The transition was instantaneous. One moment, Bartholomew Kuma was standing in the blood-soaked ruin of Thriller Bark's dining hall, the phantom sensation of a father's hope still warm in his chest.
The next, the air compressed around him with a soft puff, and he was standing on the cool, polished marble floor of Fleet Admiral Sengoku's office in Marineford. The shift from gothic horror to sterile, imposing bureaucracy was jarring, even for a mind as conditioned as his.
The office was occupied. Fleet Admiral Sengoku sat behind his massive desk, his expression a carefully schooled mask of stoicism, though the tension around his eyes betrayed his anxiety.
To his right stood the venerable Vice Admiral Tsuru, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze sharp and analytical.
Slouching against a bookshelf was Admiral Aokiji, Kuzan, his usual lazy posture belied by the fresh bandages visible on his jaw and the faint, lingering chill of medical treatment around his frame.
Leaning against the opposite wall, picking at his nails with an air of detached boredom, was Admiral Kizaru.
All four pairs of eyes locked onto Kuma the moment he materialized. They saw the empty space beside him. They saw the absolute lack of the panicked, corpulent Warlord they had sent him to retrieve. The conclusion was foregone, but protocol demanded the question.
"Kuma," Sengoku's voice was flat, devoid of expectation. "Where is Moria?"
Kuma's systems whirred softly. The part of him that had spoken to Ragnar, that had felt emotion, was now securely locked away, buried beneath layers of programming and the grim finality of his deal. His voice returned to its full, synthetic monotone.
"Gecko Moria was long dead upon my arrival. I immediately bounced back without confirming the identity of the aggressor."
A collective, silent sigh seemed to pass through the room. It was the worst-case scenario, delivered with brutal efficiency.
The Shichibukai system, already reeling from Crocodile's removal and the Enies Lobby incident, had lost another member. And the Sea Scourge's legend grew ever more terrifying.
"Dismissed." Sengoku gave a curt nod.
Kuma bowed mechanically, turned, and strode out of the office, his heavy footsteps echoing in the sudden silence. The door clicked shut, leaving the four most powerful figures in the Marines grappling with a new, grim reality.
"How do we proceed?" Tsuru finally asked, breaking the quiet. "The balance of power is shifting dangerously."
"We need to find a replacement for Moria. We increase patrols in Paradise. We-" Sengoku began, but his sentence was cut off by the office door being kicked open with a force that nearly tore it from its hinges.
"SENGOOKUUU, YOU BASTARD!"
The roar was familiar, loud, and utterly unconcerned with military decorum. Monkey D. Garp, the Hero of the Marines, stood in the doorway, his face a comical mask of outrage. He was pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at the Fleet Admiral.
"You! You actually stole my special rice crackers! The ones with the seaweed flavor! The ones I hide in the third drawer! UNFORGIVABLE!" Garp bellowed, stomping into the room.
"I'm going to find your precious pet goat, I'm going to roast it over a slow fire, and I'm going to eat it right in front of you! See how you like it!"
Sengoku's carefully maintained composure was shattered. A vein throbbed on his forehead. "NAAAANI!? You senile old fool! Don't you dare slander me! It wasn't me! I would never touch your disgusting, crumbly snacks!"
"LIES!" Garp roared, now standing directly in front of the desk.
"You've been eyeing them for weeks! You said, and I quote, 'Those look strangely appetizing, Garp.' That was a declaration of war!" He leaned forward, his face inches from Sengoku's. "Admit it!"
"I will admit no such thing, you carb-craving caveman!" Sengoku shot back, standing up so fast his chair screeched backward.
Garp's response was not verbal. With speed that belied his age, he reached across the desk, grasped the collar of Sengoku's pristine white admiral's coat, and yanked him forward. Before anyone could react, Garp planted a solid fist right into the center of Sengoku's face.
THWACK!
It wasn't a Haki-infused blow meant to maim, but it was a solid, hearty punch that snapped Sengoku's head back and sent his Admiral's cap flying.
"GARP, YOU BASTARD!" Sengoku yelled, clutching his nose. Any semblance of professional dignity vanished. He vaulted over the desk with surprising agility, tackling Garp around the midsection.
The two legendary marines, one the Fleet Admiral and the other a Vice Admiral, a hero of the Marines tumbled to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs and shouted insults.
"Give me back my crackers, you thief!"
"I don't have them, you moron! Check with the cleaning staff!"
"You're the only one greedy enough to commit such a heinous crime!"
"Take that back! Your breath smells like old crackers anyway!"
They rolled across the expensive rug, Sengoku trying to get Garp in a headlock while Garp attempted to stuff a handful of Sengoku's meticulously maintained goatee into his mouth.
Aokiji watched, one single eyebrow raised so high it threatened to disappear into his hairline. Kizaru observed the proceedings with a faint, amused smirk, murmuring a slow, "Ooooh… troublesome…"
But, Tsuru, however, had seen enough.
With a long-suffering sigh that spoke of decades dealing with these two, she raised a hand.
A faint, soapy scent filled the air as she activated her Woshu Woshu no Mi, the Wash-Wash Fruit. A translucent, sudsy wave emanated from her palm and washed over the two grappling old men.
The effect was immediate and bizarre. Garp and Sengoku froze mid-wrestle, their faces slack. The rage, the indignation, the sheer childish fury was visibly scrubbed away from them, leaving behind a sense of baffled calm, as if they'd just woken from a strange dream.
They looked at each other, then at their compromising position on the floor, and slowly untangled themselves, getting to their feet and brushing off their uniforms as if nothing had happened.
"Well then," Sengoku said, his voice perfectly normal again, "as I was saying, we need to address the strategic implications."
"Right, right," Garp agreed, nodding sagely as he retrieved his own dog cap from under a chair. He then plopped himself down into a vacant seat, completely unbothered.
His eyes fell upon Aokiji. He took in the bandages, the slight pallor to his skin, and a wide, toothy grin split his face. A booming, room-shaking laugh erupted from his chest.
"BWAHAHAHAHA! KUZAN! YOU GOT BEATEN SO EASILY, YOU FOOL! LOOK AT YOU! ALL PATCHED UP LIKE A FRAGILE DOLL!"
Aokiji slumped further against the bookshelf, a dull flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
"Well… I got caught off guard," he muttered, the excuse sounding weak even to his own ears. The memory of Ragnar's fist connecting with his jaw, the shock of the Internal Destruction Haki, was still vividly humiliating.
Sengoku, now back in his chair and straightening his collar, slid a thick folder across the desk toward Garp. "Read this. The preliminary report on the Sea Scourge, Ragnar, compiled from Enies Lobby and Kuzan's engagement."
Garp picked up the file, his laughter subsiding into occasional chuckles as he scanned the pages. His reading speed was deceptively fast.
After a minute, he slapped the file down on the desk and burst into another peal of uproarious laughter, this time even louder and more heartily confused.
"BAHAHAHAHA! OH, THIS IS TOO RICH! BWAHAHAHA!"
Aokiji and Kizaru exchanged puzzled glances. Sengoku and Tsuru, however, simply shared a weary look. They had already pieced it together.
"What's so funny, Garp-san?" Kizaru asked, his tone languid.
Garp wiped a tear from his eye, his whole body shaking with mirth. "You, Kuzan! You idiot! You got outsmarted! Completely and utterly played!"
Aokiji frowned. "What are you talking about? His control over water was unprecedented. He neutralized my ice."
"THAT'S THE POINT, YOU BLOCKHEAD!" Garp roared, leaning forward and pointing a thick finger at his stupid apprentice.
"Think about it! That brat is what, in his early twenties? You've got decades of experience on him. He's a Water Logia, terrifying, yes, he can make ice with cold water, steam with boiling water, I get it."
"But there is no conceivable world, none, where his raw Devil Fruit power could overpower yours in a battle of attrition or outright force. You're an Admiral! Your reserves should dwarf his!"
He tapped the report emphatically. "So, there's only one truth. That crafty little brat made you think your ice ability was useless against him. He created a scenario, a perception, that forced you to abandon your greatest strength and engage him on his terms: hand-to-hand combat."
"And this report says his Haki became stronger during the fight, that he even used advanced Internal Damage techniques. It was a hundred percent, a guaranteed fact! He used you, an Admiral of the Marines, as a living whetstone to hone his Armament Haki!"
"He got the fight he wanted, the experience he needed, and then he left as soon as Borsalino showed up because the training session was over!"
The revelation landed in the room with the force of a cannonball. Aokiji's face went pale, then flushed with a deep, burning shame. He stared at the floor, his fists clenching at his sides.
The fog of rage and humiliation that had clouded his mind since Enies Lobby cleared, and he saw the engagement with horrifying clarity.
Garp was right. He hadn't been defeated in a straightforward battle; he had been manipulated, used as a stepping stone. It was a far deeper insult than a simple loss.
"Ooooh… so slyyy…" Kizaru let out a low whistle.
Sengoku nodded grimly. "We reached the same conclusion. His tactical intelligence is as dangerous as his raw power."
Tsuru placed a comforting hand on Aokiji's arm. "It's not your fault, Kuzan. His abilities are uniquely suited to psychological warfare. He exploited your desire for justice for the Enies Lobby casualties."
Garp, his laughter finally subsiding, gave a firm nod. "She's right. You're not weak, Kuzan. You're just dumb." He grinned widely. "My apprentice needs to get smart, like me! BAHHAHA!"
Sengoku and Tsuru rolled their eyes in perfect, exasperated unison.
Suddenly, Sengoku's eyes widened as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. He slammed his palm down on his desk with a crack that made everyone jump. He pointed a trembling finger at Garp, his face a mixture of fury and vindication.
"YOU! What is the matter with your family, you bastard?! All of them! Every single one! Are you running a criminal breeding program?!"
He rummaged in another drawer and slammed a fresh bounty poster onto the desk, sliding it toward Garp. It featured a grinning, straw-hatted boy. "Straw Hat" Monkey D. Luffy. Wanted: 70,000,000 Berries.
Garp looked at the poster. His grin, if possible, grew even wider. A proud gleam entered his eyes. "BWAHAHA! THAT'S MY GRANDSON!" he boomed, giving a triumphant thumbs-up. "LOOK AT THAT SMILE! HE GETS IT FROM ME!"
Sengoku looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.
"I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU PAY FOR YOUR FAMILY'S CRIMES, YOU UNRELIABLE OLD GEEZER! DRAGON IS THE WORLD'S MOST WANTED MAN, AND NOW YOUR GRANDSON IS A SUPER-ROOKIE WITH A HIGH BOUNTY! THE SHAME YOU BRING UPON THE MARINE NAME!"
Garp leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Bwahahah! What are you gonna do with these old bones, Sengoku? Court-martial me? Try it! I'd like to see you!"
The sheer, carefree audacity of it left Sengoku utterly speechless. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out.
Finally, with a sound of pure frustration, he spun his chair around to face the window, crossing his arms and letting out a loud, theatrical "HMPH!" His shoulders were hunched, his entire posture that of a deeply wronged and pouting child.
The sight was so profoundly undignified that Tsuru and Aokiji looked away in shared disgust. Kizaru, however, peered at the pouting Fleet Admiral, his lips pursed in thought. "Mmmm… quite the effective strategy, Sengoku-san," he mused approvingly. "A formidable defensive maneuver."
From his seat, Garp just kept laughing, the sound echoing through the office, a stark contrast to the world-shattering problems piling up on Sengoku's desk.