The Fleet Admiral's office looked exactly as before.
Documents piled high like miniature fortresses.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku sat behind his desk, head lowered, reading.
The white goat that normally devoured paperwork had been tied to a nearby shelf and now chewed listlessly on its rope.
KING stepped forward, stopped before the desk, and stood silently.
He had already made a decision:
If money was mentioned… he would play dumb.
Silence filled the room.
Only the sound of paper turning broke the stillness.
Five full minutes passed.
Sengoku finally set the document down and adjusted his round glasses.
His gaze fell on KING like a surgeon's blade, examining him from head to toe.
"Your training this morning was… quite loud."
KING's heart skipped.
Here it comes.
He remained silent.
(Do whatever you want. I have no money.)
Sengoku observed his unyielding calm and felt a flicker of approval.
He had received two reports.
From Garp:
— explosive combat talent
— thrives under pressure
— fearless and battle-hungry
From Kuzan:
— tranquil mind
— detached from worldly affairs
— philosophical stillness
Two entirely different descriptions.
One identical conclusion:
unfathomable.
Now Sengoku saw it himself.
After destroying terrain and facing two top-tier fighters, this rookie showed neither fatigue nor agitation.
If anything, his presence felt even more restrained and composed than before.
"Very good," Sengoku said slowly. "It appears Garp's training served merely as warm-up."
KING blinked.
(Warm-up? That was attempted murder!)
"Relax," Sengoku continued, misreading his silence. "I did not summon you to hold you responsible for property damage. Marine Headquarters has no shortage of mountains."
KING nearly collapsed with relief.
However—
Sengoku's tone shifted.
"Given the scale of destruction you cause… and your rather unique temperament… keeping you stationed here indefinitely may not be ideal."
KING looked up sharply.
Expelled?
My cafeteria… my single dorm room…
Sengoku withdrew a transfer order and slid it across the desk.
"The East Blue has grown unstable."
"Loguetown — birthplace and execution site of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger — serves as the final departure point before the Grand Line."
"In recent years, it has become a funnel for new pirate crews."
"I need you there."
KING nearly refused instantly.
Go to sea?
Absolutely not.
"Do not refuse yet," Sengoku added calmly. "Your task is simple. You are not required to lead captures or pursue pirates."
"You will be stationed there as a special envoy."
"In other words…"
He looked directly at KING.
"You only need to be present."
"Drink tea. Read the paper. Sunbathe. Do as you wish."
Then he delivered the decisive blow:
"Your presence alone will deter troublemakers."
"This assignment should suit your preferences perfectly."
KING froze.
Just be there?
No work?
Officially sanctioned AFK?(T/N:😂😂)
Leaving Headquarters was regrettable…
…but no Garp.
No special training.
This might be paradise.
Seeing KING did not refuse immediately, Sengoku pressed the communicator.
"Send him in."
The heavy door opened.
A thick smell of cigar smoke entered first.
Then a white-haired Marine in a heavy coat emblazoned with Justice strode in, coat open, expression permanently irritated. Two cigars burned between his teeth like twin chimneys.
Captain Smoker — the White Hunter.
Smoker was annoyed.
He had been perfectly content in Loguetown when Headquarters summoned him back — to guide some "super rookie."
When had he become a babysitter?
"Fleet Admiral."
His salute was perfunctory.
He turned and fixed an aggressive stare on KING.
So this was the rumored monster rookie?
The scars and blond hair gave him presence.
But that physique?
Could he really withstand Garp's punch?
Probably another exaggerated rumor.
Smoker exhaled a thick cloud of smoke toward KING's face.
A deliberate show of pressure.
KING did not move.
The smoke dispersed before reaching him.
(In reality, KING simply held his breath.)
He hated cigarette smoke.
Especially cheap cigars.
His gaze locked onto the two cigars.
(Why is he smoking two at once? Does he want lung cancer? And those look expensive… what a waste of money.)
His eyes filled with disgust at secondhand smoke and regret for wasted funds.
To Smoker—
that gaze meant something entirely different.
Cold.
Sharp.
Like evaluating a corpse.
Smoker felt like prey locked in the sight of a predator.
That wasn't a look at cigars.
It was calculating how long it would take to kill him.
Cold sweat broke across his back.
The cigar tasted like ash.
This man was dangerous.
That pressure…
only those who crawled out of battlefields carried such killing intent.
Without thinking, Smoker removed the cigars and crushed them in his palm.
Smoking before someone like this was provocation.
"Looks like you've acquainted yourselves," Sengoku said with satisfaction.
Smoker had actually put out his cigars.
King's presence truly was intimidating.
"Smoker. For this mission, you will serve as King's deputy. All operations fall under his authority."
"Yes, sir!"
Smoker's voice rang out sharply.
He stood straight as steel.
He was unruly.
But he respected strength.
KING looked at him in confusion.
(Why is he yelling? That scared me… and if he was going to put them out, why light two?)
KING didn't linger.
He picked up the order and left without saluting.
Sengoku watched his departing figure, not offended in the slightest.
"Unconventional… yet effective."
Having a rookie Marine confront rookie pirates was tactically sound.
Half an hour later — Marineford Main Port
A massive warship bearing the seagull emblem prepared to depart.
The anchor chains roared as they lifted.
On deck, hundreds of Marines stood in formation.
They had heard.
The legendary rookie who withstood Garp's iron fist would command this mission.
All eyes turned toward the man boarding the gangway.
The sea wind snapped his new Justice cloak.
Each step echoed against the steel ramp.
Silence spread.
Inside, KING was dying.
Why is the ship rocking before it even sails?
Salt air mixed with engine oil assaulted his senses.
KING had always suffered from poor balance.
He got motion sickness on rocking chairs.
This was a nightmare.
His stomach churned.
His face turned visibly pale.
He clenched his jaw and dug his nails into his thighs, trying to suppress nausea.
To the sailors, however—
his appearance radiated demonic calm.
"Look at his face…" one whispered.
"Terrifying… deathly pale."
"They say only true killers have that lifeless complexion."
"He's suppressing killing intent — look at his jaw muscles."
"Is this the aura of the strong? The air feels colder…"
Smoker watched from the bow.
He noticed KING's expression.
That pallor was not weakness.
It was ruthless calm.
The moment KING boarded, the atmosphere changed.
KING finally reached the deck.
A sudden swell rocked the ship violently.
His stomach lurched.
He grabbed the railing, fingers digging into the steel.
He was fighting the urge to vomit.
To Smoker, it looked like domination.
As if he were gripping the ship — and the sea itself — beneath his will.
"What overwhelming presence…"
Smoker approached.
"We're ready to depart," he said respectfully.
"King — give the order."
KING dared not speak.
If he opened his mouth, disaster would follow.
He slowly raised one hand and waved stiffly toward the sea ahead.
(Hurry… I want to lie down…)
The ship's horn roared.
WOOOOO—!!!
The warship cut through the waves and sailed into the open sea.
KING stared at the endless blue and closed his eyes in despair.
Behind him, Marines watched the man standing at the bow, facing roaring winds and towering waves with eyes closed.
Their gazes burned with fervent awe.
"He doesn't even look at it…"
"As expected of Lord KING…"
"This ocean is insignificant to him."