The New World. A calm stretch of sea.
On board the Red Force.
Ben Beckman sat alone at the bow, smoking quietly, his face marked with faint worry.
Shanks' grave injury had struck a heavy blow to their crew—perhaps the heaviest yet.
Since entering the New World, they had advanced steadily, riding wave after wave until they reached the top, weathering every storm imaginable.
But this situation… this was beyond anything they had foreseen. To suffer such a crushing setback at the very height of their rise—it shook even him.
Their hard-earned prestige had plummeted overnight, and with Shanks' life still uncertain, even Beckman, ever composed, found his mind in turmoil.
The cabin door opened.
Ship doctor Hongo walked out, wiping his hands with a cloth.
"How's Shanks?" Beckman asked at once, his voice edged with concern. Shanks' safety was the only thing that mattered now—he couldn't rest until he was sure.
"Relax. The captain's condition has stabilized. His life's not in danger anymore," Hongo replied.
He'd been running himself ragged these past few days—cleansing the wound, stopping the bleeding, stitching the gashes—but at least the result was good.
The gathered officers all let out deep sighs of relief. The thought of losing Shanks had hung over them like a nightmare—without him, their crew would fall apart.
"Everyone, take a look at this."
Yasopp pulled a newspaper from somewhere and handed it over, his tone unreadable.
"Never thought I'd see the day when we became someone else's stepping stone."
"No denying it," Beckman said after a moment, his voice calm. "He beat Shanks fair and square."
He had already expected this outcome. But the others looked grim; never before had the Red-Haired Pirates taken a fall this hard.
"As for ruling the New World—forget it. Even if he wanted to, it's not something he can pull off."
"For now," Beckman continued, his tone steady, "we slow down the crew's expansion. Everything waits until Shanks recovers."
The newspaper didn't concern him in the slightest. He was already planning their next moves, his gaze calm and calculating.
The officers nodded, dispersing one by one—leaving Beckman alone again at the bow, staring into the sea.
----
Totland Sea — Whole Cake Island.
Inside Big Mom's castle, the chefs, led by Streusen, presented plates of meticulously crafted pastries to the dining table.
At the far end of the table sat an enormous figure, drooling eagerly as her gleaming eyes locked onto the treats being set before her.
As Streusen described each dish, Big Mom could no longer hold back. She snatched a pastry and shoved it into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss.
"Streusen, you did well. These pastries are absolutely delicious!" she said between mouthfuls.
"The food you make with your ability can only fill the stomach. These pastries, however, are completely different—they're wonderfully delicious~"
While enjoying the food, Big Mom also constantly complained about the food Streusen used to make for her with his ability.
"Linlin," Streusen sighed, the white-haired "little old man" looking helplessly up at her. "I rarely use my powers for cooking anymore."
Her tastes had grown ever more refined—from simple satisfaction to near-impossible perfection.
One off-flavor dish, and she would fly into a rage, sending many to their doom.
Left with no choice, Streusen had gathered the world's finest chefs to cook solely for her—yet she still found faults from time to time.
The Linlin who would obediently listen after being given a meal was long gone.
Seeing her now, eyes closed in bliss, he finally relaxed.
Today's meal had been a success. Time to start planning what flavors to prepare next.
Just then, a plump figure wearing a red-and-white scarf and carrying a long blade hurried in.
"Mama, that Thunder God's causing chaos again!"
It was Big Mom's twenty-fifth son, Snack.
He held out a newspaper, breathless.
Ever since the Thunder God's recent attacks on their crew, any news involving him was immediately reported straight to Big Mom.
She grabbed the paper with one hand—her other still busy stuffing cake into her mouth.
"Hm? That brat again? What's he done this time?"
Her curiosity piqued, Big Mom glanced down at the page—
"Ma~ma~ma~ma…"
"Well done, Thunder God boy. So even that red-haired fool went down, huh?"
Upon seeing the photo of Shanks collapsed in defeat, Big Mom burst out laughing.
"How delightful! That red-haired idiot thought he could provoke me not long ago. And look—someone beat me to it!"
But as her eyes moved lower on the page, her expression darkened. Her aura flared violently.
Everyone in the hall felt the crushing pressure sweep over them. Servants trembled, paralyzed by fear.
"'Ruler of the New World'? 'King Without a Crown'? Are you kidding me?!"
"The only one who can become Pirate King… is me! Ma~ma~ma~ma!"
Her Conqueror's Haki exploded outward. Black-and-red lightning cracked through the air, tearing through the hall.
Servants dropped like flies; even the desserts on the table shattered into dust.
In mere seconds, the grand hall was a scene of utter ruin.
"Mama, please calm down!" Snack shouted, barely standing under the weight of her Haki.
Perhaps his voice reached her. Big Mom's fury slowly subsided, though her bloodshot eyes stayed locked on the newspaper.
"Thunder God… Thunder God! I'll be waiting for you!"
"Ma~ma~ma~ma…"
While the world's major powers buzzed with news of the battle, Leno and his group finally reached the North Blue after a long, dull voyage through the Calm Belt.
Feeling the cool sea breeze, Leno exhaled deeply.
He hadn't expected his "belly trip" to turn into such a chain of chaotic events.
"Your father went to all that trouble to send you to me," Leno said teasingly, pulling Reiju close and pressing her against his chest.
"Shouldn't I visit him and thank him personally, hmm?"
He leaned down, whispering near her ear with a mischievous grin.
"What gift fits best? Flowers? Wine? Or maybe erasing the Germa royal line from the map?"
"..."