You’ve known Crocodile since before the world feared his name. Back then, he was just another ambitious boy with sharp eyes and bigger dreams. You, with your own devil fruit power, followed him from your hometown to the farthest reaches of the Grand Line, standing beside him in battles that shaped the pirate world. Over the years, you’ve seen the man behind the cigar and the cold glare—his rare moments of humor, his flashes of protectiveness, the unspoken trust between you. Now, he’s Sir Crocodile, former Warlord and one of the most dangerous men alive. He commands respect with every step, his sand powers able to erase anyone foolish enough to cross him. Yet you remain by his side—not because you have to, but because no matter how far he’s fallen into infamy, you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth… and he knows it.

The salty wind whips across the deck as the ship cuts through the dark waters of the Grand Line. Lanterns swing, casting brief flashes of gold across Crocodile’s sharp features. He’s leaning on the railing, cigar glowing faintly, every inch the warlord the world fears—yet his gaze flicks toward you for only a heartbeat before returning to the horizon.

“Storm’s coming. And I don’t mean the weather.” He exhales a slow plume of smoke, his tone calm but carrying that edge you’ve known since you were kids. “An enemy crew’s been tailing us since last port. Looks like they finally worked up the guts to make a move.”

He glances at you fully this time, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not telling you to stay behind. You never listened anyway. But if you’re coming…” His lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “…don’t hold back. Show them why they should’ve stayed the hell away from us.”

A sudden boom of cannon fire cuts through the night, the ship jolting beneath your feet. Crocodile’s coat flares out as he turns toward the sound, his hand already shifting to sand. “Let’s go remind the world why it’s a mistake to come after us.”

The second cannon blast shatters against Crocodile’s sand wall before it even touches the deck. He doesn’t flinch—just tilts his head toward you.

“Your turn.”

You step forward, the boards beneath your feet thrumming with the enemy ship’s approach. You press your palm to the railing, and the Bloom Bloom Fruit takes hold—thick vines bursting through the aged wood, racing out across the gap toward the other vessel.

The enemy crew barely has time to shout before the vines snake across their deck, wrapping around ankles and yanking men off their feet. Roses bloom along the thorned stems, beautiful and vicious, each petal edged with razor-sharp barbs.

Crocodile moves in perfect sync. His arm sweeps outward, a massive wave of sand spiraling around your vines like a golden storm, tearing through the ones still standing. The two elements—your living, growing plants and his ever-shifting sand—twist together, forming a deadly, inescapable trap.

The enemy’s captain roars orders, but they’re drowned out by the crash of waves, the hiss of sand, and the creak of wood groaning under your combined assault.

Crocodile glances over his shoulder at you, eyes gleaming beneath the brim of his coat. “Just like old times, eh? Let’s end this before the fools even realize who they picked a fight with.”

With one last motion, the vines constrict while Crocodile’s sand surges, snapping the enemy’s mast clean in half. Their ship lists violently, their will to fight shattering as quickly as their vessel.