"..."
Rayleigh spat out a mouthful of hot, coppery blood, mixed with fragments of his own internal organs.
Defeated.
He was utterly and completely defeated.
Using his sword as a crutch, he barely managed to prop himself up, his entire body screaming in agony.
He took the contract Whitebeard handed him, his hand trembling not just from exertion, but from the sheer, world-ending implications of it all.
It was a single sheet of paper, yet its clauses were densely packed, a meticulously woven net designed to ensnare every last remnant of the old era.
Rayleigh read it, word by painful word.
His peaceful life of seclusion, of quietly waiting for the next generation, was officially over.
"The old Sabaody Archipelago will cease to exist," Whitebeard's deep voice reverberated in his ears, each word carrying the undeniable, absolute authority of the victor.
"All remnants of the old era will be thoroughly, and violently, purged."
Whitebeard looked down at his old rival, his expression not of triumph, but of a strange, grim pity.
"Rayleigh, you're lucky. At least you still have a chance to live."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"Shiki, Redfield, Bullet… all of them... will be publicly executed."
"..."
Rayleigh remained silent, the blood dripping from his chin onto the contract.
Whitebeard's words were the final ultimatum.
He understood.
The New Marine had already demonstrated both the iron-clad resolve and the overwhelming, terrifying power to overturn the entire world.
To reject their offer was to stand against the tide of history itself, a choice that would only lead to being swept away and ground into the dustbin of the past.
But…
Roger…
The Great Pirate Era, the age of freedom and dreams that his captain had personally ushered in with his dying breath… was he, Roger's first mate and closest friend, truly going to take part in ending it with his own hands?
"Rayleigh…" Whitebeard seemed to see through his inner turmoil, his voice softening slightly.
"Even if, by some miracle, you managed to escape from me today… the next one they would send to hunt you down would be…"
"…Garp. In his prime."
He dropped the bombshell with casual finality.
"What?!" Rayleigh's heart lurched violently. "Garp… in his prime?!"
That old bastard Garp!
He knew him all too well!
The "Iron Fist" Garp who had hounded Roger and his entire crew to the very ends of the earth!
If that man, the man who could shatter mountains with his bare hands, had returned to his peak physical condition…
"Don't doubt that kid Mike's abilities," Whitebeard said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"I'm living proof. Garp will also return to his prime. And right now, he's more driven, more dangerous, than he's ever been. Aside from his usual 'My Justice' nonsense, he's hell-bent on taking Ace from me to train him."
He scoffed. "Of course, I refused. His current rank in the New Marine doesn't give him the authority to order me around. But the old man is dead set on it. He's itching to rack up achievements, to increase his influence. And you, Rayleigh…"
Whitebeard tapped the crumpled bounty list in his pocket.
"You are worth four stars on the New Marine's new bounty list. That translates to a very hefty military reward. He would hunt you for the promotion alone."
"..."
As Rayleigh listened, a cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
He could almost see it: Garp's eternally energetic, grinning face, the terrifying prospect of being chased across the world, again, but this time by a Garp who wouldn't tire, a Garp who wouldn't slow down, a Garp who had the full backing of this new, terrifying organization.
No…
The thought sent an involuntary chill down his spine.
He stared at the contract in his hands, his gaze conflicted.
Joining meant betraying the past.
It meant burying the era Roger had begun.
But refusing? Refusing meant an agonizing, pointless death, either here at Whitebeard's hands or later at Garp's.
"Haah—" Rayleigh let out a long, bitter, resigned laugh.
Was there even a choice left? Whitebeard in his prime.
Garp in his prime.
And, he didn't even have to ask, probably Sengoku and Zephyr too.
Who in these seas could possibly stand against such a lineup? And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and flipped to the last page.
He bit his thumb, hard, and pressed a bloody thumbprint firmly onto the signature line.
"Newgate… take me to see Mike," Rayleigh's voice was quiet, but it carried a sense of finality.
He wanted to meet this young man who had single-handedly accomplished what no one else in 800 years could: unite the Marines, bring Whitebeard to heel, and now, stand poised to end the Great Pirate Era.
He wanted to see, with his own eyes, what kind of man was about to change the world.
"Hm," Whitebeard nodded, satisfied.
"By the way," Rayleigh grunted, wincing as he moved his bruised ribs. "What exactly does the New Marine want me to do?"
"You'll be a Vice Minister under Zephyr in the Education Department," Whitebeard explained.
"Because of who you were, you need to earn achievements to offset your past. Teaching the basics of Haki, having outstanding students graduate… that will earn you the credits you need."
"..."
"Oh, I forgot to mention the benefits earlier," Whitebeard added, his eyes twinkling.
"Benefits?" Rayleigh looked up, baffled. "Isn't this just a contract of servitude? There are benefits?"
"One thing at a time," Whitebeard grinned, a full-on, booming "Gurarara" threatening to burst out.
"But if you work hard, Rayleigh… at the very least, you'll never run short of good liquor. The finest liquor."
"..."
"Hahaha… Newgate," Rayleigh, despite the pain, couldn't help but let out a dry, wheezing laugh of his own.
"Joining this New Marine… maybe it doesn't seem so hard to accept after all!"
...
Soon, the massive fleet of the New Marine retreated like the ebbing tide, leaving only a few regular garrison vessels behind.
The devastated archipelago, now silent and reeking of blood, was left to await its rebirth.
Before long, a new, massive ship slowly docked at the port.
The enormous emblem on its bow—a giant "B.W."—fluttered in the wind, but it no longer stood for Baroque Works.
It now stood for the New Marine Infrastructure Department.
"Tap—"
The crisp sound of expensive leather shoes echoed on the deck.
Sir Crocodile, a fresh cigar clenched between his teeth, descended the gangplank.
His cold, reptilian gaze swept over the ruins of Sabaody—once a bustling hub for the slave trade, now reduced to rubble and ash.
"Good," he exhaled a thick plume of smoke, a satisfied, predatory grin spreading across his face.
"This looks more like it. I do love a challenging construction project."
The reconstruction of Sabaody Archipelago would be fully overseen by his department.
The goal wasn't just to rebuild; it was to transform.
To erase the island's dark past and build something new, something beautiful, something prosperous.
'When those freed slaves finally return', Crocodile mused.
'they won't remember the pain and despair. They'll only remember the name of the man who gave them this new paradise: Sir Crocodile, the Infrastructure Minister!'
At the thought, he couldn't help but chuckle.
"Listen up, you lot!" he roared to his crews. "Let's show everyone what the Infrastructure Department is capable of! We rebuild Sabaody in a single day! Make it more prosperous and more beautiful than ever before! And then… I'll take you all out to celebrate!"
"YES, SIR!!!"
(And this will be the start of the legend of Sir Crocodile "The Greatest Estate Developer")
.....
East Blue. In a hidden, uncharted stretch of sky.
Dozens of floating islands, cloaked in mist, hovered silently, like a miracle suspended between heaven and earth.
Below, a lone New Marine warship cut through the calm, peaceful waves, its new flag a stark, aggressive splash of red against the blue.
On the deck, Issho and Mihawk stood side by side, two pillars of quiet, terrifying power.
Issho's eyes remained closed, a purple, translucent aura of Observation Haki radiating from his body, scanning not the sea, but the sky, taking in every detail for hundreds of miles.
Mihawk, arms crossed, stood as still as a statue, his golden, hawk-like eyes open and alert.
"Found it."
Suddenly, Issho spoke, his voice a deep, firm rumble that shattered the quiet. In one swift, fluid motion, he drew his cane from his waist, the hidden blade gleaming coldly in the sun.
"BOOM—!"
Issho raised his sword high and swung it down.
There was no slash, no light, no sound.
There was only an invisible, colossal force of pure gravity, surging violently from his blade toward a seemingly empty patch of sky far above them.
The next moment, the sky itself seemed to tear open.
A massive meteor, wreathed in the fire of reentry, tore through the heavens.
Trailing a tail of flame and smoke, it hurtled with unstoppable, thunderous momentum toward the cluster of hidden, floating islands.
"Shiki…" Issho's voice was a cold, hard command that boomed across the sky, carried on the very gravitational waves he controlled.
"Come down!"
---------
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