The rhythmic creak of the Moby Dick lulled most of the crew into a deep slumber, but Gunnar lay awake, staring at the sturdy wooden beams above his bunk. The warmth of Smoothie pressed against his back, her arms wrapped around his chest in a comforting, possessive embrace. Her even breaths fanned against his neck.
Third member for the Division Zero.
The formation of this elite squad, his personal guard in a way, Whitebeard pirates form of Holy Knights.
"You're quiet," Smoothie murmured, her voice thick with sleep. Her grip tightened slightly. "What occupies that head of yours so early, my fierce Titan?"
He turned his head slightly, just enough to see her beautiful face nestled against his shoulder, her long pink hair a tangled mess on the pillow.
"Just thinking," he rumbled, his voice a low growl. "About the Division Zero. Who is worthy."
Smoothie shifted, propping herself up on an elbow, her gaze intense despite her drowsiness. "You will know. You have a keen eye for strength, Gunnar. And for loyalty." There was an absolute certainty in her voice, a faith that warmed the cold knot of doubt in his stomach. "Whatever you decide…it will be the best choice. I don't doubt you in the slightest."
Her unwavering belief was a potent balm. He reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "You have too much faith in me, sweet woman."
A flicker of a smile touched her lips. "Never." She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline. "Anything else troubling you?"
He hesitated, then let out a sigh. "Any news from Mother-in-Law?"
Smoothie's expression clouded slightly. "None. Not a word since that day."
"It's been a long time," Gunnar observed, a hint of concern lacing his voice. "She is your family, Smoothie. What if…what if she comes for you?" The thought of Big Mom's wrath directed at Smoothie sent a protectiveness urge surging through him.
Smoothie's eyes darkened, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a fierce resolve. "My only belonging is to you, Gunnar Newgate. My family is here, with you and Oyaji and the others. Whatever you decide, wherever you go…that is where I belong." She reached for his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't you ever doubt that."
He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the unwavering truth in her words. A wave of affection washed over him, chasing away the lingering unease. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. "I know," he murmured. "I know."
---
Morning,
The relative peace of the early morning was shattered by a sharp clang. Gunnar, now dressed and alert, staggered back, a hand flying to his throbbing cheekbone. Whitebeard stood before him, his massive form silhouetted against the rising sun filtering through the galley doorway, his naginata resting casually on his shoulder, and his signature bisento nowhere in sight. Instead, a thick steel pipe glinted in the dim light.
"Not like that, son!" Whitebeard boomed, his voice echoing through the still-sleeping ship. "Observation Haki ain't about seeing what's already happened. It's about feeling what will happen!"
Gunnar gritted his teeth, the taste of blood metallic on his tongue. He hadn't even sensed the attack.
Whitebeard swung the pipe again, a deceptively slow arc that Gunnar only managed to partially dodge, the steel still connecting with a sickening thud against his ribs. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him, but forced himself to stay standing.
"Too slow!" Whitebeard's booming laughter didn't carry a hint of malice, only the gruff affection of a father pushing his son. "You gotta clear your mind, boy! Feel the intent, the slightest shift in muscle! You got the potential, Gunnar, but you rely too much on brute force."
Another swing, faster this time. Gunnar's eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening. He tried to empty his mind, to feel the air around Whitebeard, the subtle tension in his stance. He swayed to the left, the pipe whistling past his ear.
Whitebeard chuckled, "Good! You're starting to feel it. But feeling it ain't enough. You gotta react faster!"
The training continued, a brutal ballet of steel against flesh.
***
The morning air crackled with tension—and it wasn't from Ace's flames or Gunnar's boiling blood. The entire main deck of the Moby Dick had been cleared, a rare occurrence. Every division commander had been told to stay off deck. That meant only one thing: Pops wanted privacy.
Ace, arms folded, stood near the mast, head tilted just enough to look cool but annoyed. Gunnar, seated on a crate like it owed him rent, was tossing a piece of fruit in the air, catching it with his teeth and chewing obnoxiously loud.
Whitebeard's shadow loomed as he stepped forward, jabbing his bisento into the deck like a flag post. "Gurararara… I've made a decision."
Gunnar raised a brow. "You finally changing your will and leaving me your sake stash?"
Ace rolled his eyes. "That belongs to Marco. Everyone knows it."
Whitebeard ignored both. "The Division Zero Competition will be held in two weeks."
That caught their attention.
"You mean the legendary title-forging secret war tournament with zero rules and a prize of highest authority over Whitebeard pirates?" Gunnar asked dramatically, arms spread.
"That's not what it's called," Whitebeard muttered. "But close enough."
"I'm in," Ace said instantly. "Who do I fight?"
Whitebeard grinned beneath his mustache. "Not who. With. You're not going solo. You two—" he pointed at Ace, then Gunnar, "—will be a team."
Silence.
Long, painful silence.
Then—
"Absolutely not!" they both shouted in unison, pointing at each other like they'd just been accused of murder.
"You want me to work with him?" Ace snapped, flames flickering at his shoulders.
"You want me to carry im?" Gunnar pointed back, ice forming under his boot and melting into lava. "He can barely lead his own shadow!"
"I've made my way through New World," Ace growled. "You're just some loud idiot with a lava complex!"
"My first bounty was 550 Million!" Gunnar shot back. "You're a charity case with daddy issues!"
Whitebeard sat down slowly on a barrel. "Ah… here we go."
Ace stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Gunnar's chest. "You're reckless. You'd punch the sun if it looked at you funny."
Gunnar leaned forward. "And you'd write it a sad poem first."
"Don't test me, fireball!"
"Keep yapping, candle-boy!"
Whitebeard sighed. "This is going well."
Gunnar crossed his arms. "Look, if we're forming a team, obviously **I'm** the captain. It's in my aura. Look at me—I scream leadership."
"You scream head injury," Ace shot back. "And there's no way I follow you. I've been leading men since Grandline."
"Yeah, and they all retired with PTSD."
"Boys," Whitebeard said calmly, "I didn't say either of you would be captain."
They both paused. Looked at him. Then at each other.
"Wait, what?" Gunnar blinked. "Then who's leading?"
Whitebeard stood, towering over them. "That's up to you two to figure out. Also you're going to go find your third member. Maybe someone with enough sense to glue this idiotic ship together."
"Third member? Who?" Ace asked.
Whitebeard smiled cryptically. "You decide for yourself who will lead!"
"That's impossible," Gunnar and Ace said in unison again, glaring at each other.
Whitebeard turned, bisento over his shoulder. "The competition begins soon. Be ready. Form your team. Solve your leadership problem."
"But—" Ace began.
"No buts," Whitebeard waved. "Just brains. If either of you have one, use it. Gurararara!"
---
Five minutes later
Gunnar leaned back. "Alright, fine. Rock paper scissors?"
Ace smirked. "I'm fire. You're ice and lava. You literally lose to paper."
"…Son of a—okay, rematch, but we make a wheel."
"No wheels! We duel with food."
"Best sandwich wins?"
"You're on."
***
Next Day
Gunnar, a towering brute cloaked in a ghostly frost, hefted his massive trident—an intricate weapon forged entirely from glimmering ice. With a guttural roar that shook the training grounds of the Moby Dick, he swung it in a wide arc. A biting gale of cold surged ahead of the strike, freezing the very air.
Across from him, Ace grinned like a devil unchained. "Come on, Snowcone."
His flaming whip cracked to life—a torrent of raw, incandescent flame. It lashed out with a violent snap, meeting the trident mid-swing. The collision birthed an explosion of steam, sparks, and shouts, forcing both men to slide back several feet.
The training ground sizzled and hissed.
Gunnar's left side shimmered with a deadly chill. Ace's heat warped the air around him like a desert mirage.
Their eyes locked.
Neither blinked.
On the upper deck, Jozu, his body sparkling like a mountain of diamonds, turned to Marco with a raised brow. "You sure we're just gonna let them go at it?"
Marco, perched on the railing, wings folded and arms crossed, didn't even flinch. "Pops is watching. He'd stop 'em if he cared."
Down below, Whitebeard was indeed watching—with a massive sake cup halfway to his lips, and his mustache trembling with laughter. "Gurararara! Those two are like fire and lava. No—lava and more lava!"
Around the field, the crew had gathered into a chaotic, rowdy crowd.
Bets were flying faster than Ace's whip.
"Hundred beli on Ace! Flame Boy's gonna roast that freezer!"
"You nuts? Gunnar's ice could stop a volcano! He's got that freaky calm rage!"
"Place your bets! Step right up! Winner gets bragging rights and the loser does the dishes!"
Thatch cackled behind a barrel, clutching a rapidly growing pot of beli.
Amidst the madness, a young crewmate nudged a nearby officer. "So… have they picked the third guy for Division Zero yet?"
The officer scoffed. "Not officially. But between you and me? This fight's less about ego and more about figuring out who's fit to lead."
"Lead?" the rookie asked. "What if the third guy wants to lead too?"
As if summoned by fate, Ace and Gunnar surged forward at the same instant. Gunnar's icy trident drove for Ace's chest. Ace's flaming whip slithered toward Gunnar's face. Inches before impact—
They stopped.
Their weapons froze mid-air.
Steam hissed between them, but neither moved. Their eyes locked again—but something different passed between them now.
'He's right', Gunnar thought grimly. What if the third member wants the top seat too? This ain't just a spar anymore. This is politics.'
'Damn it', Ace realized. 'If we start fighting over who leads before the third one shows up, we'll tear each other apart before the competition even starts.'
Without a word, both slowly lowered their weapons.
The crowd let out a collective groan.
"BOOOO!"
"You were just getting started!"
"I want my money back!"
Whitebeard, unfazed, downed the rest of his sake and chuckled. "Gurarara! Maybe they do have brains after all!"
[A/N: Dropped three chapters at once. Enjoy. Will drop another chapter, in few hours maybe. It will be introduction of New character, and Final chapter of this arc. ]