Two years had changed much. The Phantom Hunter was no longer a whisper in the wind or a ghost ship on the horizon. Tales of a flying fortress soaring through the skies of the West Blue had solidified into myth, spreading from port to port, tavern to tavern. Yet none had seen it clearly. None had captured it.
Victor stood on the observation deck of the Byakko, arms folded across his chest as Robin stood beside him. The wind tugged gently at their coats, and below them, the calm blue expanse of the ocean stretched endlessly.
"Another dead end," Robin said softly, clutching a faded parchment. Her voice was tinged with disappointment, but not defeat.
Victor looked down at the crumpled map in her hands. It was the fourth supposed lead this month. Every one had been fruitless. No scholars. No ruins. No clues.
But he didn't mind.
"We're not chasing ghosts, Robin," he said. "We're stirring the sea. Someone will notice. Someone who knows."
And they had.
The World Government, Cipher Pol Branch HQ
"He's on the move."
Agent Zeral tossed a file on the polished mahogany table. Inside were grainy reports, intercepted messages, and secondhand rumors from across the West Blue. A silhouette in the clouds. An unmarked ship, white as bone and silent as the wind.
"The Phantom Hunter has reappeared."
The assembled Cipher Pol operatives leaned in. Murmurs filled the room.
"Do we know his purpose?" asked one.
"No. But he travels with the Ohara child. Nico Robin."
That drew silence.
The director, a man known only as Veil, steepled his fingers.
"Begin observation. Discreetly. If he discovers we're watching, we lose more than just agents."
West Blue, Isles of Vevara
Victor and Robin walked through a bustling market street, their identities hidden under simple cloaks and worn travel garb. Robin had a slight bounce in her step, her eyes brighter than they had been in years.
"There's an old stonemason here who claims his father once worked with scholars from Ohara," she said. "It could be nothing... but maybe not."
Victor nodded, silent but listening. He didn't walk with the stiffness of a soldier, but his eyes never stopped moving.
They found the stonemason in a seaside shack, surrounded by half-carved statues and broken pillars.
"Aye, I remember somethin'," the old man rasped. "Big-eyed folk in robes. Talked funny. Carried stone slates with strange writin'."
Robin stepped forward. "Do you remember anything else? Symbols, names, islands they talked about?"
The man paused. Scratched his chin. "One name. 'Shandora.' They kept whisperin' it like it was sacred."
Victor narrowed his eyes.
Robin's heart raced. Shandora. A name etched deep into the records of Ohara.
They left soon after, with Robin nearly skipping down the pier.
"Shandora was an ancient city," she explained. "A kingdom that resisted the World Government during the Void Century. The Poneglyphs were hidden in places like that. This confirms it. The scholars of Ohara were on the right trail."
Victor smiled faintly. "Then so are we."
But even as they returned to the Byakko, he felt the ripple in the air. Observation Haki hummed quietly beneath his skin.
Someone was watching.
Aboard the Byakko
They lifted off the island silently. Victor channeled his wind powers into the ship's side-propellers, letting them gain altitude before the rear engine stabilized their flight path.
Robin sat at the navigation table, surrounded by scrolls and charts.
"Shandora is on an island in the sky," she murmured. "How do we even begin to reach something like that?"
Victor looked out the window, the sky beginning to darken into twilight.
"The same way we reach anything worth finding," he said. "Step by step."
The next morning, they followed a whisper to a small chain of islands near the western ridge. A traveling historian was said to carry a journal copied from Ohara records.
But the historian never existed.
The trap was elegant. Robin entered the clearing first, greeted by what appeared to be an elderly scholar in robes. Victor sensed it too late.
The illusion fell apart as five figures moved in unison.
Cipher Pol.
Robin reacted instantly, sprouting arms from the surrounding trees and snapping one agent's neck before he could fully draw his weapon.
Victor didn't hesitate. The wind compressed around him like a coil, and then exploded outward.
Two agents were caught in the blast, their bodies sent crashing through trees and rocks.
The remaining two lunged.
Robin rolled aside, pain lancing through her shoulder from a glancing bullet wound. One CP agent raised his sword, but Victor was already there.
He moved like a ghost, stepping into the man's guard and shattering his ribcage with a punch laced in Armament Haki.
The last one tried to run.
Victor exhaled.
A spear of compressed air ripped through the trees and took him in the back.
Silence.
Robin leaned against a tree, panting.
"A trap," she muttered. "They used my past against me."
Victor approached, brushing her hair back and checking her wound.
"You're not alone anymore. You won't walk into these things without someone who sees them coming."
She looked up at him.
And nodded.
Aboard the Byakko, Hours Later
The ship soared into the clouds.
Robin sat quietly, bandaged and calm, watching the horizon.
Victor stood by the helm, piloting by instinct and subtle shifts in wind.
Then the transponder snail rang.
Victor frowned.
Only three people in the world knew this private line. And only one would call him after a fight like that.
He answered.
The snail shifted, morphing into the familiar wrinkled face of an old man with a square jaw and a grin full of mischief.
"Yo, brat. Still breathing?"
Victor smiled faintly.
"Hello, Garp."
Foosha Village, Dawn
Victor arrived alone. The Byakko hovered above the ocean far off the coast. He walked the final miles on foot.
The village was peaceful, the smell of baked bread and salt in the air. Children laughed in the distance. A dog barked lazily.
Garp waited near the cliffs, hands in his pockets.
"Thought you'd never show," the old man said.
Victor shrugged. "Wasn't sure if I should."
Garp turned to him. "You're chasing something big, aren't you? Bigger than revenge. Bigger than justice."
Victor said nothing.
"I taught you to follow your gut," Garp continued. "But you're stirring the sea. The higher-ups are nervous."
Victor looked at the horizon.
"They should be."
Garp laughed.
Then without warning, he lunged.
Victor met the punch with a reinforced block, the clash sending a shockwave through the cliffs.
They moved like titans, fists colliding, ground cracking beneath them. Neither held back.
But it wasn't a battle.
It was a conversation.
A conversation in punches and sweat and grit. In shared history and mutual respect.
When they finally stopped, both breathing hard, Garp clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're not done yet, are you?"
Victor shook his head.
"Not even close."
Garp looked toward the sky.
"Then go. Find your answers. And watch your back."
Victor nodded.
He turned toward the Byakko waiting silently in the sky.
The Phantom Hunter was no longer a shadow.
He was a storm.
And the storm was moving again.