The east blue emperor's open-air banquet hall.
Seven raised his cup high.
"Shipmates, let us welcome the legendary great pirate, Senior Shiki, aboard!"
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Upon hearing that Golden Lion had joined the Morning Star Pirates, the old hands—Mihawk, Fujitora, Kuma, and Ginny—barely batted an eye.
They had all seen the Captain's charisma at work.
From the moment Golden Lion agreed to cooperate and stayed on the east blue emperor, they knew this legendary pirate would never escape the Captain's grasp.
Just another of the Captain's routine miracles.
Only Shiliew of the Rain's breath caught, his eyes burning with fiercer fighting spirit and urgency.
Four Great Swordsmen on one deck!
If he didn't hone his swordsmanship now, he might not even rank in the top five before long.
Though he had signed on only days earlier, Shiliew already counted joining the Morning Star as the luckiest decision of his life; the things he'd seen on board felt absurd yet undeniably real.
The Captain might as well be a god.
Shiliew had personally seen Golden Lion's severed legs—once displayed in Impel Down—yet now they'd regrown.
Before arriving, he had vividly remembered the two great swordsmen under the Captain: Hawkeye Mihawk, called the world's strongest, and Fujitora Issho, a blind man.
And now Fujitora Issho could see!
Such miraculous, unheard-of power—Shiliew had never even imagined it, and now he was witnessing it.
Truly worthy of the man I, Silo of the Rain, acknowledge.
"Captain, a toast to you."
Seven raised his cup in answer.
"Shiliew, once we reach Hachinosu, I'll arrange targeted training. I'll face all four of you swordsmen myself."
"Armament Haki, Observation Haki, and hand-to-hand—we'll share everything."
Shiliew tightened his grip on his cup. "No problem."
At last he would see the Captain's swordplay; not just he, but the whole sea wondered what blades the Captain and vice-captain Mihawk wielded.
No one had ever heard a single named technique.
Fujitora at least had Gravity Blade: Fierce Tiger, quick-draw, Meteor, and others in circulation, yet the two Captains had none.
Secrecy absolute.
Golden Lion noisily hoisted his cup.
"Impel runt, since I left, how's that Bullet doing?"
Calling Shiliew "runt" fit; Golden Lion was past fifty, Shiliew only twenty-two.
Most of the Morning Star crew were in their twenties, the Captain still months shy of eighteen.
"Senior Shiki, Bullet trains like clockwork, same as ever."
Golden Lion cackled.
"Captain, once we take Hachinosu, let's storm Impel Down. Level Six holds plenty of talent—impress them all into our flag!"
"Gehahaha~"
Fujitora's eye twitched; he resolved then and there to guard the Captain and keep him from being led astray.
Seven swirled his cup, smile sly. "Trying to steer me down Rocks' path?"
Golden Lion fell silent; even the mighty Rocks Pirates had proved that rushing to oppose the World Government ends badly.
"Senior Shiki, the old saying holds: store grain, claim kingship slow."
"The World Government may be rotten to the core, but eight centuries of standing means it's not as simple as it seems."
"With just us, even if we fought to Pangu City, what then?"
Seven poured another drink.
"I'm no match for Rocks' might; if he couldn't do it, why repeat his failure?
Steady growth is king."
By the power-scaling of his past life's forums, Seven stood at admiral–emperor peak, barely brushing king-tier.
Once he mastered Conquerors Haki Defense, awakened the Rumble-Rumble Fruit, and ate the Age-Age Fruit to manifest a nika form untouchable by darkness—then he would consider storming Mary Geoise.
Golden Lion chuckled.
"You're the Captain; your call."
Knowing of Imu's existence had already cooled Golden Lion's ardor; at least he no longer plotted to obliterate the East Blue, content to watch Seven's next move.
Carve a path different from Rocks?
The banquet went on, and the east blue emperor's entry into the New World had only begun to ripple across the seas.
Crews large and small worried those monsters might covet their turf—after all, this was the Morning Star's first foray into the New World.
No flag planted; were they sightseeing?
Some even prayed Beelzeb Seven would clash with the Emperor Whitebeard to decide the strongest crew.
New World, Moby Dick.
"Pops, Pops!"
First-division commander Marco, third-division Jozu, fifth-division Vista and the rest gathered at Whitebeard's side.
"Pops, young Seven's in the New World—shall we go see him?"
Fourth-division chef Thatch chimed in.
"Pops, I want to learn new recipes from young Seven, and Teach's dying to go too."
"Teach?"
Whitebeard glanced at the black-haired fat man behind Thatch, a flicker of something passing in his eyes.
Back when the Whitebeard and Roger crews fought for three days, Seven and Teach had fallen out over a pair of teeth.
Teach believed the Red-Nosed Kid and the Red-Haired Kid had kicked out three of his teeth, and the White-Haired Kid had pocketed two—yet a search found nothing.
Thatch quickly explained.
"Pops, Teach collects every paper that mentions young Seven."
Marco backed him up.
"It's been years; an old friend's here—we've got to welcome him."
"Gurarara~"
Whitebeard laughed. "Beelzeb's no longer 'young Seven'—he's a thirty-billion emperor now."
"Still, Pops misses him too."
"Marco, set sail."
"Let's pay the boy a visit."
With his beloved dream-boy finally in the New World, Whitebeard itched to test the so-called King of the next generation.
"Long live Pops!"
The commanders roared, eager to plant Moby Dick right in the east blue emperor's path.
The crew sprang to duty; black-haired fat Teach followed Chef Thatch to the galley to help.
He hoarded those papers not to see the White-Haired Kid again, but to remind himself—while his old rival's name soared across the seas, he still played house, yet a man's dreams never end.