The World Economy News Paper headquarters was never silent, not even in the dead of night. The massive, bustling newsroom operated like a beast with a thousand mouths, constantly fed new information from the farthest corners of the world. But tonight, there was something in the air—an electric charge that sent reporters scurrying, typewriters clacking, and Den Den Mushi buzzing with urgency.
At the center of it all, perched in his grand office, was Big News Morgans.
The massive albatross mink sat at his desk, sharp talons drumming against the mahogany surface as he scanned the latest reports. His beady eyes gleamed behind his thick round glasses, his sharp beak clicking in anticipation.
"Boss!" A frantic reporter burst into the room, breathless and wild-eyed. "You're not gonna believe this! We've got a confirmed sighting of him!"
Morgans didn't look up immediately. He was a patient bird, but his feathers ruffled at the excitement in his underling's voice. "Which him, Jenkins?" he asked, though deep down, he already had a feeling.
The journalist smacked a fresh report onto the desk, panting. "Sir Crocodile. He's back. And he wasn't hiding in some backwater, either—he made a scene in Serapha."
The room was silent for exactly two seconds before Morgans let out a sharp, delighted laugh, his massive wings flaring slightly. "Gyahahaha! Now that's what I like to hear!"
He snatched up the report with a swift motion, eyes scanning the details. His grin widened with every line he read. "Parading through the wealthiest streets of Serapha, strutting around a casino like he never lost a damn thing—and with a woman on his arm?"
He slammed the paper down with a thud, rattling his inkwell.
"Get me everything on this woman!" he barked, already imagining the headlines. "Who is she? Where did she come from? What's her connection to Crocodile? Is she a business partner, a new Shichibukai queen, or just another pretty thing he's sunk his claws into?"
Jenkins gulped. "Sir, no one's entirely sure yet. The sources say she carries herself like nobility, but she's not one of the usual high-profile players in the Grand Line."
Morgans' beak clicked thoughtfully. "Not the usual suspects, huh? Interesting. That means she is someone, but she's been operating in the shadows." His mind raced, already piecing together theories.
He grabbed his Den Den Mushi, turning the receiver toward his beak. "Start digging! I want records, history, bounties if she's got one! And get me eyes in Serapha—if Crocodile's re-emerging, that means something big is brewing. We get ahead of this, we own the damn story!"
"Yes, sir!" The room burst into action, reporters scrambling, phone lines lighting up like a festival.
Morgans leaned back in his chair, his grin stretching wide.
"Sir Crocodile, back in the public eye... This changes everything."
His mind raced with possibilities.
The last time Crocodile was seen, he had been licking his wounds from the Marineford War, his empire in shambles. He had vanished, as many had expected, swallowed up by the chaos of the New Era. But if he was back now—and not just back, but bold—then something was stirring in the underworld.
And Morgans was going to be the first to get the full story.
He tapped his talons on the desk, the headline already forming in his mind.
"Sir Crocodile Resurfaces! But Who Is The Mystery Woman At His Side?"
Oh, this was going to sell millions.
The moment Big News Morgans published the story, it spread like wildfire. Copies of theWorld Economy News Paperwere snatched up at an unprecedented rate, the headline a bold, tantalizing mystery:
"SIR CROCODILE RESURFACES! BUT WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN AT HIS SIDE?"
Beneath it, a captured Den Den Mushi image—grainy yet unmistakable—showed Crocodile strolling through Serapha's grand district, his signature cigar in one hand, the other resting with uncharacteristic ease against the arm of a striking woman draped in crimson and gold. The details of their night at the casino were laid out in precise, tantalizing detail.
For some, this was nothing more than another scandalous piece of gossip.
For others, this was a declaration.
And the world was listening.
n the shadows of the underworld, whispers ignited like sparks in dry grass.
The air in these places always smelled of smoke, salt, and spilled rum—the lifeblood of pirates, mercenaries, and black-market dealers who thrived beyond the reach of law. Tonight, however, the usual hum of low conversations and clinking glasses carried a different energy. Names, once spoken in hushed tones, now slipped from tongues with renewed weight.
Crocodile.
A name that had haunted the Grand Line like a desert storm—sudden, devastating, and impossible to escape. Though whispers of his defeat in Alabasta had dimmed his legend, those who knew the underworld understood that a man like him never truly vanished. He had simply been waiting, buried beneath the sands of time until the right moment to rise again.
And now, that moment had come.
But this time, he did not rise alone.
It was the woman beside him who fueled countless questions. Her presence beside Crocodile stirred curiosity and unease alike. To walk so closely with the former warlord—to be seen with him in Serapha's wealthiest district, arm-in-arm and unflinching—was no coincidence. In a world where alliances were forged with blood and ambition, such proximity meant power.
And power, in the underworld, was always dangerous.
In the smoky depths of Spider Miles—a city where shadows clung to the walls like old sins—a crooked broker sat hunched over a table stained with ale and ash. A single lantern swung overhead, casting erratic shadows across the warped wood and cracked plaster of the tavern's back room. The air reeked of pipe smoke and unwashed bodies, but the broker paid it no mind. His jagged grin gleamed as he slapped the newspaper down, the headline catching the dim light.
"Well, well... Looks like the old sand devil's back in the game," he rasped, voice roughened from years of cheap tobacco. His yellowed teeth flashed as he chuckled to himself. "Heh... Took 'im long enough. Guess the world's been too quiet without 'im stirrin' up trouble."
Across from him, a figure sat cloaked in deep gray, face obscured beneath the hood's shadow. Only a gloved hand emerged, tapping a finger against the grainy photograph at the paper's center. The faint rasp of leather against newsprint seemed to echo louder than it should have, as if the air itself held its breath.
"Not a face known to the underworld," the figure murmured, voice low and measured. Their finger traced the outline of the woman's silhouette—poised yet unreadable beside Crocodile's imposing frame. "But anyone standing that close tohimisn't just decoration."
The broker leaned back, chair creaking beneath his weight as he dragged a hand through his unkempt hair. "Heh... You think she's muscle? Nah, look at her. Ain't the bruiser type. Maybe a brain, though—Crocodile always did like havin' clever folk around. 'Course, wouldn't be the first pretty face to get burned playin' too close to him..."
"Don't be a fool," the cloaked figure cut in sharply. "If she's with him, she's more than just a tool. Crocodile doesn't waste time on ornaments. She's there for a reason."
The broker's grin faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considered the words. Outside, the distant sound of dockworkers unloading smuggled cargo echoed faintly through the night, a reminder of the world that thrived beyond the eyes of the Navy.
"Yeah... Maybe you're right," he muttered, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "But that begs the question... What's her angle? No one walks with Crocodile without wantin' somethin'—and if she's smart enough to stand besidehim,then she's smart enough to have her own game."
Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities. The cloaked figure tapped the paper once more, this time against the name beneath the image:SIR CROCODILE RESURFACES!
"Mark my words," they said, rising from the chair in a whisper of cloth and shadow. "This isn't just a comeback. This is the start of something new."
Without another glance, the figure slipped into the darkness beyond the lantern's reach, footsteps fading into the hum of distant voices.
The broker sat motionless for a moment, staring at the paper as if it might reveal its secrets beneath his gaze. Then, with a grunt, he leaned forward, snatching up the newspaper and tucking it into his coat.
"Old devil's got the world watchin' again, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His grin returned, though this time, there was a flicker of wariness behind his eyes.
"Guess we'll see what happens... when the sandstorm hitsthistime."