New World, latter half of the Grand Line — Headquarters of the World Economic News Agency.

A bird wearing a tall top hat paced restlessly in front of a giant bulletin board, wings tucked behind its back.

“Is there no big news lately? Why has the world gone so quiet?! What are the Four Emperors doing? And the Seven Warlords? Why is everyone so silent?!”

This bird was Morgans, president of the World Economic News Paper Agency.

He was the Bird-Bird Fruit, Model: Albatross Zoan-type Devil Fruit user. Most of the time, he kept this form, and very few people had ever seen his true appearance.

The staff around him didn’t dare make a sound, each nervously flipping through documents in silence.

Morgans stared in frustration at the declining newspaper sales. After a moment, his eyes gleamed with an idea.

“If there’s no news in the Grand Line, then we’ll look outside the Grand Line!”

“President, with all due respect…” one reporter hesitated. “Will anyone care about news from outside the Grand Line?”

Morgans slammed a wing on the desk.

“Whether they care depends on the headline! The quieter a region is, the more shocking a big story becomes. The contrast is what grabs attention!”

“…That makes sense.” Another staffer flipped through some documents and pulled something out. “Here are some recent top headlines faxed from our South and East Blue branches. Please have a look, sir—see if anything catches your eye.”

Morgans grabbed the papers and skimmed through them one by one, growing more and more irritated. His movements became increasingly impatient.

The staff below grew tense, avoiding his gaze altogether.

Suddenly, Morgans let out a surprised “Hmm?”

He sat down and opened one particular file, studying it for several minutes before setting it down.

“Take a look at this, all of you.”

The documents were passed around the newsroom. One by one, the staff read through them—and their expressions grew increasingly strange.

“The Most Wanted Criminal in the East Blue?!”

“Davy Jones—same name as the legendary ‘Demon of the Deep’—murders a Marine branch captain?!”

“Underworld black market destroyed! Devil Fruit stolen! A coalition of infamous pirates formed—what is this fishman planning?!”

At the end of the file were three updated wanted posters:

“Iron Mace” Alvida — 15 million Berries!

“Clown” Buggy — 25 million Berries!

“Deep Sea Reaper” Davy Jones — 50 million Berries!

Buggy and Alvida’s bounties had each increased by 10 million, while Davy Jones’s had jumped by 20 million.

All thanks to their brutal raid on the black market just a few days ago.

While the black market wasn’t officially protected under World Government law, most who participated wielded influence across both the criminal underworld and legitimate spheres in the East Blue.

So when Marine Headquarters on the Grand Line received a full report from the East Blue branch, they bumped up the bounties accordingly.

Still, compared to the Grand Line, bounties like these were laughable—hence the odd looks from the newsroom staff.

Pirates like these? The Grand Line is full of them. What’s there to report?

Morgans glanced across their faces and instantly understood their thoughts. He pressed a wing against his top hat and sighed.

“I know what you’re all thinking.” Morgans crossed his legs and rested them on the meeting table. “But your perspective is far too shallow.”

“First off, the bounty amount isn’t the most important part here. What matters is how quickly it’s increasing. Take a good look.”

The staff flipped back through the files, checking when Davy Jones had first been issued a bounty—and were stunned.

What?!

Davy Jones had only received his first bounty a month ago.

In just thirty days, his bounty had been updated twice, rising from 25 million to 50 million Berries—doubling in a single month.

What kind of criminal rises that fast?!

Even more, both Buggy and Alvida—his new subordinates—had also seen their bounties spike.

“So what were those lazy East Blue reporters doing?” Morgans muttered. “This guy even shares a name with a mythical sea devil. That alone is a marketing goldmine! How could they overlook this?!”

The staff nodded quickly—clearly, the president’s instincts for big headlines were razor-sharp.

Morgans flapped his wings dramatically and barked:

“Start gathering every bit of intel on Davy Jones—rumor or fact, it doesn’t matter. Just collect it all!”

“Yes, President!” the staff replied in unison, energized.

Morgans turned back to the three bounty posters, a greedy and cunning smile forming on his beak.

“I’ve already got the headline picked out…”

‘The East Blue’s Fastest-Rising Criminal—Is He the Legendary Davy Jones of the Deep?!’

‘Davy Jones Declares War?! A Demon Fishman Aiming to Seize Control of the Seas and Defy the World Government!’

“Hahahahaha…”

He burst into laughter.

The next two editions of the newspaper were guaranteed to be bestsellers.

—

East Blue.

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon.

The Terror Ghost sailed beneath a gloomy sky, but there was neither storm nor fog this time.

Davy Jones stood beside the helm—not touching it, for he could steer the ship with his will alone.

Alvida stood at the bow, letting the sea breeze blow through her hair.

Back in Davy Jones’s original world, having a woman aboard a ship was considered a bad omen. But he had already been cursed, and now he gave curses to others. Such superstition meant little to him.

He had no bias against Alvida.

In fact, since her loyalty, she had become one of the most reliable members aboard the Terror Ghost—far more dependable than either Buggy or Kuro.

Buggy was holed up in the ship’s workshop, crafting his custom Buggy Bombs. He had already completed four.

That was pretty fast, considering he now worked alone, without the support of a full crew.

Fortunately, materials were abundant.

Kuro was in the crow’s nest, stationed for lookout duty.

He still wore his suit, one hand supporting his glasses, his face dark and unreadable as he stared out at the sea.

The wound on his left chest had already been dressed—by Davy Jones.

In fact, the treatment was unique: Davy Jones had torn off a small piece of the Terror Ghost itself and used it to cover Kuro’s wound.

That piece of the ship quickly solidified into a shell-like plate, and then began growing fungal tendrils inside Kuro’s body, taking root and bonding to his flesh.

With every breath and heartbeat, Kuro could feel the foreign object shifting inside him—a sensation that sent chills through his bones.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew Davy Jones would never let his guard down. That shell on his chest wasn’t a bandage—it was a shackle.

Don’t make a move until you’re fully prepared.

That was the warning Kuro kept telling himself.

As for the ship’s course—it had barely changed over the last few days, aside from detouring to “feed.”

Their heading was fixed:

Reverse Mountain, the gateway to the Grand Line.

If things stayed on schedule, they’d reach the base of the Red Line’s massive mountain range in just over a week.

Kuro knew: the closer they got to Reverse Mountain, the further he was from his dream of peaceful retirement.

But there was nothing he could do.

Anyone who defied Davy Jones either had to offer him something valuable, or die.

So for now, Kuro would endure.

Just then, he spotted something unusual on the sea’s surface. After confirming it with his spyglass, he calmly stepped out of the lookout post and called down:

“Captain.”

Davy Jones was studying a nautical chart. Hearing Kuro’s voice, he looked up at the crow’s nest.

“What is it?”

“Naval forces engaging pirates ahead. Three warships chasing two pirate vessels.” Kuro leaned over the railing. “Captain, how do you want to handle it?”

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