"And why should I give it to you?"
"Who the hell do you think you are to climb onto my ship and act like you're the only king?!"
At another time, maybe he would have offered him a drink.
But after so many losses, after the humiliating blow left by Tiberion Hanma, and with his sons still imprisoned...
There was no room for courtesies.
And Shanks understood it in that very moment.
This wasn't the time.
Nor the place.
And definitely, not the Whitebeard he had expected to speak with.
Gritting his teeth, he twisted his wrist forcefully and knocked Murakumogiri aside with a swift motion, breaking the contact between their blades.
The black lightning vanished instantly, and a heavy silence fell over the deck once more.
Calmly, he sheathed Gryphon. His expression was neutral, but in his eyes, a glint of disappointment flickered.
"I'll take my leave. Pardon the interruption."
And without saying another word, he turned around and walked away.
Whitebeard didn't move again.
He remained standing, Murakumogiri still firm in his hand, watching Shanks's back as he departed.
He didn't say anything, nor did he try to stop him. But deep within himself, he couldn't help but feel a faint trace of astonishment. Because even though his attack had been direct, with clear intent to crush, that brat hadn't just blocked it… he had countered it solidly.
Marco, Jozu, and the other commanders, still affected by the tension of the moment, silently watched the red-haired man retreat. They knew very well that this wasn't an enemy they could face lightly—especially not now, when all their strength had to be focused on something far more important.
The rescue operation at Impel Down was the priority. Every ounce of power, every decision… had to be directed at bringing their brothers back.
This was no time for unnecessary wars—much less against someone like Shanks.
…
Aboard the Red Force, the wind blew gently as the sails swelled with the rhythm of the waves.
The silence on deck was broken only by the sound of the sea. And in that quiet, Beckman lit a cigar, letting the aroma of tobacco drift into the air.
"Looks like you weren't exactly welcomed with open arms this time," he commented with a half-smile, his gaze still fixed ahead.
"What can you do?" Shanks shrugged, adjusting his cloak over one shoulder. "They didn't want to talk. That's that."
"It's not like they were in top shape either," Beckman added, releasing a puff of smoke. "But still… Tiberion Hanma's appearance was a surprise. I didn't expect someone like that to step onto the stage—and definitely not now. If you ask me, Whitebeard isn't just angry at you."
"..."
Shanks remained silent for a few seconds, watching the sun.
"Let's go. Whitebeard's definitely gathering strength to face the Navy. But with this Tiberion Hanma now in play… he might just manage to divert the World Government's attention. If that happens… the balance could still be preserved."
Beckman raised an eyebrow.
"Even so, I still think this Hanma guy is a real threat. He's not just some random fighter. We can't afford to ignore him. We'll have to keep a close eye on every move he makes—whether he likes it or not."
His tone was firm. It wasn't fear he conveyed, but caution.
"Hmph…" Shanks crossed his arms. "Maybe it's best to meet him face to face. To know exactly who he is and what he wants. I'm not letting some stranger unravel all our plans."
"..."
Beckman noticed Shanks's expression had changed. His eyes, usually full of that curious gleam, now burned with intensity.
"What if you talk to that old friend of yours first?" he suggested.
"The one who was summoned to face Hanma. He must know something."
He was referring, of course, to Dracule Mihawk. If anyone had fought Tiberion Hanma—or at least seen him up close—it was him.
After thinking it over, Shanks nodded.
"Then let's go. It's been a while since we had a drink with him."
…
A few days later…
Tiberion's ship, having crossed Reverse Mountain without incident, pressed steadily into the waters of the first half of the Grand Line.
But in that same stretch of sea, just a few kilometers away, a warship from Marine Headquarters was traveling in the opposite direction.
On its impeccably ordered deck, silence reigned.
Standing with one gloved hand resting naturally on her slim waist and the other holding a freshly lit, slender cigarette, was the commanding officer: Colonel Hina.
She wore her characteristic burgundy two-piece suit, with a white blouse beneath the jacket—open just enough to subtly hint at her ample cleavage with elegant indifference. Her long pink hair fell like silk down to her waist, perfectly styled with a center part—not a strand out of place.
"Colonel Hina," the lookout's voice broke the calm, "we've identified an approaching vessel. It's... a Headquarters ship... but something's off."
Hina didn't take her eyes off the horizon. She drew in a slow puff from her cigarette and exhaled subtly, forming a thin line of smoke.
"Something strange...? Hina wants an explanation."
"Yes, ma'am. The flag is ours… and so is the bow. It's clearly one of our heaviest models. But there are no marines aboard. The crew appears to be pirates. And… and on the deck… the silhouette matches the most wanted criminal in the world. Five billion! It's Tiberion Hanma!"
"..."
There was a restrained murmur among the marines—that number was outrageous. Five billion wasn't a bounty…
Hina narrowed her eyes. There was no surprise in them. No fear. Only a faint tightening at the corner of her lips.
"Hina will not allow criminals to sail freely aboard a Marine vessel."
She turned elegantly and began walking slowly toward the center of the deck, her heels echoing with each step.
"Block them immediately!" she ordered. "Hina wants to see with her own eyes what kind of man this Tiberion Hanma is."
?
The marines hesitated for a moment. Not out of disloyalty… but out of common sense.
"Colonel… are you sure?" one dared to ask. "That man… if the reports are true, he defeated several Shichibukai and took down multiple Whitebeard commanders. And that ship also seems to have Boa Hancock aboard—one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. If we engage both… we might not make it out unscathed."
"..."
Hina looked at him with absolute calm.
"Since when does Hina make decisions based on fear?" she said with an icy tone.
!
She stopped at the edge of the deck, letting the breeze gently lift her jacket. With deliberate grace, she removed the cigarette from her lips and extinguished it against the railing.
"That ship belongs to Headquarters. And Hina will not tolerate it being used by pirates like a toy. If even the Shichibukai are involved, then Hina has all the more reason to act."
"..."
There was a tense silence, but no one objected. Her orders were never questioned. And though she was a meticulous and rational woman, when she made a decision—she executed it with conviction.
"We're not going to attack. Hina is not stupid. She only wants to intercept them and assess the situation. If Tiberion Hanma surrenders… Hina will chain him with her own hands. If he doesn't… Hina will know what to do."
And without raising her voice, that final line was enough to harden the expressions of everyone present. Because they knew—if Hina said she was going to do something… she would.
The ship slowly turned, blocking the path of Tiberion's vessel.
With her hands behind her back, Hina prepared to wait. She was convinced she could handle any situation.
After all, she had always trusted her judgment.
But perhaps… this time, logic wouldn't be enough.
Because Tiberion wasn't just any criminal.
His very presence defied all logic. All structure. All prediction.
And so, when both ships came face to face…
The impact was immediate!
Tiberion's vessel didn't slow down—they collided.
Boom
The crash between the ships hadn't been brutal—it had been intentional.
On the deck of the captured warship, Tiberion slowly opened his eyes.
His body, over three meters of pure muscle, lay sprawled on a blanket near the main mast, as the sun's rays sculpted every fiber of his physique.
Feeling the impact, he rose calmly and walked barefoot toward the railing.
The air seemed to thicken the instant his red eyes locked with hers.
Hina.
The colonel, standing firm on the deck of the ship that had just tried to block his path, lifted her gaze from the bridge. But the moment she saw him, her breathing faltered slightly… a subtle gesture, but one that didn't go unnoticed—not by her, nor by her body.
The figure before her wasn't normal.
His presence alone radiated absolute masculinity. The wind lifted his wild red mane, giving him the aura of a savage beast—and at the same time, his relaxed smile exuded the confidence of a predator who had already chosen his prey.
"What a coincidence... Isn't this the famous Colonel Hina?" Tiberion spoke, smiling broadly as he leaned both arms casually on the railing.
There was a subtle, provocative malice in his tone.
Hina narrowed her eyes, maintaining a composed exterior. But inside… something was wrong.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't hostility.
It was heat.
A warm shiver ran up the back of her neck and slid down her spine, chilling and heating her belly at once. Her body reacted involuntarily, as if something primal within her had sensed a threat… and yet, she didn't want to run.
'W-what is this feeling?' she thought, trying to rationalize it.
It was absurd.
She was a high-ranking officer. She had faced all kinds of horrors, and yet…
That man looked at her with absolute certainty. And she couldn't look away.
Her heart tightened for no apparent reason.
'That chest… those shoulders… his eyes…' she told herself, and felt ashamed for even thinking it. She didn't want to desire it. But something inside her did.
The energy around him wasn't just physical.
It was crushing. Every muscle on his body seemed forged for battle—but his smile spoke of something else.
Of things that had no place in combat.
And for the first time in a very long while… Hina wasn't sure she could stay firm.
"…That's right," she finally replied, keeping her tone serene. "Hina is a colonel of Marine Headquarters. You may also call Hina that."
Her voice came out clean, but inside she cursed herself. How was it possible that a mere exchange of words had left her this shaken?!
She crossed her arms, trying to mask her body's reaction. But not even her posture could hide that her pulse had quickened.
Tiberion Hanma's aura was too intense.
It felt like the sun itself was standing before her.
"Hmph… and a little colonel like you dares to block my way?" Tiberion's voice dropped lower, more intimate, as if he were speaking directly into her ear. "Do you also want to become one of my women?"
The smile he gave her was a diabolical and magnetic weapon, shamelessly honest.
There was no mockery in his eyes.
Only the desire to possess.
In recent days, not even Hancock or Shirahoshi had fully satisfied him.
And now, with someone walking straight into his path…it was the perfect time to seize her and bring her aboard.
________
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