𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀||𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨

02||Masked Deuce

The freed slaves had settled down nicely on an uninhabited island. Using the wood-wood fruit from one of their sisters, a small village was made out of wooden houses for them until they were able to build proper houses from stone later on.

Now, Marco and Thatch were back on board the Moby Dick. Apparently during the month they were gone on the infiltration mission, a rookie that blasted through paradise has been attempting to take their father's head in their absence. There's never a dull moment on the Moby, even when they're gone, huh?

"Is he stupid?" Thatch whispered to his best friend beside him as their captain effortlessly whacked Ace away into a wall, easily letting the teenager crash into it like a fly.

Marco blinked for a few seconds and leaned against the railing of their ship. "Perhaps. It's kind of hilarious." His lips quirked up slightly in amusement. "Pops seems to be taking a shine to him."

"Pops likes everyone." The Fourth Division commander scoffed as he crossed his arms. "I gotta check in on the cooks from my division. Being gone for so long can only mean the kitchen is either in perfect condition or in complete shambles."

Marco just nodded as the brunette's fire got smaller the further away he walked in the direction of the kitchen where the Fourth Division resided.

They had just arrived roughly two hours ago, a small celebration and an abundance of 'welcome home's were exchanged when the blue Phoenix had dropped the pompadour man in the middle of the deck.

According to the conversations floating around the deck, this was Ace's third assassination attempt today. He usually tries to take Whitebeard's head at least three times a day at it was roughly 7:30.

The sun had kissed the horizon, dying the sky an ombré of purple, pink, and blue hues when the rookie captain had finally emerged from the rubble, grumbling something incoherent along the lines of 'fucking Whitebeards...'

Marco shook his head and chuckled. That Ace kid sure is something.

The Strongest Man in The World turned to his eldest son. "Marco." He greeted with a nod of acknowledgment from his seated position on his chair, vise to still in hand as always.

Marco stood off the railing and uncrossed his arms as he approached his captain. "Pops." He greeted just as curtly.

"Marco, I heard your mission progressed well." The old man's aged wrinkles crinkled as he smiled down at his child. "I believe the freed men and women are living in Batska right now if the reports are correct?"

The blonde commander nodded in confirmation. "Yea. They settled down after a week and a half, but we taught them the ropes of surviving without our constant protection. On the other side of the island is the locals, and they were happy to help and assist them."

"I'm overjoyed to hear it." The deep baritone voice shook the whole ship housing over a thousand pirates with his unusual laughter. As the laughter died down into light chuckled, he turned back towards Marco. "I have a task for you, Marco. It's about the little brat who stumbled upon our humble abode."

Marco tried not to cringe at the way proudly said the word our. He never deserved all of this, but he was grateful for being the First Division Conmander nonetheless. It was a great privilege among a thousand other candidates on this ship that could've been chosen, and yet Pops chose him. "What about Portgas?"

His father resounded across the desk once more. The sheer volume of it no longer affected him after fourth years of living on the same ship as him. "He's a bright young lad. Great potential. His crew members under him, the Spades, are getting accommodated into our family despite their captain's antics and fierce determination to take my head. I would appreciate it if you would look after a particular member of his crew along with keeping an eye out for the brat as well."