Chapter 366: The World Reacts

High above the clouds of the New World, suspended beneath a massive hot-air balloon, a strange house floated through the endless sky.

Inside the floating editorial office, a figure danced with unbridled enthusiasm, spinning in circles while clutching a wanted poster in his feathered hands. His distinctive albatross features were animated with excitement as he hummed a cheerful tune, completely lost in his euphoric celebration.

"Kuwahahaha!" Morgan's signature laugh echoed through the cabin, rich with satisfaction and anticipation. "What glorious news! What absolutely delicious chaos!"

The room around him buzzed with activity, dozens of Den Den Mushi ringing incessantly on various tables, their expressions reflecting the urgency of his worldwide network of informants. Each communication device represented another piece of the puzzle, another angle to be explored in what would undoubtedly become the story of the century.

This airborne headquarters bore the distinctive marks of its owner's profession and personality. Decorated with bird motifs that complemented Morgan's natural appearance, the office functioned as both a sanctuary and a command center for the world's most influential news organization. Maps of ocean currents, shipping lanes, and political territories covered the walls, while filing cabinets overflowed with intelligence reports that could topple governments or elevate unknown figures to legendary status.

Big News Morgans, president of the World Economy News Paper and one of the emperors of the New World's underworld, wielded more power than most people realized. His words could affect bounties, shape public perception, and even determine the rise or fall of entire pirate crews. The World Government feared him precisely because he remained beyond their direct control, operating from his mobile fortress in the sky where conventional authority could not reach.

Unlike many of his contemporaries who deferred to the wishes of the World Government, Morgans possessed something increasingly rare in the modern world: complete editorial independence. He reported what he wanted to report, elevated whom he wanted to elevate, and had built his reputation on being unafraid of the consequences. That fearlessness had made him both invaluable and dangerous.

His network of spies and informants spanned every ocean, from the most lawless pirate havens to the gleaming halls of Marijoa itself. Information flowed to him like water finding its level, and he had an almost preternatural ability to sense which stories would capture the world's imagination.

"This escaped slave..." Morgans held up the wanted poster, studying Oboro's scarred features with the keen eye of one who understood the power of images. "This beautiful, defiant bastard has done something that will reverberate through history itself!"

The photograph showed a man whose face told a story of suffering and survival, scars that spoke of systematic torture, eyes that burned with unquenchable determination. It was exactly the kind of compelling image that could turn a news story into a movement.

"A celestial dragon!" Morgans spun again, his wings catching the light streaming through the windows. "Dead! Actually dead! The first World Knovle to die at the hands of his own property in eight hundred years of absolute rule!"

The magnitude of the event sent shivers of professional ecstasy through his hybrid form. This wasn't just news, this was the kind of paradigm-shifting event that defined eras. The kind of story that separated legendary journalists from mere reporters.

For decades, he had covered the exploits of pirates and revolutionaries who challenged the world government in various ways. Some had attacked Marine bases, others had refused to pay the Celestial Tribute, and a few had even survived encounters with Admirals. But none had crossed the ultimate line, none had laid hands on the untouchable gods who ruled from the Holy Land.

"I will immortalize you in the annals of history," Morgans told the photographer, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality. "And the one who reports this magnificent achievement, the greatest journalist in the history of the world, will be remembered alongside you. Me! Morgan's Big News!"

The hot air balloon continued its journey across the turbulent skies of the New World, carrying its precious cargo of revolutionary ink to the printing presses that would soon flood the world with the most dangerous truth ever published.

Meanwhile, far below the clouds, the machinery of government retaliation moved with terrifying efficiency.

The Navy had failed. After days of intensive salvage operations, coordinated searches and systematic questioning of witnesses, they had found nothing. No bodies floating in the debris-choked waters around the Sabaody Archipelago. No concrete proof of death. No closure for the outraged Celestial Dragons who demanded proof of justice.

The World Government had deployed unprecedented resources to contain the situation: information blackouts, propaganda campaigns, and enough military might to level a small nation. But despite their best efforts, newspapers with the forbidden story continued to spread like wildfire across the Grand Line.

In his fortress office at Marineford, Fleet Admiral Sengoku stood before a wall-sized map of the world, his weathered hands clenched behind his back as he contemplated the magnitude of their failure. The newspaper lay crumpled on his desk, its headlines screaming accusations that made his blood boil.

THE MAN WITH UNFORGIVABLE SINS? THE GOD-KILLER? OR THE MOST POWERFUL CELESTIAL DRAGON SLAVE IN HISTORY?' - News Agency, Morgan's

HE HAS SURPASSED FISHER TIGER!

ROYAL POWER COLLAPSES! NAVY INCOMPETENCE REVEALS TURNING POINT IN HISTORY! THE FIG LEAF OF WORLD GOVERNMENT RUTHLESSLY TORN AWAY!

IS HE STILL ALIVE? WHERE IS HE?

Each word was a calculated stab at her credibility. Morgans had crafted his report with the skill of a master propagandist, presenting the escape as evidence of institutional decay rather than simple criminal activity.

"That bastard Morgans," Sengoku growled, his voice carrying the accumulated frustration of someone watching his life's work crumble. "He's turning this disaster into a carnival for the whole world to enjoy."

The fall of a Celestial Dragon, combined with the Navy's apparent failure to prevent or properly respond to the crisis, would indeed be ridiculed by people around the world. More importantly, it would encourage pirates everywhere to believe that the World Government's authority was not absolute.

What made Sengoku's anger burn hotter was evidence that Morgans had somehow obtained classified information about the operation. The newspaper carried photographs of Marines in compromising situations, caught off guard, struggling with resistance, looking decidedly un-heroic. These weren't images from public areas; they were scenes from secure locations that were supposed to be off-limits to civilian journalists.

Paired with text designed to highlight the alleged "weakness" of the Marines, these carefully selected photographs painted a picture of institutional incompetence that would resonate in pirate strongholds around the world. The message was clear: the Marines could be beaten, their authority was not divine, and revolution was possible.

The strategic implications went far beyond mere embarrassment. In a world where reputation is often more important than actual strength, perceived weakness could become real weakness with frightening speed.

SLAM!

Sengoku's fist slammed into his desk with enough force to crack the reinforced wood, sending papers scattering like dead leaves across the floor.

On the nearby sofa, Vice Admiral Garp looked up from his comfortable position, a half-eaten donut dangling from his hand as a snot bubble popped with comic timing. His expression showed the slight confusion of someone waking from a pleasant nap.

"What is it?" Garp asked with characteristic directness, blinking away the last traces of sleep. "Have you found a solution?"

With his straightforward mindset, he assumed that Sengoku's explosive outburst meant that their old friend had come up with some brilliant strategy to solve their predicament. The concept of desperate frustration seemed foreign to someone who had spent decades solving problems through direct action.

Chief of Staff Tsuru watched this familiar dynamic with the patience of someone who had witnessed their interactions for decades. She sipped her tea with elegant composure, neither surprised nor particularly concerned by the verbal sparring that was about to unfold.

"Can you still eat at a time like this?" Sengoku turned to his long-time friend, his face flushed with disbelief and annoyance.

"What's the big deal?" Garp shrugged with annoying nonchalance and took another bite of his snack. "It's just a dead sky dragon. People die all the time, right?"

His casual dismissal of what the World Government considered an unprecedented disaster reflected both his irreverent attitude toward authority and his genuine difficulty in understanding why everyone else seemed so panicked.

"You,!" Sengoku stepped forward, grabbed Garp's collar with both hands, and began an animated lecture that included considerable spitting and dramatic gestures.

Garp bore this assault on his personal space with remarkable stoicism, continuing to chew his doughnut as droplets of saliva adorned his face. He truly didn't understand the magnitude of the impact that the death of a Celestial Dragon would have on the political balance of the world, but he understood that his friend needed to vent his frustration somehow.

After several minutes of this therapeutic exercise, Sengoku released his grip and slumped back into his chair, exhaustion replacing anger as the adrenaline wore off.

In reality, Garp's casual attitude served a purpose, providing emotional release for problems that were ultimately beyond the power of either individual to solve. Their friendship had survived decades of such moments, built on a mutual understanding that sometimes problems required yelling at someone who wouldn't take offense.

"Still," Garp's expression grew a little more serious as he finished his snack, "if that boy is indeed alive somewhere... things could get pretty messy."

"The World Government sent representatives to negotiate with Doflamingo," Tsuru interjected, setting down her teacup with deliberate precision. "The details of their conversation remain secret, but the Celestial Demon ultimately agreed to spare the lives of his subordinates. However, the 'interests' he sacrificed to ensure that outcome were... substantial."

She paused, letting the implications sink in before continuing.

"Only someone with Doflamingo's unique position could have handled such negotiations. Any other warlord would have faced execution along with his crews."

The Donquixote Family executives had played a relatively minor role in the auction house incident, but they bore the responsibility for allowing it to occur on their territory. Under normal circumstances, the Celestial Dragons' demand for retribution would have been absolute and non-negotiable.

"Given his reputation for holding grudges," Tsuru observed with clinical detachment, "Doflamingo now wants the escaped slave dead even more than the World Government. The problem is, if we can't find him, the Heavenly Demon's underground resources won't fare any better."

"I have to report to Marijoa," Sengoku announced with the resigned tone of someone who was heading for his own execution.

Tsuru met his gaze with understanding sympathy. The three of them knew that someone would have to take responsibility for this disaster, and as Fleet Admiral, Sengoku was the obvious candidate.

"Are you ready?" she asked softly.

The implications hung in the air between them. This incident could very well end Sengoku's distinguished career, forcing him into early retirement as a political sacrifice to appease the wrath of the Celestial Dragon.

In the New World, the reactions were swift and profound.

On Onigashima, in a cave shrouded by dark, oppressive clouds and lightning, a massive shadow clutched a red porcelain cup. The liquor flowed like a waterfall as Kaido of the Beasts drank with legendary intensity, streams of crystal cascading down his chin to splash on the ground far below.

Crash!

The cup shattered on the stone floor as Kaido let out a tremendous belch that echoed through the cave like thunder.

"Worororororo!" His distinctive laugh erupted with explosive force, so loud and powerful that his subordinates covered their ears and trembled with instinctive fear.

The Beast King had read the news with great amusement. Someone had actually done it, someone had crossed the ultimate line and lived long enough to escape. The sheer audacity of the act appealed to Kaido's warrior spirit, even as he realized the chaos it would unleash.

For too long, the world had been stagnant, governed by boring rules and predictable power structures. This development promised to shatter that boredom in the most spectacular way possible.

Totto Land, Whole Cake Island

The atmosphere in the Charlotte family's great hall was eerily quiet and oppressive. Every member of Big Mom's extended family had gathered, their usual chatter replaced by a tense silence as they awaited their mother's reaction to the newspaper report.

Charlotte Linlin sat on her massive throne, the delicate paper looking absurdly small in her huge hands. She held the publication close to her face, her eyes scanning the text with the slow, careful attention of someone processing momentous information.

"Mah mah mah..." Big Mom's signature laugh began as a low rumble, gradually building in intensity until it filled the entire hall with its unsettling resonance.

"If you're still alive," she mused, her voice carrying easily to every corner of the vast room, "then only the New World can protect you now. Come here, come to my domain..."

Her massive form shifted on the throne as she considered the strategic possibilities. An escaped Celestial Dragon slave who had actually killed one of the World Nobles would be the ultimate prize, both as a symbol of defiance and as a potential ally in her ongoing struggle for supremacy.

"Find Morgans at once!" she commanded, her voice booming with imperial authority. "He will be the first to know if this man lives or dies. If he's alive, find him before anyone else and invite him to my tea party.

"Remember, speed is of the essence! Find him first!"

"Yes, Mama!" Charlotte Perospero replied immediately, his long tongue rolling as he acknowledged the command with appropriate respect.

The Great Mother's interest was both personal and strategic. Someone with the courage to kill a Celestial Dragon possessed exactly the kind of fearless boldness she valued in potential allies. More importantly, harboring such a fugitive would send a clear message to the World Government about the limits of their authority in Emperor-controlled territories.

In a snow-covered forest somewhere in the New World, the Red-Haired Pirates had set up a makeshift camp around a crackling campfire. Red-Haired Shanks sat on a cut tree stump, studying the newspaper with an expression of mild amusement.

"It's incredible," he remarked, his voice carrying both admiration and concern. "Looks like the seas are about to come alive again."

Lucky Roux walked by carrying an armload of dry branches and glanced at the paper with casual interest. "He should be dead by now, right?"

"Even if he's not dead, he probably won't live much longer," Beckman added, cigarette smoke curling around his words. "He's too daring, it's impossible for him to reach the New World alive."

The deputy captain's assessment was coldly practical. "The Celestial Dragons will never allow their divine authority to show the slightest crack. The nature of this incident is fundamentally different from previous challenges to their power."

Shanks folded the newspaper and looked at Beckman thoughtfully. "If it were you, besides the New World... where would you choose to escape to?"

"The Navy's control of the New World is completely different from their influence in the first half of the Grand Line," Beckman replied with analytical precision. "Simply put, the World Government has no overwhelming advantage here, which is why they fear us. If anyone wants to survive killing a Celestial Dragon, they can only come to the New World."

He paused to take a long drag on his cigarette before continuing.

"The World Government understands this reality, so they will definitely prevent him from 'passing through. And except for the New World, no place in the world can accept him. Because as soon as someone accepts him, it's tantamount to declaring themselves an enemy of the Celestial Dragons.

"Even non-member countries or illegal islands, as long as he shows up, whether it's civilians or pirates, they'll report him immediately. Nobody wants to get involved. He's the biggest disaster in the world right now."

"Although," Beckman added with grudging respect, "given his courage and what he's accomplished, I personally admire him greatly."

"Is there really no way out? I don't think so," Shanks shook his head with characteristic optimism.

"I know what you're thinking," Beckman continued patiently. "The Navy only has the advantage in this situation, that doesn't mean they've completely infiltrated every corner of the sea. There are some special places that aren't normally accessible, like Sky Island... But this matter is too serious. What you can think of, they can think of."

"No, I mean the Four Blues," Shanks said with a slight grin.

The Red-Haired Emperor's suggestion made Beckman pause mid-puff on his cigarette, reconsidering the strategic possibilities.

"Well... if he goes there, there might be a glimmer of hope. But he still can't escape the shadow of death."

"I'm very optimistic about him!" Shanks slapped his knee enthusiastically and picked up the photo from the newspaper. "This guy is really remarkable! Even I admire him a little!"

"He's not like us," Beckman remarked after studying the portrait intently, then walked away.

This new face who had killed a Celestial Dragon represented something beyond the typical pirate. He was what Beckman would call a true "outlaw," someone who consistently broke the basic rules that kept their world functioning.

Such individuals were inherently dangerous, not because of their personal power, but because of their willingness to upset the delicate balances that prevented total chaos.

"Isn't that possible? I think he looks nice in his picture!" Shanks called after his departing friend with theatrical disappointment.

"No!" came Beckman's determined reply.

"Sigh..." The red-haired man pretended to sigh dramatically.

Despite his seemingly casual demeanor, Shanks possessed an extraordinary ability to read people, even from mere photographs. The feeling this mysterious individual gave him was... unsettling. Not evil, exactly, but something fundamentally different from the usual pirates seeking freedom or adventure.

"I have a feeling we will meet one day," he murmured to himself, his expression growing more serious. "And that day... shouldn't be too far off."

On the Moby Dick, the Whitebeard Pirates celebrated with their characteristic enthusiasm.

The massive ship rode the waves with majestic grace, while the crew engaged in lively festivities on deck. Drinking contests, arm wrestling matches, and the kind of boisterous camaraderie that had made them legendary filled the evening air with laughter and good cheer.

"Dad," Marco approached, his characteristic pineapple-shaped hair catching the lantern light, "Big Mom suddenly pulled all her troops out of our border areas."

The First Division Commander took a sip of sake before continuing his report to Edward Newgate, who remained immersed in the warm atmosphere of celebration.

"I think it has to do with what happened recently in the Sabaody Archipelago."

"Gurarara..." Whitebeard set down his massive sake cup and laughed with rich appreciation. "Linlin is still the same."

"Is she thinking about recruiting that guy?" Marco mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But we don't even know if he's alive or dead. Besides, even if she finds him, she probably won't dare to recruit him openly. The most she'll do is hide him."

Whitebeard's cheeks flushed with alcohol and good humor as he considered the strategic implications. Something in the old Emperor's expression suggested he was weighing possibilities his crew couldn't quite grasp.

"Gurarara... drink!" Whitebeard called for someone to fill his cup, raising it high in a toast.

"Oh!" The response from his sons was immediate and thunderous, hundreds of voices joining in the celebration of life, family, and the endless adventures that awaited them on the high seas.

"Hey... Dad, drink less," Marco looked helpless as he watched his father's enthusiasm, wanting to counsel moderation but unable to bring himself to interrupt such genuine joy.

In the back of his mind, the First Division Commander wondered what role this mysterious escaped slave might play in the changing dynamics of the New World. The removal of the Celestial Dragon's protection from the power equation could change everything in ways none of them could fully predict.

The world was about to become a very different place, and even the strongest man in the world was taking notice.

As night fell over the Grand Line, the ripples of one man's desperate act of defiance spread across every ocean.

In taverns and pirate ports, in naval bases and royal courts, in the hidden councils of revolutionaries and the throne rooms of kings, people absorbed the impossible news with a mixture of horror, excitement, and the dawning realization that nothing would ever be the same again.

The age of unquestioned Celestial Dragon supremacy had suffered its first crack, and history would judge whether that crack would heal... or spread until the entire foundation crumbled.

Somewhere in the crushing depths of the ocean, carried in the belly of a Sea King to an uncertain destination, Oboro remained unconscious, unaware that his single act of revenge had already begun to reshape the world he had sought to escape.

The game had evolved beyond personal survival into something far larger and more dangerous than he had ever imagined.