The newly expanded dunes stretched like a golden ocean under the merciless sun. Mihawk walked alone across one of the vast plateaus Crocodile had birthed from the sand black coat billowing, Yoru resting casually across his back, the world's strongest blade catching light like a promise of ruin. He had come for one thing: to see if the boy who once stood trembling before him at Marineford had truly grown into the 3-billion-berry threat the world now feared.
He sensed the copies before he saw them.
A thousand identical Crocodiles rose from the dunes in perfect unison coats flapping, hooks gleaming, cigars clamped between sharp teeth. They formed a loose ring around him, silent at first, then laughing in perfect sync.
"Kuahahahaha… kuahahahaha…"
The original Crocodile stepped forward from the center mass, hands in pockets, hook glinting. The copies mirrored the pose exactly, a thousand mocking echoes.
"Dracule Mihawk," the original drawled, voice carrying across the sand like dry wind. "Come all this way just to babysit your student? How sentimental."
Mihawk's yellow eyes flicked across the legion without a trace of surprise. His expression remained calm, almost bored.
"You've been busy," he noted, voice low and even. "The island itself bends to you now."
Crocodile's grin widened. "Sand recognizes sand. This place is my domain. And with the way things are going Straw Hats running around like headless chickens, Buggy flapping his gums, Marines closing in, Blackbeard lurking in the shadows an all-out war is inevitable."
He gestured lazily at the horizon where distant smoke trails marked approaching fleets.
"I hope your student is prepared, Hawk-Eyes. Because when the blades start swinging for real, even you might not be able to keep him in one piece."
Mihawk's gaze sharpened just a fraction.
"I'm mostly interested in Luffy," he said quietly. "I expect him to be more experienced. More battle-mature since our last encounter at his brother's execution. After all… he's worth three billion berries now."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of Mihawk's mouth.
"I already have a new technique I want to try out."
Crocodile barked a laugh short, harsh, delighted.
"Kuahahahaha! And what will you gain if you end up killing him, Hawk-Eyes? Another notch on that overgrown butter knife? A headline? Or are you just bored again?"
Mihawk's eyes met Crocodile's cold gold on burning amber.
"I want to know what Shanks sees in him."
The words hung in the air like drawn steel.
Silence fell across the dunes. Even the thousand copies stopped laughing. The wind itself seemed to pause.
Crocodile stared for a long second. Then his grin returned slow, dangerous, approving.
"Kuahahahaha… honest to a fault. That's why you're still the strongest, Mihawk. No politics. No posturing. Just the blade and the question."
He spread his arms wide. The sand around them rippled copies shifting, dunes rising higher, the arena reshaping itself into a perfect coliseum ringed by golden walls.
"Then let's see how far the boy has come," Crocodile said. "Because if he survives me… if he survives all of us… maybe just maybe he'll finally be worth that three billion."
Mihawk rested one hand on Yoru's hilt. The black blade hummed faintly, as though eager.
"Perhaps."
He stepped forward.
The copies closed in.
A thousand Crocodiles against one man.
And somewhere deeper in the temple, the fruit that bent sight waited its pulse quickening, as though it, too, could sense the storm about to break.