The three of them talked for a long while, most of it drifting back to the days before Roger died.
Say this for the Golden Lion's old-guard clout, it still had bite. By the time the bottles ran low, Shiki had shaken a tidy investment out of Ozz.
Bottom line, Ozz was curious about those pseudo-Mythical creature projects Shiki was cooking up. If the science freaks could whip up, say, a yellow mouse that generated electricity, Ozz would happily adopt a few for fun.
Call it R&D funding.
Same reason Dr. Vegapunk burned a crater in Ozz's treasury every year, like a bottomless pit that said please and thank you. Even Caesar Clown's weapons experiments under Doflamingo ate money by the cartload, and Ozz quietly covered chunks of the tab. Doffy had deep pockets, true, but not the kind you set on fire for science.
While the three drank and traded stories, the Seagull King hopped off Ozz's shoulder. A breeze rippled over its feathers, and it glided away.
Ozz let it go. The bird beat its wings and drifted toward Marco, who was slouched against a barrel, watching the old monsters chat with the enthusiasm of a man stuck on night watch.
The moment the seagull floated in, Marco's spine snapped straight. Blue-green flames flickered along his arms.
"Hey. What do you think you're doing?"
Bird-type Mythical Zoan users have opinions about other birds. Marco's were loud.
The Seagull King ignored him, wafted a polite gust to shoo Marco's flames aside, and gave a single, imperious croak.
"Gah." Move.
It hopped onto Marco's barrel, adjusted a perfect angle, then plucked a camera from beneath its feathers.
Click.
Ozz in the center.
Whitebeard on the left with a sake bowl.
Shiki on the right with a cigar.
A souvenir for the ages. Good for the scrapbook. Great for the front page.
Ozz left Shiki with a note.
His signature was enough to draw funds at any major bank in the underworld, anytime. A chore like that didn't warrant Ozz showing up in person.
High above the clouds, Ozz sat on the Seagull King's back, the freshly snapped photo in hand.
"Not bad. A reunion of the old guard."
Almost a full set of the last era's three Sea Overlords. Shame the man with Ace's sword at his hip wasn't Captain Roger in the middle but Roger's favorite deckhand.
Naturally, the next day the World Economy News Paper splashed the shot across page one. Morgans did what Morgans does.
"Summit of Sea Overlords. Three Absolute Kings of the Sea."
"Shocking Topic. The One Who Can Make Black Emperor, Whitebeard, and Golden Lion Sit Down Together Is…"
"Where the Seas Are Headed Next. The Era Will Run Wild."
…
"Five Elders, Five Elders, urgent "
A guard stumbled into the Holy Land antechamber, panting hard enough to be a crime. Five old men looked up in a single, glacial motion, annoyance first, curiosity second.
"What is it."
"Our intelligence and the World Economy News Paper both confirm…"
"One of the Four Emperors, Whitebeard Edward Newgate, met with ex-Overlord Golden Lion Shiki. And with them was…"
He hesitated, then swallowed and finished.
"The Emperor of the Underworld, Saint Dottol Ozz."
"What."
"Say that again."
Faces tightened. A bead of sweat rolled down one wrinkled cheek. Pupils pinpricked.
"And according to CP0 operative Stussy, also an underworld broker, Shiki soon appeared at an underworld bank and withdrew a sum of truly astronomical scale under Saint Ozz's authorization. He then flew off with a mountain of treasure."
The room went very still.
When the messenger left, the old men unfolded the paper and read in silence.
"Whitebeard, Golden Lion, Ozz," one of them said. "Those names together are never good. And they look far too friendly."
Another Elder's eyes chilled. "More importantly, why fund Shiki? Is he trying to rebuild a flying pirate armada?"
For the World Government, Golden Lion was a particular kind of nightmare. His dream was not spoils or fame. It was replacement.
"No," another Elder cut in. "If Ozz wanted that, he wouldn't need Shiki. Shiki isn't top-tier anymore. And you all know Ozz. He doesn't do committees."
Silence, and then reluctant nods.
"Watch Shiki. Do not overreact."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
…
Alabasta.
Back to her old stomping grounds, Little Sand read the paper with a faint smirk.
"That guy. Always the headline."
Shing.
While she read, a few pirates sidled up behind her. They thought they had her distracted. Blades slid for her back.
"Ha! So this is a Warlord? That easy. Next I'm taking the Black Emperor's head."
Weapons stuck in Crocodile's body. She did not blink. She only lifted her golden hook, and the desert sighed.
Sand surged. Eyes stung shut. A storm spun out from her feet.
Walls turned to powder. Trees went brittle. In breaths, the would-be assassins were husks, folded back into the dunes forever.
"Don't talk big," Crocodile said, eyes as flat as a tombstone. "There are a lot of you who've never seen the world beyond your well. And there are a lot of wells."
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