The ocean breeze, thick with the scent of salt, roasting sea king, and spilled sake, carried laughter across the sprawling deck of the Moby Dick. The flagship of the Whitebeard Pirates was always a place of boisterous life, but today, the very air hummed with a different kind of energy—a sacred, joyous reverence.
Something was fundamentally different.
The great throne, carved from the trunk of a colossal Adam Wood tree, had always been Whitebeard's alone. It was more than a seat; it was a symbol of absolute power and paternal authority, a perch from which the King of the Seas watched over his domain. No soul, not even his most trusted commanders, ever dared to touch it.
Until today.
Seated upon it was Smoothie. She was dressed not in her usual battle attire, but in an elegant, flowing robe of shimmering silver and sea-green silk that cascaded around her. Her long, ethereal white hair, usually free, was tied back in a thick, intricate braid that fell over one shoulder. She looked every bit the queen, yet her smile was nervous, her hands resting protectively on her belly. The belly was no longer a secret, no longer hidden by layers of loose clothing. It was round and heavy, a proud, undeniable sphere of life, nearly ready to greet the world.
Below her, seated cross-legged on the deck like one of his sons, was Whitebeard himself. The giant of a man looked impossibly content, a house-sized jug of his finest sake held loosely in one massive hand. His thunderous laugh boomed across the ship. The rest of the crew—hundreds of them—were a sea of smiling faces, perched on crates, barrels, or simply sitting on the planks, their own tankards raised in perpetual toast.
"Oi, oi… would you look at her up there," Thatch grinned, nudging the swordsman Vista with his elbow. "She's already claimed the throne. Queen of the seas."
Vista chuckled, adjusting his top hat. "She has the presence for it. And the captain's permission."
Smoothie's smile widened, a blush coloring her cheeks. This warmth was still foreign, different from fear-based affection of her own mother's court. Here, she was not a political asset or a general. She was family.
"It's been a long time since a child was born on this ship," Marco said from his position near Whitebeard, his tone soft and filled with a rare, gentle awe. "A real child of our own. We've adopted hundreds of sons, taken in strays from every corner of the world… but this is different. This is one born to the crew. Born of our blood."
Whitebeard's grin stretched wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Gurararara! All these years, I have been a father to hundreds… and I have loved every one of them as my own! But now… now there is finally one who will call me grandfather."
A deafening roar erupted from the crew. Tankards slammed together, sake sloshed onto the deck, and cheers echoed into the endless blue sky.
"Does that mean I'm officially an uncle?" Izou asked, a rare, wide grin on his usually composed face.
Marco puffed out his chest proudly, giving a mock salute. "First Mate Uncle Marco, reporting for duty, yoi."
"And what does that make me?!" shouted Rakuyo, swinging his spiked flail excitedly. "The super cool fighting cousin?!"
"You're the weird uncle we don't let hold the baby," Namur, the fish-man, murmured from his spot in a large tub of water, earning a wave of laughter that shook the very planks of the ship.
Haruta, ever the bundle of energy, did a happy twirl. "We need to get to work! I'll knit a baby blanket! A tiny one with Pops' crescent moon mustache on it! And another one with little blue flames!"
Through eyes shimmering with unshed tears, Smoothie laughed, overwhelmed by the sheer, unconditional love pouring over her. She looked down at Gunnar, who was leaning casually against Whitebeard's leg, a proud, goofy grin plastered on his face.
Marco stepped closer, his expression shifting to the focused gaze of a doctor. "She's seven months in, by my estimation. She's strong, so it didn't show much early on, but her body's finally catching up. One more month, maybe two at the most… and we'll be welcoming a new member to this family."
"You hear that, Pops?" Gunnar grinned, clapping a hand on the giant's knee. "Soon enough, this ship's gonna have a baby's crying to join the sound of cannon fire and drunken singing."
Whitebeard raised his enormous jug to the sky, his voice a force of nature.
"A toast! To the fire in our blood and the future in our veins! To the next generation!" he bellowed.
The crew roared as one, a single, thunderous voice. "TO THE NEXT GENERATION!"
Amidst the joyful chaos, Smoothie's gaze found Gunnar's. Their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, the world fell away. In the maelstrom of the New World, of emperors and politics, of Devil Fruits and ancient wars—this single, perfect moment was theirs. Pure, untainted, and real.
---
Inside the grand, saccharine fortress of the Whole Cake Chateau, the air was thick with the cloying sweetness of sugar and the sharp bite of spiced rum. Sentient chess soldiers stood guard, their stone faces impassive, while torches held by animated candelabras flickered along the glistening, edible walls.
Big Mom, the Empress Charlotte Linlin, sat slumped on her throne of sweets. A massive, ornate goblet of spiced rum was clutched in her hand, her face flushed and dangerously volatile. Lounging on a plush candy divan across from her was Shiki, the Golden Lion. He held a sake gourd in one hand and a thoroughly amused smirk in the other.
"You let one of your prized daughters marry Whitebeard's upstart brat," he teased, taking a long pull from his gourd. "And you didn't even think to send your old friend an invitation? I'm hurt, Linlin."
Big Mom slammed her goblet down on the arm of her throne with enough force to crack the hardened caramel. "That girl ran off! She is a disgrace! She rejected every brilliant political marriage I offered her and then disappeared like a fart in the wind!"
Shiki threw his head back and laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Wahahaha! Well… I saw her. Aboard the Moby Dick. Happy as a clam and sitting right on Whitebeard's throne, with Gunnar doting on her like a lost puppy." He paused, letting the information sink in before delivering the final blow. "She's pregnant."
Big Mom froze mid-rant, her crazed eyes widening. The manic energy drained from her face, replaced by a still, focused intensity.
"…Pregnant?" she whispered, the word barely audible.
"With his child," Shiki confirmed, nodding slowly. "By my math, you've got a grandkid on the way. The first of a new generation with the blood of two emperors."
A moment of thick, heavy silence hung in the throne room. Then, it was shattered by a sound more terrifying than any scream. A slow, building rumble that erupted into thunderous, manic laughter.
"MAMAMAMAMA! So that's her game! The little witch defies me at every turn, spits on my plans, and then goes and secures the most powerful alliance of all right in the middle of Whitebeard's damn ship! My daughter! That's my girl!"
Shiki poured himself more sake, watching her with calculating eyes. "So, you're not angry?"
"Oh, I'm furious!" she roared, her smile twisting into a predatory snarl. "But I'm also proud! Now, are you planning to retrieve her? Because no daughter of mine gets away with such a stunt that easily. She belongs here."
"Hmm," Shiki mused, stroking his wild, golden beard. "You won't be able to just waltz over and pull her out of there, Linlin. Not with Whitebeard himself standing guard. Not a chance in hell. That man would sink your entire fleet for looking at his family the wrong way."
Big Mom's face soured, her massive jaw clenching. He was right, and she hated it.
"I didn't just come here to gossip," Shiki said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I came because the world is getting boring. It's time for a change. I want an alliance. You and me. Like the old days. The chaos of the Rocks, reborn under our command."
Big Mom's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And you plan to use my daughter, my grandchild, as a pawn for it?"
Shiki shrugged, a glint in his eye. "Think of it, Linlin. That child… it carries Whitebeard's bloodline. It is a bridge between giants. Our alliance, with that child as a focal point… it could even mean peace between us and him. A triumvirate of the old guard, ruling the seas."
Big Mom sat back, her enormous mind churning, possibilities and plots swirling like a storm. "You think that old fool would agree to an alliance… because of a baby?"
"It's possible," Shiki said. "He's sentimental. And even if he refuses, the child gives us leverage. Power. You want Smoothie and your grandchild back under your control. I want to shatter the current balance of power. With our combined might, we get both."
Big Mom licked her lips, a hungry, ambitious fire lighting her eyes. The taste of victory was sweeter than any cake.
"Alright, Golden Lion," she rumbled, her voice a promise of destruction. "I'm in."
And thus, in the shadowy, cloying heart of Whole Cake Island, a new nightmare was born.
Shiki. Big Mom. United.
---
Back on the Moby Dick – Evening
The sun dipped low, a molten orb bleeding crimson and gold across the ocean's surface. Gunnar stood at the prow of the ship, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade, his sunglasses catching the last, fiery rays of light.
He looked out over the sea, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Toward the direction of Whole Cake Island.
The joyous sounds of the party still echoed from the deck behind him—the laughter of his family, the celebration of new life. But ahead, where the sky met the water, he felt a gathering darkness. The air was quiet, but something in his bones, itched with a cold premonition.
A storm was brewing.
He exhaled slowly, a plume of white mist in the cooling air. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white.
"This family… they are mine," he muttered to the vast, indifferent sea. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You can come at me with gods and emperors, with armies and legends. I will break you all."
And the wind, as if hearing his vow, carried it into the encroaching dusk.