When the light screen lit up again, a book appeared on the screen.
The cover was yellowed and the corners were curled, looking quite old.
Four words were printed on the cover: Devil Fruit Encyclopedia.
The camera zoomed in and flipped to one of the pages.
A black fruit occupied most of the page, covered in swirl-like patterns.
Next to it, a huge circle was drawn in red pen, circled three times.
“Logia, Dark-Dark Fruit,” Austin’s narration sounded.
“It can suck everything into darkness—light, matter, gravity, and even the abilities of other Devil Fruits.
It is the most unique of all known Devil Fruits.” “Teach studied this encyclopedia even before he joined the crew.” On the Moby Dick, Teach, who was kneeling on the deck, heard the words “Dark-Dark Fruit,” and his back was already soaked with cold sweat.
He had just been gambling, betting that the light screen didn’t know enough details, which would give him room to maneuver.
Now it seemed it would be difficult for him to escape easily.
Marco stared at Teach, blue flames flickering all over his body.
He didn’t act immediately; he was restraining himself because he wanted to know the whole truth.
Whitebeard remained motionless, sitting in his chair.
He held his wine cup without drinking, but he didn’t put it down either.
The image on the light screen switched.
Nighttime.
On the deck of the Moby Dick, all the lights were extinguished, leaving only the Moonlight shining on the wooden planks.
On the left side of the screen, Thatch walked out holding a fruit.
His face wore a smile of accomplishment.
The fruit appeared a deep purple-black under the Moonlight, with the swirl patterns on its skin rotating in circles.
The Dark-Dark Fruit.
“Thatch, the Fourth Division Commander, accidentally obtained this fruit during a voyage.” On the screen, Thatch held up the fruit and smiled brightly at the crew members around him: “Look at this!
I’ve found a treasure!
I’ll show it to Pops later!” Several crew members gathered around, offering their congratulations in a chorus of voices.
Thatch was patted on the shoulder, smiling so wide his eyes were nearly shut.
On the real Moby Dick, the real Thatch even smiled a little when he saw this scene.
He didn’t know what was about to happen.
But in the corner of the screen, there was a pair of eyes.
Shadows covered half the face, leaving only one eyeball visible.
The pupil was extremely constricted, locked tightly onto the fruit in Thatch’s hand.
The honest face was gone.
The usual silly expression was gone.
Only one thing remained on that face: greed.
Naked, undisguised, thick, and foul-smelling greed.
On the actual deck, Thatch’s smile froze.
He finally saw the owner of those eyes.
Teach.
“The Whitebeard Pirates have an iron rule.” “Comrades shall never kill one another.” “This is the bottom line that has never been broken since Edward Newgate founded this pirate crew.” “But Teach broke it.” The screen suddenly cut to the next frame.
The night grew deeper.
Only two figures remained on the deck.
Thatch had his back turned, as if he had just turned to leave.
Teach stood behind him.
A dagger had appeared in his hand.
The dagger did not hesitate.
Puchi…
The tip of the blade pierced into Thatch’s back.
Blood gushed from the wound, appearing dark red under the Moonlight.
Thatch lowered his head, looking at the blade tip protruding from his chest, his pupils dilating.
He turned his head.
He saw Teach’s face.
That face was smiling.
It wasn’t the usual play-dumb, fawning smile.
It was a twisted ecstasy of finally getting what he wanted after twenty years of suppression.
“Sorry about this, Thatch.” On the light screen, Teach bent over and picked up the Dark-Dark Fruit from Thatch’s loosening fingers, tucked it into his robe, and jumped into the dark sea without looking back.
Thatch lay on the deck as a pool of blood spread beneath him.
His eyes remained open.
…
On the Moby Dick, there was a deathly silence.
Of the sixteen hundred people, not one made a sound.
The wind blew through the masts, and the ropes swayed high above, making a faint creaking sound.
Thatch stood in the middle of the crowd, his face as white as paper.
His hand was over his chest—his intact chest.
He was alive.
Right now, he was alive.
But he had just seen the scene of his own death.
Stabbed in the back.
Stabbed in the back by someone he had shared drinks with and called a brother for twenty years.
Thatch slowly turned his head.
He looked at Teach in the corner.
Teach knelt there, head bowed, his whole body trembling.
The second their gazes met, Teach’s eyes flickered.
It wasn’t grievance.
It wasn’t being wronged.
It was the murderous light of a beast pushed to its absolute limit.
Thatch took a step back, bumping into a crew member behind him.
“Big Brother Thatch?” the crew member called out softly.
Thatch didn’t answer.
His hand was still pressed against his chest, pressing very hard.
Marco walked over.
He grabbed Thatch and pulled him behind himself.
“Stay behind me,” Marco said.
Just those words.
No extra talk.
Thatch nodded.
…
Windmill Village.
Luffy was squatting on the bow of the ship; when he saw that stab, his whole body recoiled.
He didn’t know Thatch, and he didn’t know Teach.
But he understood.
“This person…
stabbed his own comrade?” Luffy’s voice was very soft.
A thought popped into his head: if someone did this to his own comrades…
His stomach churned.
Luffy clenched his fists and said nothing.
…
Marineford.
The Marine soldiers on the plaza were silent.
Sengoku stood by the window, one hand behind his back, his fist clenched so hard his knuckles were white—no, he no longer cared about such details.
This Teach’s logic of action had completely exceeded his framework of prediction.
Twenty years of disguise, zero bounty, murdering a comrade to seize a fruit, and desertion.
This was no longer within the scope of an ordinary pirate.
This was a time bomb.
“This man is extremely dangerous,” Sengoku’s voice was lowered to the point where only the nearby Three Admirals could hear.
“Once he consumes the Dark-Dark Fruit, his threat level will be at least Shichibukai level or higher.” Akainu didn’t respond.
He was thinking about something else.
According to the light screen, after Teach killed Thatch and deserted, what was his next move?
That voice had said, “Ace was arrested by the Marines and sentenced to a public execution.” Was there a connection between these two events?
…
The past timeline.
In the tavern, Roger snatched someone else’s glass, took a sip, and then slammed the glass onto the table.
“Stabbing in the back.” He repeated it.
“Rayleigh, if a person like this were in front of me, he wouldn’t live past three days.” “It’s different now, Captain.” Rayleigh leaned back, puffing on a newly lit cigarette.
“Your opponents all stood in the open to fight you.
This Teach won’t.
He’ll call you ‘big brother’ first, serve you wine for twenty years, and then strike once you’ve trusted him.” Roger was silent for a few seconds.
“Edward…” He whispered Whitebeard’s name.
Roger’s current mood was very complex.
He had fought Whitebeard his whole life, from youth to old age.
Neither would submit to the other.
But something like this—being stabbed in the back by the son he trusted most.
Even Roger felt a chill for Whitebeard’s sake.
“I wonder how that old man feels seeing this scene,” Roger said.
“What else could he feel?” Rayleigh stubbed out his cigarette.
“Kill him.”