Kamabakka Kingdom – Emporio Ivankov's Palace
Laughter boomed through the grand dining hall, shaking the chandelier's crystal prisms until they chimed like distant bells. Emporio Ivankov clutched the newspaper in both hands, his enormous eyes crinkled with amusement.
"Ooh ho ho ho ho! Nowthisis a sight I never thought I'd see!" he crowed, shaking the paper with theatrical flair.
Across the ornate table, Sanji groaned into his hand, cigarette smoke curling around his fingers. "Thatguy?" His voice dripped with disbelief, the cigarette clinging precariously to his lips. "You're tellin' me Crocodile—that miserable, cigar-chomping sand demon—has a woman now?"
Ivankov's grin widened beneath his painted lips. "And not just any woman, honey! Look at the way he holds her. That's no business partnership—that's aclaim!" He waggled his manicured fingers like a magician about to unveil a trick.
Sanji leaned forward and snatched the paper from Ivankov's grasp, eyes narrowing at the black-and-white image dominating the front page. The grainy photograph captured Crocodile striding through the sunlit streets of Serapha, his usual air of cold authority as unshakable as ever. But beside him stood a woman draped in a gown of burgundy and gold, her presence as striking as the dawn against the desert sands. She moved with quiet grace, her head held high as if she belonged nowhere but at his side.
Sanji's jaw clenched.
That bastard.
It wasn't enough that Crocodile had power, wealth, and enough arrogance to choke a Sea King—no, now he had her, too? Some beautiful, elegant woman willingly walking beside him while Sanji was stuck training on this godforsaken island, surrounded by—he glanced sideways at the Okama warriors giggling into their teacups—absolutelynobeautiful women in sight.
Life was cruel.
"Tch!" He clicked his tongue and tossed the newspaper onto the table with a rustle of pages. "Whatever. Doesn't matter to me."
Ivankov gasped, pressing a hand to his chest as if Sanji had personally wounded him. "Ooooh~ So jealous, my little Sanji-boy? Feeling left out, hmm?"
Sanji's eyebrow twitched dangerously. "Why the hell would I be jealous ofCrocodile?" he snapped, crossing his arms with a huff. "I don't give a damn who he's sleeping with."
"Oho~ Sleeping with, you say? So scandalous!" Ivankov clasped his cheeks with both hands, eyes gleaming with exaggerated glee.
"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT, DAMMIT!" Sanji's face turned red as laughter erupted around the table, the Okama warriors whispering conspiratorially behind painted fans.
"Poor Sanji-boy," one cooed, batting their lashes. "So upset another man found love before him~"
"Maybe he should try his luck with Crocodile's woman, hmm?" another teased, sending the table into fresh giggles.
Sanji seethed, smoke curling angrily from the cigarette clenched between his teeth. "Oi!Keep it up, and I'll—"
"Now, now," Ivankov interrupted, still smirking as he picked up the newspaper once more. His eyes danced across the headlines with keen interest. "Hmm... Crocodile stepping back into the spotlight like this, making such a bold, public move...That'sthe real story here."
Sanji rolled his eyes. "You mean besides the fact that some poor woman's stuck dealin' with his grumpy ass?"
Ivankov chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Oh, honey, nobody just 'ends up' with a man like him. That woman? She's something special. And I wanna knowwhy."
Sanji scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "What, you think Crocodile's got some secret romantic side? Please. That bastard wouldn't know how to treat a lady if his life depended on it."
"Perhaps, perhaps~" Ivankov hummed, tapping a manicured nail against the newspaper. "But you're missing the bigger picture, Sanji-boy." His playful tone shifted, turning sharp as the edge of a dagger. "If Crocodile's stepping back into the spotlight, the question is—what's his next move?"
Sanji fell silent, the weight of the question settling between them like an unspoken threat.
Crocodile wasn't the type to parade himself in public without reason. The last time he'd moved so boldly, he'd nearly toppled an entire kingdom. And now—
Sanji exhaled a stream of smoke, eyes distant. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."
Ivankov's painted smile didn't waver, but his gaze darkened with something more dangerous than curiosity.
"Oh ho ho ho~ Yes, we will, Sanji-boy."
Mariejois – The Five Elders' Meeting Hall
Silence reigned within the marble-walled chamber, broken only by the faint rustle of robes as the Five Elders sat in somber contemplation. Before them, the newspaper lay spread open atop the grand mahogany table, its inked words and grainy images like whispers of a storm approaching from the horizon.
"This complicates things." The elder with the shortest white beard exhaled sharply, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he studied the photograph.
"The last time Crocodile made such a public spectacle, he was planning something," another added, his brows knitting together in concern. "He's always been a strategist. A schemer. He does not do public appearances unless they serve a purpose."
The air within the chamber grew heavy, thick with unspoken tension. The bald elder with the katana resting beside him shifted in his seat, eyes gleaming like steel.
"He may no longer hold the title of Warlord, but we cannot ignore his influence," he said, voice low and firm. "Crocodile was never just a pirate. He's a manipulator, a power broker." His gaze flicked toward the photograph. "And if he's secured an alliance—"
"It's not an alliance."
The elder with the longest beard interrupted, his tone as steady as the tides. He leaned forward, fingers grazing the paper as if searching for hidden truths within the ink.
"This is something else," he murmured. "Something personal."
Silence fell once more, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace in the corner.
All eyes returned to the photograph.
Crocodile, striding through Serapha's grand district, his trench coat billowing behind him like a cloak of shadows. His posture, his presence—unchanged from the days when he commanded entire fleets. But beside him, a woman in crimson and gold, her bearing as poised and untouchable as a queen. She did not merely walk beside him—she matched his stride as if she belonged nowhere else.
And therein lay the danger.
The eldest among them, the one closest to Imu's inner circle, finally broke the silence. His voice, slow and deliberate, carried the weight of centuries.
"If he were merely rebuilding his empire, he would have done so in the shadows." His fingers drummed softly against the polished wood of the table. "But he's making a statement."
The word hung heavy in the air.
A claim.
A declaration of power.
The elder with the katana folded his hands before him. "Then we must assume this woman is key to whatever he's planning."
"Or worse," the bald elder added, his eyes like twin coals in the firelight, "she is a weakness."
The words settled into the chamber like the first tremor of an earthquake.
For all of Crocodile's ruthlessness, his entire history painted him as a man who trusted no one. He had risen to power alone, forged his empire from sand and blood with no hand to steady his own. And yet, there she stood—beside him, not behind him.
If she had earned that place, she was dangerous.
And if she mattered—
She was a threat.
The eldest elder closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as if feeling the weight of the world shift against his shoulders. When he spoke, there was no room for debate.
"Keep him under surveillance," he ordered, the finality in his voice as cold as the winds atop Red Line's cliffs. "If he steps so much as one foot out of line..."
A pause, heavy as the silence before a storm.
"...We crush him before he can rise again."
The decision was made.
And in the Holy Land of Mariejois, such decisions often determined the fate of nations.