One Piece: My Crew is from Other World

One day earlier.

"Brother!"

A familiar voice reached Ryuunosuke's ears.

"Ace? You're here already?"

Ryuunosuke, who had been resting, stood up with a smile as he saw Ace approaching.

At the same time, he turned his gaze toward the sea.

A massive whale-shaped ship loomed in the distance—it was unmistakable. The Whitebeard Pirates had arrived.

After hearing that the enemy this time included Miss Bakkin and the so-called "Whitebeard Jr.," Edward Weevil, how could Whitebeard himself not get involved? For too long, Miss Bakkin had sullied Whitebeard's name, committing atrocities under his banner. Now, given the opportunity, the old man had come to clean up the mess himself.

"Brother, we're ready," Ace said with fire in his eyes. "When you make your move against the World Government, the Whitebeard Pirates will stand with you! All the divisions under Pops are on standby too!"

Ryuunosuke smiled. "Alright. We'll talk more when the time comes. Honestly, I don't expect to need help for that fight. But if I do call you in, none of you are allowed to back out."

He said it lightly, like a big brother teasing his younger sibling—but there was undeniable confidence behind his words.

"Gurararara... As expected of the most evil pirate of this era," Whitebeard's thunderous laugh echoed as he stepped forward. "Brat, once this battle's over, you'd better treat me to some sake!"

The moment Whitebeard set foot on the God's Boat, a wave of powerful Haki rippled through the air, making the massive ship tremble.

Even Ryuunosuke felt pressure from that overwhelming presence.

"You've gotten even stronger, Uncle Whitebeard," he said calmly. "How's your health? Fully recovered?"

The life essence Ryuunosuke had once gifted him should've repaired most of his internal damage. But age was still a curse no medicine could fully erase.

"I'm doing fine. Strong enough to throw hands, that's for sure," Whitebeard chuckled. "What do you say? Care to spar with an old man?"

Ryuunosuke grinned. "Sure—but looks like your crew is itching to go first."

Behind Whitebeard, the division commanders were already cracking their knuckles, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

He couldn't help but notice the change in them. Just a year ago, these men had been content to bask in Whitebeard's protection—famous, yes, but lacking ambition. Now, there was real drive in their eyes.

They were no longer sheltered children. They were warriors.

"Akame! I challenge you!" Vista suddenly stepped forward, pointing his sword toward the red-eyed assassin.

Having once lost to Akame, he wanted a rematch. However, Akame didn't look particularly interested.

"No thanks," Akame said bluntly. "Kuina, go deal with him. I prefer killing—not sparring."

Her tone was casual, but deadly serious.

Akame's entire fighting style, from her lethal precision to her one-strike execution, was built for killing. Unless Vista was okay with dying via Murasame, she had no reason to accept.

"Well then!" Kuina stepped forward, tying her hair into a loose ponytail and drawing her blade. "If our Whitebeard comrades want to test themselves, how could we refuse?"

As her sword left its sheath, a violent wave of destruction pulsed outward.

Vista flinched. He had fought Kuina before—during the war at Marineford. Back then, she'd fought alongside Akame against Dracule Mihawk. But now... her presence was entirely different. Stronger. Sharper. Dangerous.

Kuina's cold eyes locked onto him. "Better protect your swords... or I'll break them."

Buzz...

A thick aura of Armament Haki wrapped around her blade. Her arms, legs, and waist were also coated with high-level Haki.

Vista swallowed hard. He had improved over the past year—but so had she. Tremendously.

"Bang—!"

Kuina charged, the reinforced deck of the God's Ship groaning under the force of her kick, which hit like a cannonball.

Vista crossed his twin blades just in time to block it.

"Impressive speed and strength," he muttered. "But don't tell me you've abandoned technique in pursuit of raw power?"

He pushed back and flicked his wrists, scattering a flurry of rose petals from his blades.

"That's a shame! A swordsman without finesse is just a brute! Let me show you the beauty, the romance, of swordsmanship!"

As the petals whirled in the air, Vista's form blurred. It was as if he had become one with the petals—an elegant illusion. He moved unpredictably, striking from impossible angles.

Clang! Clink! Swish!

Their blades danced, the clash of steel ringing out like music. But no matter what technique Vista used, Kuina remained steadfast, unmoving like an immovable mountain.

She scoffed, eyes never leaving his.

"You know... There was once a fool who thought one sword wasn't enough to beat me. So he started training in the dual-sword style… then the three-sword style."

Her tone was biting, nostalgic.

"But he still lost."

She slashed again, forcing Vista back. "When did skill become something separate from strength and speed? As if they're mutually exclusive?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Strength enhances skill. Speed amplifies it. They don't replace it."

Vista understood exactly who she meant—Roronoa Zoro.

But unlike Zoro, Kuina's strength hadn't come from chasing brute force. Hers had been honed through discipline, experience, and battle.

He threw another handful of petals, using his Mirage Rose technique again.

But—

"Schlick."

Kuina's sword pierced Vista's chest cleanly.

"Is it over?" someone muttered.

But then—shing!

In a blink, Kuina twisted around and thrust her sword behind her at a strange angle.

Thud!

The Vista she had just stabbed dissolved into rose petals.

The real Vista stood behind her—eyes wide—as her blade halted just inches from his neck.

"I… I lost," he admitted, lowering his swords.

There was no regret in his voice. Instead, there was awe. Joy, even.

Because in that moment, Vista had realized something—something fundamental about his own swordsmanship.

He had grown.

And that was the greatest gift of all.

That... was the change in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Once, they might've shouted and raged at defeat. Now, they sought growth.

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