The icy sea wind swept across the waves without mercy, its frozen breath biting at exposed skin.
A massive battleship cut through the water—majestic, oppressive. Thick, pitch-black cannons gleamed with fresh oil; the hull looked newly painted, pristine from bow to stern. Above it all, the blue-and-white Seagull Flag—symbol of "Peace and Justice"—snapped fiercely in the gale, projecting an overwhelming presence.
"Admiral Sengoku, everything is ready!"
A young aide hurried over, flushed with excitement.
"This military aid couldn't have come at a better time! We've paid the overdue wages, refitted more than a dozen major battleships, and upgraded the Headquarters' elite units with brand-new equipment—the best weapons we've ever had!"
He fidgeted with his gleaming black rifle, straightened his newly issued uniform and cap, and unconsciously squared his shoulders, confidence practically shining out of him.
"The representatives from the Member States attending the Knights of God Commander's inauguration ceremony in the Holy Land—Mary Geoise—won't forget the strength and grandeur of Marine Headquarters!"
As Sengoku's personal aide, he didn't know where the Fleet Admiral had found the money.
And he didn't particularly care.
With Sengoku's reputation as a "master strategist" and his deep network, scraping together a few billion berries should've been effortless.
What mattered was the result: the moment the funds arrived, every urgent problem choking Headquarters had been solved in one stroke.
And with each step, the aide felt his chest lift with pride. He even found himself walking louder, speaking more boldly than usual.
It might not sound especially righteous, but he couldn't deny it.
Money really was wonderful.
With that thought, his gaze turned even more reverent.
Sensing it, Sengoku couldn't help lifting his chin, a smug curl tugging at his mouth.
He hadn't felt this kind of admiration in a long time.
Ever since Darren and Zephyr had "defected," doubts about Sengoku's leadership had spread through the ranks like rot.
Because the World Government had issued strict secrecy orders, most Marines never learned the real reasons behind their departure. Inevitably, the blame found its way to Sengoku.
Zephyr had earned countless merits and trained countless outstanding officers.
Darren had been the rising star—battle records piled like mountains, legendary pirates brought down like trophies.
Why would men like that leave?
There had to be a hidden truth.
And if there was a hidden truth, then surely it had something to do with Sengoku—after all, everyone knew Fleet Admiral Kong had long since handed Sengoku the day-to-day military and administrative burdens.
Rumors had spread like wildfire:
"Sengoku drove them out."
"Sengoku's leadership is weak."
"Sengoku can't manage people."
And before Sengoku could even begin to stamp it out, the World Government slashed the Marines' budget.
That was gasoline on the fire.
The grumbling shifted into something uglier:
"See? Even the World Government can't stand him anymore!"
"It's because of Sengoku's incompetence!"
"They're cutting us so hard we won't even get paid soon!"
"If Sengoku hadn't driven out Vice Admiral Darren and Admiral Zephyr, we'd still be living easy!"
Sengoku had been livid.
Those two idiots—old and young—how was I supposed to stop them from running off?
And what the hell do budget cuts have to do with me?!
It's because Darren and Zephyr deserted!
Kong dumped everything on me and left me to take the blame.
But now—now—Sengoku could feel it again.
The respect in the eyes around him.
The kind of admiration befitting the Fleet Admiral of Marine Headquarters.
A faint smile threatened to bloom, but he forced his face stern as he spoke in a cool, measured tone.
"Headquarters is raising funds to refit our ships and re-equip our soldiers. This isn't vanity. It's about improving our combat effectiveness—so we can uphold Justice with stronger arms and firmer resolve."
He paused, and as he spoke, his own words seemed to harden into conviction.
"The Member States trust us not because of appearances, but because the Marines embody justice that rules the world!"
He punched the air, carried away by his own momentum, voice rising with passion.
"It's about never compromising with evil—about fighting it to the very end!"
"…Admiral Sengoku, you're absolutely right. My thinking was shallow." The aide's lips twitched, almost invisible, as he hurried to bow his head.
"Hm." Sengoku nodded gravely, then let a small smile return. "Still—you aren't wrong in one sense. If we can't even maintain our image properly, how can we expect the world to trust us?"
He clapped the aide on the shoulder.
"Issue the order: our escort for the Holy Land's inauguration ceremony must be flawless. We will show the world the Marines' proactive, upright, and positive spirit."
"Understood, Admiral Sengoku. The order has already been transmitted."
Only then did Sengoku allow himself a genuinely satisfied smile.
He might resent the Gorosei and the World Government down to his bones, but he couldn't deny the chain of command.
And even putting that aside—if anything went wrong during an inauguration ceremony at Mary Geoise, it would be catastrophic for global stability.
"Oh, right…"
As if remembering something, Sengoku lowered his voice.
"Any… unusual developments at Impel Down these past few days?"
Unusual?
The aide paused, thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No reports so far. Impel Down operates as a separate, isolated system. They only report directly to Headquarters if something serious happens."
Sengoku exhaled, relief loosening his shoulders. A smile returned.
"No news is good news…" he murmured. "No news is the best news…"
"But, Admiral Sengoku—now that you mention it—there is one thing." The aide frowned, searching his memory. "Just in the past few days, Impel Down's supply request included significantly more meat, alcohol, cigars, and cigarettes… luxury items, you might say."
To be continued...