Port Roana. A sub-basement of the Underground Black Market.
The air was thick with the stench of cheap tobacco and stale sweat. A bloated merchant wiped his forehead with a trembling hand, pushing two heavy black suitcases across a scarred wooden table.
"Forty million Berries," the merchant croaked. "I gave you the absolute best rate for the jewels. Please... just take it and go."
Across the table, the 2.4-meter-tall Sabo sat in a deep blue tailcoat, his legs crossed with effortless elegance. He didn't count the money. He simply flicked the latches, verified the stacks, and snapped them shut.
"A pleasure," Sabo said, adjusting his top hat. His voice was gentle, yet it carried a weight of authority that made the merchant's skin crawl. "And the medical kits? The Grand Line charts?"
"All ready! Sent them through the secret tunnel to your berth already!"
"Excellent." Sabo stood and walked out of the den of greed with the calm stride of a nobleman. As the First Mate of the Black Eclipse, he was already a master of high-stakes logistics.
Thirty minutes later. The Private Berth.
Sabo stepped onto the deck and paused. The dock was a graveyard of unconscious Syndicate thugs. Buggy, the "Chief Steward," was currently squatting over them, expertly rifling through their pockets.
"Pathetic... not even a silver ring? Who calls themselves a gangster with only three Berries in their pocket?" Buggy grumbled, stuffing a handful of loose change and a cheap pocket watch into his own coat. Even a mosquito's leg is meat—this was his "overtime" pay.
"Buggy, report," Sabo said, stepping over a pile of bodies.
"First Mate! You're back!" Buggy scrambled up, hiding his loot and putting on a fawning grin. "Just some local trash trying to scratch the paint. I swept them away like autumn leaves! Also... the Captain brought a purple-haired woman into the lounge."
"A woman?" Sabo's eyes sharpened. Ace wasn't the type to be distracted by beauty. If she was on the ship, she had a purpose.
Sabo pushed open the lounge doors.
An intense wave of heat and the mouth-watering aroma of roasted sea-beast meat hit him like a physical blow. Under the bright chandeliers, he saw the purple-haired girl kneeling on the carpet, her eyes wide as she stared at a mounded pile of gold bars.
Ace sat in a massive armchair, his upper body bare. His skin was flushing deep red, emitting clouds of scorching white steam.
In the hour Sabo had been gone, Ace had been performing "Metabolic Overdrive Training"—brutally tearing his own muscle fibers through pure physical force, only for the Suzaku's divine fire to instantly knit them back together denser and stronger. It was a self-abusive cycle that condensed months of training into minutes.
The cost, however, was a black-hole level of hunger. Ace was currently devouring a leg of sea-beast meat thicker than a man's thigh, swallowing massive calories to fuel his cell-restoration.
"You're late, Sabo," Ace said, tossing a giant bone into the bin and wiping his mouth. The steam slowly subsided into his skin.
"The black market likes to haggle. I had to be... persuasive," Sabo smiled, setting the suitcases down. "Forty million in cash, plus the charts for the Grand Line."
At the mention of "Forty million," Carina's ears perked up like a fox smelling a kill. Her gaze locked onto the cases with surgical precision.
"Sabo, meet Carina," Ace said, his blood-heat finally cooling. "Our new Purser and Spymaster. She's on probation."
"A Purser?" Sabo looked at the girl, a flash of surprise in his eyes. He trusted Ace's judgment implicitly. He placed the cases in front of her. "Since you're the money-manager, I'll let you verify these accounts. I'm Sabo, the First Mate."
Carina was reeling. What kind of ship is this? The First Mate had the aura of a Grand Line warlord, and the Captain was a literal engine of divine fire who ate like a monster. This wasn't a crew—it was a nest of apex predators.
But when it came to Berries, her professional instincts took over. She snapped open the cases, her fingers blurring over the stacks like a master pianist. She calculated exchange rates, jewelry purity, and market loss in her head.
Less than a minute later.
"The cash is perfect," Carina said, her voice filled with genuine professional respect as she looked at Sabo. "To get this rate in Port Roana... First Mate, your 'negotiation' must have been very violent."
Sabo only smiled.
"Money is just the foundation," Ace said, pulling on a black shirt. His dark eyes locked onto Carina. "I want to see the intelligence network you promised. We're heading for the Grand Line. Map out our path. Show me your value."
Carina's posture shifted. The "Thief" vanished, replaced by a cold, shrewd strategist. She spread a map across the coffee table, her eyes scanning the blue expanse.
"Sailing south to Reverse Mountain is the fastest way, but it's a waste," she said, her finger tracing a zigzag line. "You'd hit the Marine 16th Branch blockade and pass nothing but barren rocks. If this ship is about 'Ultimate Quality,' then we take the Golden Route."
Her finger stopped at a specific coordinate.
"Here. The Floating Restaurant, Baratie."
A spark of recognition flared in Ace's eyes. Sanji.
"The Baratie is the peak of East Blue dining," Carina continued. "The chefs are all violent combatants, but the food is legendary. Because of that, it's the crossroads of the sea. Merchants, bounty hunters, and elite pirates all eat there. It is the single largest hub for underground information in this sea."
She looked up at Ace, her gaze burning. "Go there, and we get the latest Grand Line intel, find out which 'Big Names' are moving, and—most importantly—you can scout for a real cook. A crew like this can't keep eating charred sea-beast legs."
Sabo nodded. The girl was sharp. She'd identified their logistical hole immediately.
Ace looked at the map. He didn't need the intel, but he desperately needed a cook. The Suzaku fruit's hunger was becoming a problem; if he didn't get high-quality nutrition soon, he'd burn through his own muscle mass.
"Perfect," Ace stood up, his presence filling the cabin with an unshakable sense of command. "Probation continues. I'm satisfied for now."
He walked out onto the deck, his voice ringing through the night air.
"Buggy! Stop looting that trash! Clean the deck and weigh anchor!"
Ace looked toward the horizon, a predatory smile on his face.
"Target: The Baratie. Let's see if the 'Black Leg' is as good as the legends say."