The words "Five Elders" made the sea wind at the harbor feel a little sharper.
Zaraki had never met those five old men in person, yet their existence hung over the world like a guillotine blade.
Kings feared them, Marines obeyed them, and pirates cursed them from afar.
Even Fleet Admiral Sengoku—a man who roared at Admirals and punched through walls—had to lower his voice whenever their orders arrived from Mary Geoise.
For the Five Elders to bypass Sengoku and send instructions directly to a Provisional Headquarters Combat Trainee meant one thing: the mess in Alabasta had grown too large for Marineford to quietly digest.
Sengoku's expression confirmed the suspicion. His earlier anger hadn't vanished; it had simply been buried beneath something much heavier.
His eyes behind his round glasses turned grim, and his voice dropped low enough that only Zaraki, Garp, and a few bystanders could hear.
"Crocodile was a Warlord. Whether he deserved the title or not, his existence was part of the balance maintained by the World Government. Now you've dragged him back in chains, exposed his plot, and forced that seat open in front of the entire sea."
He looked down at the unconscious captive.
Wrapped in rough bandages with his golden hook sealed in seastone restraints, Crocodile's battered, blood-caked face had lost whatever dignity it once possessed.
Sengoku returned his gaze to Zaraki. "The Five Elders' meaning is simple. Since you created the vacancy, you will help stabilize the consequences."
Zaraki stared at him. "So I clean up the mess after beating him?"
Garp burst out laughing.
Sengoku's mouth twitched, yet he somehow resisted the urge to shout. "You can understand it that way if your brain refuses to process anything more complicated."
"Sounds about right."
"Do not sound proud of that." The Fleet Admiral took a deep breath and raised a finger. "The first assignment is straightforward. You will personally escort Crocodile to Impel Down. Given his crimes involving the Heavenly Tribute, a member kingdom, and the search for an Ancient Weapon, the World Government cannot leave him in an ordinary facility."
Impel Down.
The name alone silenced the surrounding Marines.
The great undersea prison was more than a jail, it was a living grave where pirates vanished layer by layer until the world forgot their names entirely.
Even veteran Marines rarely spoke of its lower depths.
Zaraki just looked at Crocodile. "Escort duty?"
His tone carried profound disappointment.
After fighting Shiki, Enel, Akainu, and Crocodile in such rapid succession, dragging a half-dead prisoner to a cell sounded like watching paint dry.
Seeing his expression, Sengoku felt his headache worsen. "Do not underestimate Impel Down. The prisoners held there are monsters who once shook the sea. Some are buried so deeply the World Government erased them from public record entirely."
Those words finally caught Zaraki's attention.
A place filled with forgotten monsters sounded entirely different, and his fingers brushed across Murasame's hilt on pure instinct.
Sengoku noticed the movement and immediately regretted speaking.
"The second assignment," he continued, cutting off Zaraki's dangerous train of thought, "is much more troublesome."
He drew a thick kraft-paper envelope from his coat, the wax seal bearing the mark of the World Government's highest authority.
The heavy paper seemed to carry the very scent of Mary Geoise: cold, expensive, and deeply unpleasant.
Zaraki tore it open without an ounce of ceremony.
Sengoku's eyelid twitched at the blatant disrespect shown to a Holy Land directive, but he wisely pretended not to notice.
Inside sat a thick file.
Across the first page, bold black letters announced its purpose: Candidate List and Invitations for a New Seven Warlords Appointment.
Zaraki's face went blank before twisting into genuine disgust. "You want me to invite pirates?"
"The Five Elders want a Marine envoy to extend formal invitations on behalf of the World Government," Sengoku said. "Since Crocodile's fall is tied to your name, they believe sending you will carry enough pressure to make the candidates take the matter seriously."
Zaraki stared at him. Sengoku stared back.
The silence stretched long enough for Garp to start grinning again.
"Let me get this straight," Zaraki said. "I beat one Warlord into a prisoner, and now I'm supposed to go around politely asking pirates if they want his old chair?"
"You are representing the World Government."
"That makes it worse."
"You will follow the order."
"What if they refuse?"
Sengoku's face darkened. "You negotiate."
Zaraki's eyes brightened. "With my sword?"
"With words."
"What if words don't work?"
"Try harder."
"With my sword?"
"ZARAKI!"
Garp completely lost it, laughing so hard the nearby Marines had to physically steady themselves.
Sengoku looked ready to age another ten years on the spot.
The worst part was he could already envision exactly how the mission would end: Zaraki would breach a pirate stronghold, say three sentences max, decide diplomacy was too slow, and submit a report written by someone else because he refused to touch a pen.
If the World Government wanted a polite envoy, they had picked the worst possible candidate. But if they wanted a warning wrapped in a Marine coat, the choice made terrifying sense.
Perhaps that was the true intention.
The Five Elders weren't just filling an empty seat; they were testing how deep Zaraki could be thrown into chaos before he became either useful or uncontrollable.
Sengoku lowered his voice. "Listen carefully. This is not just a punishment. If the Five Elders truly wanted to bury you, they would have frozen your evaluation, locked you inside Headquarters, or exiled you to a branch where even the News Coos would forget your name."
Zaraki's gaze shifted.
"They assigned this because they want to measure you," Sengoku continued heavily. "Escort Crocodile without incident, approach the candidates, and bring back results. While you do that, I can argue for your position from Marineford."
For a rare moment, Zaraki didn't joke.
He could tell Sengoku was completely sincere.
Beneath the rules, documents, and political compromises, the old man was actively trying to keep him from being swallowed by the World Government's ruthless machinery.
Zaraki understood that much, though whether he appreciated it was another matter entirely.
He lowered his gaze to flip through the file.
The list was packed with dangerous names, each carrying detailed notes on bounty history, combat value, and geopolitical influence.
Some were infamous New World veterans; others were rising monsters gathering fresh momentum.
The World Government didn't care if they were honorable, cruel, or insane. Only strength and convenience mattered.
"Edward Weevil…" Zaraki turned the page without reacting.
Several more names followed.
His eyes skimmed lazily down the list, uninterested in the bulk of them, until the final line appeared. His finger stopped dead.
The noise of the harbor vanished.
The screeching seagulls, the crashing waves, Garp's laughter, and the murmurs of the gathered Marines all pulled away from him.
Portgas D. Ace.
The letters sat cleanly on the stark white page.
Zaraki's pupils contracted.
A strange heat stirred in Zaraki's blood—entirely different from his irritation toward paperwork or his boredom regarding escort duty.
For the first time since returning from Alabasta, his expression sharpened with genuine interest.
"So Ace is on the board too…" he murmured.
Nearby, Smoker's gaze shifted.
The white-haired Marine had remained silent since Zaraki opened the file, but the moment Ace's name dropped, his eyes hardened.
Smoker had his own history with pirates moving freely while justice lagged.
After witnessing Crocodile's tyranny in Alabasta and the ugly politics protecting the Warlords, his frustration had reached a breaking point.
The harbor wind blew the smoke from his cigars sideways as Smoker stepped forward.
He walked straight through the gathered Marines, ignoring Hina's startled look, Sengoku's furrowed brows, and the sudden interest gleaming in Garp's eyes.
His boots stopped three feet from Zaraki.
"Zaraki," Smoker said, his hoarse voice carrying cleanly across the pier. "I, Smoker, Captain of Marine Headquarters, formally submit a transfer request."
The dock plunged into silence as Smoker stared straight into Zaraki's eyes. "I request assignment to your next operational detachment."
The words dropped like a cannonball.
For several breaths, nobody spoke.
Even the welcoming crowd seemed unsure whether they had just witnessed loyalty, rebellion, ambition, or pure madness.
Zaraki studied Smoker for a long moment. Officially, he had no detachment.
He held no permanent rank, no command structure, and no authority to accept transfer requests from Headquarters officers.
Unofficially, trouble had started gathering around him long before the paperwork could ever catch up.
Sengoku's expression twisted. "Smoker, this is not something decided by shouting in a harbor."
"I know." Smoker didn't look away from Zaraki. "That is why I am submitting it formally in front of everyone."
Hina's face darkened. "Smoker, have you completely lost your mind? Hina came to see you off, not watch you throw yourself at a walking disaster."
Smoker didn't reply.
A faint metallic clink sounded beside him as Isuka stepped forward.
Pushing up her glasses, her pale face looked far steadier than before. "I have submitted the same request."
Sengoku's eyelid violently twitched.
Garp's grin widened until it looked downright dangerous.
Standing further back, Tashigi clutched Shigure tightly with both hands.
She didn't speak, but the fierce resolve in her eyes betrayed her choice.
After touching that faint spark of Armament Haki and witnessing the battlefields Zaraki dragged into existence, the girl who once blindly chased rules and sword manuals had found a path she couldn't ignore.
Zaraki looked from Smoker to Isuka, and finally to Tashigi. For the first time in a long while, a massive headache throbbed against his temples.
He was really starting to understand why Sengoku always looked so exhausted.
Enemies were simple to deal with—you just cut them down.
Trouble that saluted first was far more annoying!