At that very moment, sailing across the East Blue, Garp received the news from his subordinates.
"As expected... couldn't slip through Sengoku's fingers after all."
True to form, Garp had long known Navy Headquarters would pull something like this. But he had no obligation to warn Shirakawa—the two of them stood on opposite sides.
Still, every now and then, he couldn't help feeling it was a shame. A genius like that, cut down before his brilliance could even truly bloom.
Meanwhile in the New World, aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard Newgate heard the same report from Marco.
"Never thought someone like him would fall to the Navy so fast."
Marco's voice carried a trace of dejection. Shirakawa was, by any measure, Marco's good friend. They'd only met a handful of times, but the similarity of their abilities had forged a deep, kindred bond in Marco's heart.
"Don't grieve, Marco. Men die on this sea every single day. It's just that this time, the one who died happens to be someone we knew."
Whitebeard comforted him. Truth be told, he'd met Shirakawa in person, and he didn't believe a man like that would simply roll over and die. But since the Navy had already blasted the news far and wide, it was probably the truth.
"I understand, Pops."
Elsewhere, hidden above the sea's surface in a secluded patch of one of the Four Blues, the Golden Lion Shiki lurked. The moment he saw the Navy's report on Shirakawa, he flew into a rage.
Shirakawa was a man who had managed to injure him—how could he possibly die at the Navy's hands? But the instant he saw that Sengoku himself had taken part in the operation, disbelief curdled into conviction.
"Damn it! Now that Supreme Grade Great Blade's fallen right into the Navy's clutches! If I'd known it would end like this, I should've just snatched it from him back then! Worthless bastard!"
Shiki cursed Shirakawa one more time for good measure.
At that moment, aboard the Silver Pirates' ship, no one spoke. Silence blanketed everything—inside and out, the air was saturated with grief.
Moore had even stepped into the room where Shirakawa slept, standing there in a daze, staring at the identical sets of clothes inside.
After a long while, he rubbed his stinging eyes. As if moved by some inexplicable impulse, he opened the cabinet beside Shirakawa's bed.
Inside the cabinet, aside from a stack of papers, it was completely empty.
"What's this?"
Moore stared at the sheets before him, puzzled. Every single one was inscribed with the name of one of their crewmates.
Moore had no clue what they were, but that didn't mean the others wouldn't. He carried the papers out and shouted toward the crew,
"Guys! I found this stuff in the captain's room, but I've got no idea what it is."
He waved the sheets in the air as he spoke.
"Aren't those just ordinary blank paper?"
Adara leaned in for a closer look, then deflated. How could something like this be anything special?
"No way... I can feel these papers moving, though."
The crew gathered in a circle, puzzling over what the sheets could possibly be for.
Yuristin, however, stared silently at the papers in Moore's hand—then suddenly his eyes lit up.
"I know what these are."
Yuristin snatched the sheets from Moore's grasp.
He searched until he found the one bearing Shirakawa's name, let out a long breath, and his face broke into an expression of pure, unburdened relief.
"So what the hell are they, Yuristin?!"
Jora spoke up, having caught Yuristin's expression. Hope seemed to flicker back to life in his heart.
"These are called Vivre Cards. When a person's life ends, that person's Vivre Card disappears completely."
Yuristin explained to them all.
"So that means... the sheets with each of our names on them are our individual Vivre Cards."
Jora repeated his understanding back to Yuristin for confirmation.
"Hold on."
Suddenly, everyone's eyes snapped wide open—because they had all just seen the sheet with their captain's name on it.
"Where'd it go?!"
A moment later, the entire crew was crawling across the floor, searching desperately, refusing to miss a single trace. It had been right here just a second ago!
"It's right here."
Yuristin laid the Vivre Card flat on his palm. The card was tugging relentlessly in one specific direction.
"Doesn't this mean our captain... isn't dead?!"
Jora's voice trembled with excitement and expectation.
"That's right."
In answer to Jora's question, Yuristin spoke a single word.
"YESSS!"
The moment they heard Yuristin's confirmation, every last crew member threw their heads back and erupted into ecstatic cheers.
The dark clouds that had weighed on them the entire day finally, thoroughly dispersed.
"Then what are we waiting for?! Let's set sail right now!"
Riddle shouted urgently, and everyone immediately turned their eyes toward Yuristin—because here and now, he was the one in charge.
"Yeah... even if I said no, you lot wouldn't allow it anyway."
Yuristin nodded, a smile on his face.
"If you dared say no, I'd beat you so badly your own mother wouldn't recognize you."
Jora growled fiercely, and once more, joyous laughter erupted across the ship.
At last. Just as they had all believed, the captain wasn't dead. And judging by how perfectly intact the Vivre Card was, he was completely unharmed.
Following the direction the Vivre Card pointed, the Silver Pirates began to sail.
Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
On a certain island in the Grand Line, a young man with white hair slowly opened his eyes.
This man, of course, was none other than Shirakawa.
"Where... is this?"
Shirakawa blinked groggily awake. Above him was a wooden roof—clearly the inside of someone's home.
"You're awake?"
Right then, a crisp, slightly childish voice sounded right beside his ear, startling Shirakawa into whipping his head around on full alert.
When he saw it was only a young girl, he finally relaxed.
Shirakawa could feel how terribly weak his body was—the aftermath of total exhaustion, no doubt. A few solid meals, or maybe just another eight or ten days of sleep, and he should be back to normal.
"You really are ridiculously lucky."
The little girl spoke again.
"What do you mean?"
"My dad found you inside the stomach of a giant fish. I can't believe you actually survived."
The girl propped her chin on her hands beside him as she spoke.
"Really... never thought I'd end up getting eaten by a fish one day."
After leaping into the sea, Shirakawa had completely lost consciousness. His original plan had been to sleep at the bottom of the deep ocean for ten days or half a month, then resurface once he'd mostly recovered.
Through sheer coincidence, someone had fished him out and saved him.
Still, the person who saved him must have had some level of strength—after all, any fish capable of swallowing him whole couldn't have been small.
"Honestly, the first time I saw you pulled out of that fish's belly, I was so scared I almost cried."
The little girl chattered incessantly at his ear again, apparently eager to share her own embarrassing story.
"Ah... is that so? My apologies for frightening you."
"It's fine. It wasn't you who scared me—it was that stupid fish. If it hadn't eaten you, I wouldn't have been scared by it in the first place. But I've already gotten my revenge."
"Revenge? How?"
"Because I ate it into my stomach."
The little girl rubbed her belly, declaring proudly.
/-\
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