Meanwhile on the other side…..The air in the Fleet Admiral's office at Marine Headquarters was thick enough to be cut with a knife.
It was a weight composed of equal parts frustration, bureaucratic dread, and the simmering, impotent rage of a man whose authority was being systematically undermined by powers even he could not refuse.
Sengoku sat behind his massive, meticulously organized desk, the pristine white of his uniform and the golden Buddha statue on the shelf behind him doing little to offset the storm brewing in his eyes.
Before him, the primary Den Den Mushi, its shell stark white and emblazoned with the symbol of the World Government, was active. But it wasn't the face of a fellow Marine or a CP agent that manifested.
The snail's features had contorted into something ancient, grotesque, and utterly devoid of warmth, a visage of absolute, celestial authority.
The voice that emanated from it was not loud, but it carried a resonance that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of one's bones, a sound of dry, rustling parchment and final judgment.
"The incident in Alabasta is an unacceptable deviation," the voice stated, each syllable dropping into the room like a stone into a still pond.
"A Warlord deposed. A kingdom destabilized. And this… this 'Sea Scourge'… his existence is a stain. His acquisition of the logia Water-Water no mi is a catastrophic security failure."
"He flaunts his power, he gathers dangerous elements, and he has subverted one of our primary information channels. This cannot be allowed to continue."
Sengoku, a man who commanded the greatest military force on the planet, felt a bead of cold sweat trace a path down his temple. He kept his posture ramrod straight.
"With all due respect, Saint Saturn, the situation is complex. Crocodile's actions were a direct violation of his-"
"Make sure that bastard disappears from the seas, and send an Admiral to do it, Sengoku"
The command was delivered with a flat, casual finality that was more terrifying than any shouted order. It brooked no discussion, admitted no complexity. It was the simple, unadorned will of a god.
Sengoku's jaw tightened. "But, an Admiral! To mobilize one of our ultimate military assets for a single pirate, so soon after his rise, it would send a message of-"
"Send an Admiral, Sengoku."
The voice did not rise in volume. It did not need to. The implicit threat in those four words was more potent than a fleet of Buster Calls.
It was a reminder of the chain of command, a chain that extended far above his head into the rarefied, untouchable air of Pangaea Castle.
There was a long, heavy silence. Sengoku bowed his head slightly, the gesture one of pure, strained submission.
"Yes. Understood, Saint Saturn."
The connection severed. The Den Den Mushi slumped, its features returning to their placid, default state. The silence it left behind was somehow louder and more oppressive than the voice of the Celestial Dragon had been.
Sengoku let out a long, weary breath, the sound deflating him. He looked up at the two men who had been present for the entire, humiliating exchange, standing before his desk like living embodiments of the Marine's most potent, and problematic power.
On the right, slouching with an air of perpetual boredom, was Admiral Kizaru. His yellow pinstriped suit was immaculate, his sunglasses hiding whatever thoughts might be flickering behind his eyes.
He had one hand in his pocket, the other idly examining his fingernails, as if the divine mandate they had just witnessed was a mildly interesting weather report.
On the left, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, was Admiral Aokiji. Tall, lanky, and wrapped in a dark blue overcoat, he seemed more engaged, his usual sleepy expression replaced by a thoughtful frown. A faint chill seemed to emanate from him, a subtle testament to the frozen power he contained.
"And so, we dance to their tune," Sengoku muttered, to himself. He massaged his temples, feeling a headache of cosmic proportions beginning to bloom behind his eyes.
"This 'Ragnar' has drawn the ire of the highest throne. They want him erased. Permanently."
"So. who wants to go?" He said as he looked from one Admiral to the other.
The reaction was immediate and profoundly irritating. Kizaru, without moving a single other muscle, slowly turned his head to look out the large window overlooking the bay of Marineford, his body language screaming a complete and total disinterest in the assignment.
He let out a soft, drawn-out "Mmmmmmmmmm..." that was neither a confirmation nor a denial, but a masterclass in passive-aggressive avoidance.
Sengoku felt a vein in his forehead begin to throb, a hot, pulsing rhythm of pure, undiluted frustration. His hands, resting on the desk, clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.
' This lazy bum!' he screamed internally, the thought a silent roar in the confines of his own skull.
'The single most powerful weapon in our arsenal, a man who can move at the speed of light, and he'd rather contemplate the goddamn seagulls than do his job! Is there a lazier entity in the entire Grand Line?!'
He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to maintain his composure. He couldn't order Kizaru. An Admiral's authority was nearly coequal with his own. 'You asked'. 'You persuaded'.
And with Kizaru, persuasion was like trying to nail jelly to a wall.
Just as Sengoku was about to attempt the Herculean task of motivating the unmotivatable, a calm, deep voice cut through the tension.
"I'll go."
Aokiji pushed himself off the wall, unfolding his long limbs. He stood to his full height, his hands now in his own pockets, but his posture was one of resolve, not indolence.
"Aokiji?" Sengoku's gaze snapped to him, the throbbing vein in his head calming slightly.
"The initial reports from Alabasta are fragmentary, but they consistently mention his control over water," Aokiji said, his voice cool and logical.
"A Logia of that caliber is a significant threat to any conventional force. But water conducts electricity. Ice, however…" He held up a hand, and a delicate, fractal flower of ice bloomed in his palm, glittering in the office light before sublimating into a faint mist.
"Ice, my ability could be of use. More importantly, my abilities allow for large-scale environmental control. I can freeze the sea around his ship, negating its mobility. I can create a battlefield that favors me entirely. A water Logia would find their powers significantly restrained against me."
The logic was sound. Impeccable, even. It was the kind of tactical analysis Sengoku appreciated. It was also a welcome respite from Kizaru's infuriating non-compliance.
Sengoku nodded, a wave of relief washing over him. At least one of them understood the concept of duty.
"Good. Very well. I am entrusting this to you, Kuzan. Find this 'Sea Scourge.' Assess the full extent of his threat. And if the opportunity presents itself… carry out the order." He didn't say the words 'kill him,' but they hung in the air between them, cold and unambiguous.
"Understood." Aokiji gave a single, curt nod. Though if Sengoku knew that Aokiji only wanted to know if Robin had truly found her home, I don't know how he would feel.
Without another word, he turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Sengoku alone in the vast office with the other Admiral.
The silence stretched, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Sengoku slowly turned his head, his glare a physical force that could have bored a hole through steel.
He fixed his gaze on Kizaru, who was still looking out the window, seemingly mesmerized by the flight pattern of a distant gull.
The Admiral, sensing the intensity of the stare, slowly, ever so slowly, turned his head back to face his superior.
His expression was the picture of bland innocence, as if he had just noticed Sengoku's presence for the first time. He offered a slight, noncommittal shrug.
Sengoku said nothing. He didn't need to. The sheer, concentrated force of his glare, a glare honed by decades of dealing with insubordinate subordinates, treacherous Warlords, and the impossible egos of the men who held the title of 'Admiral,' was communication enough.
It was a glare that contained volumes of unspoken reprimand.
'You are a pillar of the World Government. You wield power that can shatter islands. And you cannot be bothered to lift a finger unless it is to pour yourself another cup of tea. Your laziness is not just a personal failing; it is a strategic vulnerability. One of these days, Borsalino, that lethargy of yours is going to cost us something we cannot afford to lose.'
Kizaru, for his part, weathered the silent tirade with practiced ease. His lips pursed in a faint, almost imperceptible
"Ooooh?" of feigned curiosity, before he deliberately turned his gaze back to the window, effectively dismissing the Fleet Admiral and his concerns.
Sengoku finally let out a gust of air, slumping back in his chair. He felt exhausted. He had just dispatched one of his three ultimate weapons to hunt down a rookie pirate on the command of a Celestial Dragon, while his other ultimate weapon was proving to be about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
He stared at the stack of paperwork on his desk, the reports of rising piracy, the casualty lists from skirmishes in the New World, the endless, grinding machinery of an empire at war.
And now, he had to add a new file to the pile: 'Operation: Erasure.' Target: Ragnar, the Sea Scourge. Executioner: Admiral Aokiji.
He had a very, very bad feeling about this. Not for Aokiji, the man was more than capable. No, his bad feeling was for the fragile balance of the world. Sending an Admiral into Paradise was like using a battleship to hunt a rowboat.
The rowboat would be obliterated, certainly. But the wake left by the battleship… that would capsize every other vessel in the water.
The repercussions of this decision would ripple outward in ways he couldn't yet foresee, and in the quiet of his office, with only the infuriatingly placid Kizaru for company, Fleet Admiral Sengoku felt the first, cold tremors of the earthquake to come.