Two Months Later – Whitebeard's Ship, Infirmary Quarters
The air in the infirmary, usually smelling of antiseptic and clean linen, now tasted of salt and anxious sweat. Marco leaned forward, his slender fingers gently pressing on Smoothie's wrist, his brows knitted in a mask of intense focus. The rhythmic, powerful beat of her pulse reassured him, but her breathing was shallow, labored. He looked up at Gunnar, his expression grim but steady.
"This week, for sure," Marco said, his voice a low, serious murmur. "Her body is preparing. Stay vigilant. She's nearing the final stretch, and it could happen at any time."
Gunnar hadn't left her side for three days. He sat on a stool beside the bed, gently brushing stray strands of damp, white hair from her forehead. Her skin, usually so vibrant, was pale and glistened faintly with sweat. Dark, bruised circles had formed beneath her eyes. She had grown quieter over the past week, the sheer fatigue of creating new life heavy in every breath.
She stirred slowly, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her eyes, the color of amethysts, blinked open, and her hand went instinctively to her swollen, taut belly. Gunnar leaned closer, his large frame a comforting shadow.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice rough but gentle. "Feeling any better?"
"Like I wrestled a Sea King and lost," she murmured, her voice hoarse. A weak, tired smile touched her lips. "But the baby kicked just now. A strong one. That means she's doing well."
Gunnar smirked, a flash of his usual cockiness. "He."
She looked at him sideways, a flicker of her old fire in her gaze. "Oh? You're so certain you want a girl?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she'd come to recognize as his tell for sincerity. "If I had to choose... yeah. A little girl. I want one I can spoil rotten. One with your ferocity and your eyes, so I can lose every argument and be happy about it."
A genuine, soft chuckle escaped Smoothie. "I was hoping for a boy. One with your reckless heart and that stupid grin you get before you run headfirst into a wall. Someone to keep you on your toes."
"So we agree," Gunnar said, taking her hand in his. His calloused palm dwarfed hers. "No matter who comes out, we'll love them more than the sea itself."
"Thank you, my brave, sentimental husband," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. Suddenly, her body tensed. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and she clutched her belly, her knuckles turning white.
The first true contraction hit like a cannonball.
With that smoothie fell into unconsciousness. It was normal, from medicine doses she got just now from Marco.
---
Deck of Moby Dick – Late Afternoon
A deceptive peace lay over the flagship. Whitebeard snored gently in his throne-like seat, the massive bisento, Murakumogiri, resting beside him like a sleeping titan. Ace leaned against the rail, idly tracing patterns on the wood with a fingertip of flame, one eye on the horizon. Nearby, Isshin sat cross-legged, polishing his katana with the calm, repetitive movements of a monk in meditation.
Suddenly, a wind howled through the ship—a sharp, unnatural scream that carried the scent of ozone and burnt sugar. The ocean, calm moments before, began to tremble and convulse. Waves surged against the hull, angry and chaotic.
Whitebeard's eyes snapped open. They held no trace of sleep, only the cold, hard clarity of an emperor sensing a challenge. His Haki flared, a silent, crushing pressure that washed over the deck.
"Everyone! Battle stations!"
His command rumbled across the ship not like an order, but like a force of nature. There was no panic. Only lethal efficiency. Within seconds, pirates scrambled to their positions. The sound of cannons being unlocked, rifles being cocked, and steel being drawn filled the air. Jozu stood at the prow, his body already shimmering with diamond. Thatch and Vista stood back-to-back, blades drawn. The Moby Dick had transformed from a home into a fortress.
Below deck, the ship shuddered violently. Smoothie cried out, clutching her belly as another wave of pain washed over her.
Gunnar stood, as calm and immovable as a glacier in a volcano. He placed a hand gently over hers, his touch grounding her. "Sleep Well. I'm here. No one gets through me."
He grabbed a heavy wooden chair, positioned it to face the wide infirmary entrance, and sat down slowly. He crossed his arms over his chest, his black sunglasses reflecting the flickering torchlight, making him an impassive, terrifying silhouette.
"Let's see who's dumb enough to knock."
---
Marine HQ – Sengoku's Office
"It's Big Mom, Fleet Admiral! Her entire fleet is moving!" a pale-faced officer reported breathlessly, stumbling into the room.
Sengoku adjusted his glasses, his expression grim. "Figures. The child's birth is imminent."
The officer hesitated, swallowing hard. "And... sir, there's more. Shiki the Golden Lion's fleet is with her."
A profound silence descended upon the office.
Garp, who had been lounging on the couch, let out a long, low whistle. "Now that's a damn reunion. The old Rocks crew is getting back together for a baby shower."
Sengoku's jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "This isn't a reunion, Garp. It's an alliance. A child born of two Yonko bloodlines, with another legendary pirate backing them. If they combine forces, the world balance doesn't just shift—it collapses entirely."
Garp leaned back, his usual nonchalance tinged with something more serious. "Too many variables, Sengoku. One crazy kid, two insane parents, and a world that's already tired of their games."
"Which is why," Sengoku said, his voice dropping to a cold, pragmatic tone, "we must end the variable before it can be calculated."
Garp stopped smiling. He slowly sat up. "Don't say it, Sengoku."
"For the sake of global peace and stability," Sengoku declared, his voice devoid of emotion, "Charlotte Smoothie and the unborn child must be eliminated. Now."
Garp's face, for the first time, was a mask of cold fury. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The laughter was gone.
Sengoku ignored him, picking up the golden den den mushi reserved for the Admirals. "Kizaru."
---
Den Den Mushi Transmission
"Ooooh my, such a delicate and time-sensitive mission," Kizaru's lazy, drawling voice echoed through the snail, which had perfectly mimicked his insouciant expression.
"This is not a game, Borsalino," Sengoku barked. "You are to proceed to the Moby Dick's location at maximum speed. Your objective is singular: eliminate Charlotte Smoothie. The child must not be born."
"And what if the legendary Whitebeard is there?" Kizaru asked, a note of amused curiosity in his voice. "That could be... veeeery troublesome."
Sengoku's voice was ice. "Then don't get caught."
---
Marine HQ Balcony
Kizaru stood on the high ledge overlooking the sea, the golden light of dusk dancing across his pinstriped suit. His body began to shimmer, breaking apart into countless glowing photons, particles of pure light sparkling and swirling around him.
"Tsk... what a troublesome little family," he muttered to himself, his voice a distorted echo of light and sound.
Then, with a soundless hiss, he vanished, streaking toward the horizon as a living laser, a golden comet of death aimed at the heart of the Whitebeard Pirates.
---
On the Horizon – Near Whitebeard Territory
The sky, clear just moments ago, was torn open. It didn't darken, it was shattered, replaced by a brooding, swirling vortex of black storm clouds. Lightning, both natural and sentient, crackled and writhed. Prometheus the sun and Zeus the thundercloud danced in the heavens, heralding the arrival of their mother.
Then, from the swirling clouds, they descended.
A levitating armada.
Big Mom's fleet, a grotesque parade of ships decorated with grinning candy skulls and twisted, malevolent frosting, floated down from the heavens like descending, hungry gods, held aloft by an unseen force.
But it was not just ships.
Orbiting the fleet like malevolent moons were dozens of massive meteors, ripped from some unknown island and held in the sky as war weapons.
A cackling, guttural laugh, deep and rumbling, echoed through the air, shaking the very sea.
"Worororororo! Long time no see, Newgate!" Shiki's unmistakable voice boomed.
And then another, higher, maniacal shriek followed, filled with deranged, maternal glee.
"MAMAMAMAMA! IT'S TIME TO WELCOME OUR NEW GRANDCHILD TO THE WORLD!"
The sky broke apart as the unholy alliance of Big Mom and Shiki descended upon the Moby Dick like the wrath of gods, here to witness a birth and begin a war.