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In a secluded corner of a certain island, a massive ship could be seen anchored—a vessel shaped like a whale. It was none other than the Moby Dick, the legendary flagship of Whitebeard, the Strongest Man in the World.

On the ship, within a spacious and imposing room, Whitebeard sat on a massive throne-like chair. His large frame was connected to various medical apparatuses—tubes and devices that aided his battered and aging body. Despite his immense power, the toll of decades of battle was evident. He was asleep, his breathing steady but heavy.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Marco, the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, stepped inside. His usual composed demeanor faltered for a brief moment as he saw his father figure in such a vulnerable state. A pang of sorrow gripped Marco's heart, but he quickly masked his emotions, knowing that pity was the last thing Whitebeard would want.

"Dad," Marco called out softly, his voice steady but filled with concern.

Whitebeard's eyes slowly opened, his sharp gaze immediately focusing on his son. Despite the fatigue visible in his features, his presence remained commanding, a testament to the indomitable spirit of Edward Newgate.

"What is it, Marco?" Whitebeard's deep, rumbling voice resonated through the room as he shifted slightly in his seat, his towering frame casting a long shadow.

Marco took a step closer, his brows furrowed. "We've received reports, Dad. The New World is stirring. There's been unusual movement from the Marines… and Cipher Pol seems to be more active than ever. I think something big is brewing."

Whitebeard grunted, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. "The Marines… stirring up trouble, eh? Those fools never learn." He adjusted one of the tubes attached to his arm, his massive hand dwarfing the equipment. "What else, Marco?"

Marco hesitated for a moment. "There's also news about a new crew—the Hell Prince Pirates. Their captain, Dave, has been making waves. Rumor has it he's as strong as a Yonko, and his crew includes powerful fighters like Enel and Silvers Rayleigh."

Whitebeard raised an eyebrow at that. "Silvers Rayleigh? That old coot's sailing again?"

Marco nodded. "Seems so. And they've been sighted near Sphinx Island."

At the mention of his homeland, Whitebeard's eyes narrowed, a flicker of concern passing over his face. "Sphinx Island… my home. If they lay a finger on it—"

"Dad," Marco interrupted gently but firmly, "there's no indication they mean harm. From what we've heard, they helped the islanders. Replanted trees, cleared water sources… it seems they're not your typical pirates."

Whitebeard leaned back, his massive frame creaking the chair slightly. "Hmph. Not your typical pirates, you say? Then what do they want in the New World?"

"That's unclear," Marco admitted. "But if they're this strong, they could disrupt the balance. The Marines are probably keeping an eye on them for the same reason."

Whitebeard stroked his chin thoughtfully, his expression turning grim. "The New World is no place for idealists or fools. If this Dave thinks he can play the hero here, he'll learn the hard way."

Marco nodded, though a part of him was intrigued by the Hell Prince Pirates. In a world dominated by power struggles, they seemed to walk a different path. But whether that path would lead them to allies or enemies remained to be seen.

"Anything else, Marco?" Whitebeard asked, his tone softening slightly.

Marco hesitated again, then shook his head. "No, Dad. Just thought you should know."

Whitebeard closed his eyes, leaning back into his chair. "Good work, my son. Keep an eye on things. The New World's about to get even more chaotic."

"Yes, Dad," Marco said, bowing slightly before leaving the room. As he stepped outside, he looked up at the night sky, his thoughts swirling. The Hell Prince Pirates, the Marines, Cipher Pol—all were pieces on a board that was becoming increasingly difficult to read.

Marco froze mid-step when Whitebeard's deep voice resonated through the room again.

"Hmm, by the way, are they still staying at Sphinx Island?" Whitebeard asked, his tone seemingly casual but laced with intent.

"Yes," Marco confirmed, turning slightly to face him.

Whitebeard leaned back, a grin spreading across his face. Despite the fatigue that his body carried, his spirit was as lively as ever. "Very well. Get ready to sail. I'd like to meet this Dave," he said, his laughter booming through the room like a rumbling storm.

Marco's heart sank for a moment. Seeing his father like this—filled with energy and determination—was a relief. Yet, there was something in his laughter, a certain edge, that made Marco worry. Was this meeting meant as an introduction, or a challenge?

Still, Marco nodded, masking his apprehension as best as he could. "Understood, Dad. I'll make the arrangements."

He left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. Outside, Marco paused, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Is he planning to fight them? Or is it just his way of assessing potential allies?" he muttered under his breath.

With a resigned sigh, Marco headed toward the deck, where the crew was busy with their daily routines. His commanding presence quickly drew attention, and the chatter quieted.

"Listen up, everyone!" Marco called out, his voice carrying authority. "We're setting sail for Sphinx Island. Make preparations immediately!"

The crew exchanged surprised glances, but no one questioned the order. They trusted Marco and their captain implicitly. Soon, the deck erupted into activity as the Whitebeard Pirates began readying the Moby Dick for departure.

Back on Sphinx Island

Dave stood on the cliff's edge, gazing out at the horizon. The salty sea breeze whipped around him, carrying with it the faint cries of seagulls. His golden hair shimmered under the sunlight, and his eyes held a contemplative glint.

Behind him, his crew was busy with their own tasks. Enel lounged lazily under the shade of a tree, occasionally sparking small bolts of electricity to entertain himself. Rayleigh, ever the mentor, sparred with Kaito, offering the boy tips on combat stances and strategy. Tony was in the ship's engine room, tinkering with upgrades to enhance their vessel's capabilities. Shakky observed everything from the sidelines, a cigarette perched between her lips, her sharp gaze missing nothing.

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