The deck shimmered beneath the sun's golden blaze. Seagulls cried above the white sails of the Moby Drake, Whitebeard's secondary flagship, where silence lay thick—only broken by the rhythmic slap of waves and occasional groans of the wounded pirates kneeling in defeat.
And there stood Gunnar.
His hair was red and white, parted by sharp, undercut sides, while longer strands cascaded onto his forehead, wind brushing them aside to reveal deep-gold eyes. His body was chiseled—six-pack abs glinting with sweat and dried blood. On his right wrist shimmered a thick bracelet, forged of gold and steel, engraved with the unmistakable mark of Whitebeard's Jolly Roger.
He wore jet-black pants with the words "Child of the Sea" stitched in bold silver down one leg.
A few paces away, Charlotte Smoothie stood by the ship's railing, a vision of casual elegance in a simple lilac blouse and a short, flowing sarong that did little to hide the powerful length of her legs. She raised a chilled glass of sparkling citrus wine to her lips, the condensation beading on its surface. But her hand faltered. The glass slipped from her suddenly numb fingers, shattering against the wooden planks with a sharp, crystalline crack that sliced through the heavy silence.
Her gaze, wide and transfixed, was locked on Gunnar.
A slow, predatory smirk crept across his face. He strolled toward her, his scarred boots crunching over the shards of glass without a hint of concern. "You done drooling?"
"I wasn't—!" she retorted, her cheeks flushing a furious shade of pink. She snapped her head away, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.
"You were," he stated, a cocky, knowing grin playing on his lips. He ran a hand through his damp hair, flicking it back. "It's fine. Decided I needed a change. This feels… lighter. Faster."
"Hmph." She sniffed, affecting an air of supreme disinterest. "You're still the same arrogant punk you've always been."
"Maybe," he conceded, stopping beside her. He deliberately adjusted the bracelet, letting the sun catch the Whitebeard crest. "But I'm also the leader of Division Zero now. Officially. That kind of makes me your boss."
She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Wrong. You're my husband. According to the laws of every sea and civilized island, that makes me the boss, doesn't it?"
An awkward, tense silence hung between them for a heartbeat.
"…Of course," Gunnar muttered, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. He scratched the back of his neck, his bravado vanishing in an instant.
He eyed her up and down, his gaze lingering on her waist. His deep-gold eyes narrowed. "Say… have you gained some weight?"
"What," she said, her voice dropping to a low, perilous whisper, "did you just say to me?" Her eyes sharpened.
Gunnar, leaned closer. His grin was wide and utterly idiotic. "I'm just saying, if you keep this up, you're gonna have a Bulge-Bulge Fruit growing in your stomach."
A silver blur hissed past his ear, close enough to snip a few strands of his red and white hair. The tip of her massive sword embedded itself a half-inch deep into the mast behind him with a resonant thwack.
"You idiot!" Smoothie roared, her face a mask of pure fury. "You think a joke like that is funny right now?!"
Gunnar ducked and scrambled away, laughing breathlessly. He flopped onto a nearby sunlounger, throwing his arms behind his head as if he didn't have a care in the world. He turned his attention back to the battered pirates cowering before him. They had dared to lay siege to a Whitebeard outpost, a small island that flew his father's flag. A fatal miscalculation.
"Y'all really, really thought…" he began, pulling a pair of black sunglasses from his pocket and sliding them on, hiding his eyes. "You could attack Whitebeard's territory, burn our flag, and there'd be no retaliation?" He let out a low chuckle. "You're either the boldest crew in the New World… or the most stupid. Wait—no, scratch that. Definitely just stupid."
His voice, though calm, cracked like thunder over them, and they flinched as one.
Then—**BWWWAAAAAAAAAM!**
A massive, soul-shaking horn blared from the heavens, a sound so deep it vibrated in their bones.
One of the captive pirates, a man with a bloody rag tied around his head, began to whisper in delirious, terrified hope. "He… he fell for it. The ambush… Gunnar fell for the trap. He's dead. He's—"
His prophecy was cut short. A colossal butcher sword, wickedly sharp and stained with age, slammed down from the sky and plunged clean through his skull. It split his head with a sickening crunch, pinning him to the deck.
Blood fountained in a perfect, grotesque arc. The other pirates screamed in raw, primal terror.
Smoothie had her sword unsheathed in an instant, its long blade gleaming. All around them, a dozen samurai, clad in crimson armor and bearing the Whitebeard insignia, materialized from the ship's corridors. They were the Whitebeard Guard, an elite unit sworn to protect the command crew. With silent, synchronized precision, they drew their katanas and formed a protective circle around Gunnar and Smoothie.
And then… the clouds parted, torn asunder by an impossible silhouette.
A ship—no, a floating fortress the size of a small island—cast its colossal shadow over the sea, plunging the Moby Drake into an ominous twilight. Dozens of massive propellers churned the air with a deafening roar, and rows upon rows of cannon ports gleamed like the eyes of some metallic beast.
From the deck of this aerial monstrosity, a laugh echoed across the water—a laugh filled with ancient madness and a strange, warped nostalgia.
"Wahahahaha! It's been a long time, hasn't it, you sea-dogs?!"
A figure descended, not falling, but floating down with an unnatural grace. A golden mane of hair, wild and untamed, whipped in the wind. His legs were not flesh and bone, but two legendary, named swords—Oto and Kogarashi.
Shiki, the Golden Lion, landed atop their ship. The thud of his sword-legs on the wood was the sound of an era long past crashing into the present.
The samurai tensed, their knuckles white on the hilts of their swords. "Commander?" one of them, a man named Kenshin with a scar over his left eye, asked in a low voice. "Shall we strike?"
Gunnar raised a hand lazily from his sunlounger. "No. Stand down. Let's hear what the old fossil has to say."
Shiki's grin widened, a web of wrinkles forming around his eyes. "You must be the brat I've been hearing so much about. Whitebeard's legacy."
"And you," Gunnar replied, not bothering to sit up, "are a relic that belongs in a history book."
Shiki chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Your father and I… we go way back. The Rocks Pirates. We were gods, boy, shaping a new world from chaos itself."
"I've heard the stories," Gunnar said coolly, finally swinging his legs over the side of the lounger and sitting upright. "The gist of it, anyway."
"Whitebeard was one of the few men I ever considered my equal," Shiki said, his glowing eyes fixed on Gunnar. "A true monster. I've come to offer you a choice, boy. The kind of choice your father was too stubborn to accept. Swear loyalty to me. Become my subordinate. Together, we will take this world by storm. We will claim the title of Pirate King, and then, only then, may the strongest between us decide who truly deserves it."
Gunnar leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees. "Subordinate? Hard pass. I'm quite happy where I am. Besides, that throne doesn't interest me."
"Expected as much," Shiki chuckled, unfazed. "Your father's pride runs deep in you. How about this, then? Not master and servant, but allies. Two great powers, carving up the New World. Your legacy and mine, intertwined."
Gunnar crossed his arms. "That's a conversation for my old man. If Pops is fine with it, then I am too."
"Tried that route with him once," Shiki muttered, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "He wasn't interested in anything but his 'family.' So, I've decided on a different approach… I'm after your blood."
"You've been watching me?" Gunnar raised a brow behind his sunglasses.
"You're making quite the noise for someone your age," Shiki grinned. "A supernova isn't just born, it explodes. I had to see the explosion with my own eyes."
"I'm flattered, but no thanks," Gunnar replied, standing up. "And please, uncle—get lost before you get hurt."
"Uncle?" Shiki blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. "I… like that! Wahahahaha! Very well then, nephew! Let's see if you're truly worthy of the name you carry!"
He launched himself forward, a golden blur of motion. His sword-legs became a gleaming, deadly arc aimed straight at Gunnar's throat.
"I've got this," Smoothie snarled, stepping forward.
Gunnar shot out an arm, holding her back. His voice was firm but gentle. "You've been sick all week, remember? Morning sickness is a bitch. You rest."
Then, in a movement too fast to follow, he snatched her massive sword from her grasp, the hilt fitting perfectly in his hand. The blade instantly coated itself in a shimmering, obsidian layer of Armament Haki. He met Shiki's strike head-on.
BOOM!
The clash of steel and Haki was deafening. A shockwave erupted from the point of impact, splitting the air and sending ripples across the surface of the ocean below.
Shiki recoiled, leaping backward and floating high above the mast. A cruel smirk played on his lips. He lifted his hands, fingers splayed.
The kneeling, wounded pirates began to tremble. Then, one by one, they floated into the air, screaming in confusion and terror.
"Wait, what's happening?! Put me down!"
"He can make things fly! He's a monster!"
Shiki laughed. "Let's play catch, nephew!" With a powerful thrust of his hands, he hurled them down at Gunnar like living, screaming cannonballs.
Gunnar didn't flinch. With an almost bored flick of his wrist, he angled the tip of Smoothie's sword upward. He met the first pirate, the blade piercing cleanly through his stomach. Then the second, and the third, stacking their screaming, flailing bodies on the longsword like morbid kebabs.
When the last body was impaled, he held the gruesome totem steady for a moment, letting the silence hang. Then, with a casual tilt, he let them all slide off onto the deck in a wet, gory heap. Without a word, he calmly used the sleeve of his own bare arm to wipe the blade clean, smearing a thick ribbon of crimson from his bicep down to his seastone bracelet.
Behind him, Smoothie's face went pale. Her knees buckled, and her eyes spun. She slapped a hand over her mouth and bolted for the ship's washroom, a strangled choking sound escaping her throat.
The sounds of her retching, hard and violent, echoed from inside.
Gunnar leaned against the doorway, a look of genuine confusion on his face. "Throwing up at the sight of a little blood? I really didn't expect that from you, of all people."
Shiki hovered nearby, stroking his golden beard with a snicker. "She's not scared of blood, boy. A daughter of Big Mom? Don't be ridiculous."
Gunnar turned, his icy eyes meeting Shiki's. "Then what is it, oh wise and ancient uncle?"
A slow, malicious grin spread across the old pirate's face. "She's pregnant."
Gunnar blinked. Once. Twice. He slowly lowered his sunglasses, his mind racing. He started counting on his fingers, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning horror, and then to something else entirely. "Wait… the festival on Raijin Island… that was…"
Shiki scratched his beard. "She's Charlotte Linlin's daughter. A prize of a woman. I must admit, I'm curious—who's the father?"
Gunnar slowly, deliberately, raised his hand. "Me."
Shiki's jaw dropped. For the first time, the Golden Lion looked utterly stunned. "…HOLY SHIT." He whistled, a long, low sound of disbelief.
Inside the washroom, Smoothie turned from the toilet, her face streaked with tears. Her eyes, filled with a heartbreaking mix of love and terror, locked with Gunnar's. She clutched her stomach protectively and fell to her knees, her body wracked with sobs.
Ignoring Shiki's cackling laughter from outside, Gunnar stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Go away, uncle. The show's over."
He knelt beside her, his large, calloused hands gently cupping her tear-soaked face. His touch was surprisingly soft.
"Why are you crying?" he whispered, his voice stripped of all its earlier arrogance. "This is a reason to smile."
Smoothie just wept harder, burying her face in his chest. "This child… Gunnar, you don't understand! This will start a war! My mother… Linlin… she will never let this go. She'll hunt us. This is why I left Totto Land. I wanted to be free. And now… now I'll be separated from you forever."
Gunnar laughed, a soft, deep rumble in his chest. He pulled her into a gentle, unyielding hug. "You really are stupid sometimes."
Her sobbing halted, and she looked up at him in surprise.
"My old man—Edward Newgate—is the King of the Seas. The strongest man in the world. You think he'll let anyone, even an Emperor, lay a single finger on his daughter-in-law? On his grandchild?"
He cradled her tighter, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. "And I… your husband… I am the Prince of this Ocean."
His voice dropped to a fierce, protective whisper. "I won't let anyone near you. Not your mother. Not the World Government. Not even fate itself. I swear it."
She clung to him, her tears of fear slowly turning into tears of relief, soaking into the skin of his chest.
"This is something to celebrate," Gunnar whispered, stroking her hair. "And you were trying to hide it from me."
---
Aboard Shiki's Floating Fortress
The Golden Lion sat on the railing of his flagship, his sword-legs dangling over the endless expanse of clouds below. He stared toward the horizon.
"Cake Island ain't far from here," he muttered to his first mate, Doctor Indigo. "It's been a long, long time since I paid Linlin a visit."
A wicked, scheming smirk stretched across his face.
"Time to deliver the good news… personally."
[A/N: Be Ready for a wild Arc Guys. Big Mom pirates Arc]