Ever since that encrypted call with the Fleet Admiral, Gales had grown noticeably quieter.
Ritter could not help muttering to himself, half amused, half incredulous.
What, is the mental toughness of top-tier fighters this weak now? If you are already like this, what happens to people like Kizaru?
The thought drifted through his mind like idle commentary. He shook it off with a click of his tongue.
The atmosphere aboard the warship followed suit. It turned heavy, almost suffocating. Even A-Yang and the little brown bear toned down their daily roughhousing.
Everyone could feel it. The usually sharp and composed Black Hawk Admiral now carried a pressure that felt ready to explode at any moment.
The truth had surfaced.
All evidence pointed to the commanding officer of South Sea Branch 77, Major Grubo, nicknamed "Flying Pig." It was him who had abused his authority to shelter the Wild Boar Pirates, feeding them intelligence, orchestrating the raid on Kacha Island, and attempting to pin the blame on Joy Boy and Ritter.
The warship was now heading straight for his base at full speed.
At the bow, Gales stood still, his coat of justice fluttering in the sea wind. There was no satisfaction on his face. No sense of triumph at uncovering corruption.
Only a heavy, unshakable weight.
Grubo was just a small fish. The real problem lay in the network behind him. The ties to the World Nobles. The Fleet Admiral's warning still echoed in his ears.
Know when to stop.
That phrase sat like a thorn lodged deep in the justice he believed in. Clean. Absolute. Uncompromising.
"Tsk. You look like you swallowed something foul."
Ritter's lazy voice drifted over.
He had wandered over at some point, one arm loosely around his quiet vice-captain.
"You are about to bring justice down from the heavens, right? So why don't you look a little more… impressive, Admiral?"
Gales shot him a cold glance and said nothing.
Talking to someone like Ritter was pointless.
Ritter leaned in anyway, lowering his voice.
"Let me guess. Your Fleet Admiral told you to think about the bigger picture. Told you that the man behind this pig is someone even headquarters has to tread carefully around."
He grinned.
"Go on, admit it."
Gales' fist tightened.
"Call it guessing if you want. We both know you were listening."
In the end, all he said was, "Marine affairs are none of your concern."
Ritter laughed.
"Of course not. I am just a passenger enjoying the show."
He reached up and pinched his vice-captain's cheek lightly.
"Consider this a lesson. Sometimes the world does not run on strength alone. If your fist is not enough, it just means it is not strong enough yet."
The girl blinked her icy blue eyes and poked his cheek in return.
"Like… that king who tried to bribe us before."
Ritter burst out laughing.
"Exactly. You get it. Same story everywhere."
Gales' temple twitched.
He turned his head away, refusing to look at them any longer.
But Ritter's words still struck like a whip against the turmoil inside him.
Days later, the warship arrived at South Sea Branch 77.
At the dock, Major Grubo was already waiting with a line of officers.
He looked exactly like his nickname suggested. Fat, greasy-faced, with narrow eyes squinting into a flattering smile.
"Admiral Gales! Welcome, welcome! It must have been a long journey!"
He hurried forward, giving an exaggerated salute that looked almost rehearsed to perfection.
Gales gave a curt nod, his gaze sweeping over the group before settling deeper into the base.
"Major Grubo. Inside."
His tone carried something restrained.
"Yes, yes, of course! Please, this way!"
Grubo quickly led the way, even lightly slapping his own face in mock humility as he went.
Inside a lavishly decorated meeting room, he dismissed most of the personnel, leaving only a few trusted aides.
Then he rubbed his hands together, his smile widening.
"Admiral, you have come a long way. Please accept a small token of appreciation. Think of it as… support for the brothers. A little gesture from your subordinate."
With a wave of his hand, several aides brought forward heavy chests.
They opened them.
Gold. Beli stacked high. Glittering jewels. Even finely crafted weapons studded with gemstones.
Then, a group of elegantly dressed women entered, their presence filling the room with a thick, cloying fragrance.
Ritter let out a low whistle.
Then immediately covered his vice-captain's eyes with one hand.
"Not for kids."
The girl puffed her cheeks in protest, but her eyes still peeked through his fingers with curiosity.
"These are all clean earnings," Grubo said in a lowered voice, leaning closer with a knowing smile. "As long as you handle the Kacha Island matter with a bit of… flexibility, the South Sea will always have a share for you."
He was confident.
His backers had already made arrangements. This was just procedure.
Maybe, if things went well, he could even latch onto an Admiral and rise higher.
After all, who would dislike a dog that could fetch gold?
Gales stared at the scene in silence.
The empty village.
The bloodstained insignia.
Buffon's burning hatred.
The Fleet Admiral's reluctant warning.
Ritter's mocking voice.
Everything surged together.
And snapped.
"Clean earnings?"
Gales slowly raised his head. The coldness in his eyes had turned into blazing fury.
"You dare call money soaked in the blood of civilians 'clean'?"
Grubo froze.
"H Admiral, there must be some misunderstanding…"
"Misunderstanding?"
Gales slammed his hand down.
The solid wooden table shattered instantly.
"You are a Marine. And you chose to act like this."
In a flash, he was in front of Grubo.
His fist, coated in hardened Armament Haki, drove forward with unstoppable force.
A heavy impact exploded through the room.
Grubo screamed as his massive body was launched backward, crashing into the wall.
Blood mixed with bile spilled from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground, writhing and wailing like a slaughtered pig.
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