The East Blue was known as the "Weakest Sea," a place where the waves were usually calm and the threats were minimal. On this particular afternoon, a transport ship flying the white flag of the World Government sailed through these quiet waters at a leisurely pace. However, the peaceful scenery outside did not match the atmosphere on board. The deck was thick with an oppressive sense of dread and anxiety that seemed to weigh down every person on the vessel.
The government agents patrolling the deck had lost the cold, arrogant edge that usually defined members of the Cipher Pol divisions. Their faces were pale, and their eyes darted nervously toward the horizon. They glanced at the water as if a sea king or some man-eating behemoth might burst through the surface at any moment to swallow them whole. They spoke in hushed, trembling whispers, and their conversations always circled back to the same nightmare: the "Extra" news bulletin that had recently shattered the world's order.
At the center of this storm of low morale was the officer standing at the bow. His face was dark with fury, looking as though black ink might drip from his skin. This was Who's-Who. The man had once been hailed as the "Genius" of CP9, a rising star destined for greatness. Now, he was consumed by a surging rage that threatened to set him on fire.
He stared out at the sea, his mind racing through the series of misfortunes that had led him here. He remembered the failure at Takuro's base camp on Ambri Island. That one mistake had resulted in a humiliating punishment from his superiors. They had demoted him three ranks and shoved him into peripheral work, far away from the action.
He thought back to his recent "careful calculations." He had worked so hard to snatch this mission away from a dozen other competitors. On paper, it was a "gold-plating" assignment—an easy task meant to make him look good so he could get his old job back. He was tasked with escorting a ship carrying a "vital item" designated by a very high-ranking official. The route took them right across the East Blue.
Who's-Who had figured that in this ghost-like place, where even decent pirates were a rare sight, the mission would be effortless. He planned to complete the delivery, return to the center of power with his merits in hand, and make his grand comeback. For most of the trip, things had gone exactly as he expected. The few ignorant, small-time pirates they encountered didn't even know what Haki was. He had dispatched them with a single strike, and each easy victory only inflated his confidence. He felt like his old life was finally within his grasp.
But who could have imagined the world would turn upside down?
Just as he reached the final leg of the journey—just as he was deciding which tavern to visit for his victory celebration—the earth-shattering news arrived. The World Government was gone. Mary Geoise, the holy land, had been taken. Even his ultimate superiors, the Gorosei, had been killed.
To Who's-Who, this felt like working a hundred hours of overtime to finish a project, seeing the promotion and a salary increase right in front of him, only for the company to declare bankruptcy and the boss to run off with all the money.
"Damn that Takuro! You persistent, miserable bastard!" Who's-Who hissed the words through clenched teeth. His knuckles turned white, and the wood of the railing groaned as he squeezed it.
It was Takuro's fault. Everything was always Takuro's fault. He had been demoted because of him on Ambri Island, and now Takuro had reached out and destroyed his entire future. Old grudges and fresh hatred surged within his chest. He wished he could find the man right now and tear him limb from limb.
"O-Officer," a subordinate stammered, approaching him with shaking legs. "What... what are we supposed to do now?"
Who's-Who spun around with such violence that the subordinate stumbled backward. His bloodshot eyes glared fiercely, filled with the desperation of a man who had reached the end of the road.
"What should we do?" he roared, his voice echoing across the deck. "The World Government is dead! CP9 and CP0 are history! We aren't agents anymore. We're just lost souls wandering the sea! Other than becoming pirates, what else is there? We'll just have to take it one step at a time!"
He ran his hands irritably through his hair. The thought of becoming a pirate disgusted him. He was a genius agent. Now he had to sink to the level of the criminals he used to hunt? It was a nightmare.
Suddenly, a panicked shout came from the lookout on the mast. "Officer! Bad news! There's a pirate ship off the starboard side! It's moving incredibly fast and heading straight for us!"
"What?!" Who's-Who's frayed nerves snapped. He was already looking for a way to vent his fury. "Damn it! Even these small fries from the East Blue think they can cross me? Fine! I'll use these pests to blow off some steam!"
His eyes flashed with a predatory light. The cruel features of a predator began to emerge on his face—a side effect of his Devil Fruit, the Cat-Cat Fruit, Model: Saber-Toothed Tiger. He strode across the deck, ready to teach these pirates a lesson they would never forget. He planned to kill the crew, seize their ship, and take their supplies as the starting capital for his new life as a pirate.
He reached the ship's rail and looked out toward the horizon where his men were pointing. Then, the rage on his face froze. It was as if he had been struck by an arctic storm. He became rigid, his muscles locking in place. His pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks as shock and disbelief washed over him.
On the sea surface nearby, a massive, imposing ship was cutting through the waves. Its red dragon figurehead looked ferocious and domineering. On the main sail, a simple but terrifying symbol was painted—a skull with three red scratches on each side. It was a symbol powerful enough to make even the strongest warriors in the New World tremble.
Who's-Who's heart felt like it had been seized by a cold hand. He could clearly see the figures standing on the enemy's deck. There was a man with vibrant red hair wearing a straw hat. He was missing an arm, but he carried a cheerful, confident smile that demanded respect. Beside him was a plump sniper gnawing on a large meat leg, a vice-captain smoking a cigarette with eyes as sharp as an eagle's, and a grinning gunman holding a long rifle.
"The Red Hair... Red Hair Pirates?!" Who's-Who gasped. "Shanks?!"
His mind went completely blank. He felt like he had been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. This had to be an absurd dream. He had been looking for a weak East Blue crew to bully, so how did he run into a Yonko? What kind of terrible luck was this?
All his anger and his plans for revenge were crushed instantly. He felt nothing but boundless terror and a single, despairing thought: I am finished.
Across the water, Shanks noticed the pale, terrified agent on the government ship. He raised a bottle of wine toward Who's-Who and flashed a friendly smile that sent a shiver down the officer's spine.
"Yo! You folks from the World Government look like you've heard the 'good news' too!" Shanks' voice carried easily over the wind, sounding light and full of mockery. "This is perfect timing. We're in the market for a spare ship. And, well... we'll also be happy to 'accept' that special item you're carrying on board!"
Who's-Who couldn't even find the words to respond. He stood there in silence, wishing he could travel back in time one month. He wanted to find the past version of himself—the one who had been so happy to take this "easy" mission—and strangle him.
This wasn't a gold-plating mission. It was a one-way ticket straight to Hell. And once again, in a roundabout way, Takuro had managed to screw him over.
----------------
You can read advanced chapters here: patreon.com/GregariousLion