The New World.
The new Marine Headquarters. The Summit War had laid waste to most of the old Marineford HQ, rendering it inoperable. After the struggle for the Fleet Admiral's seat, the newly appointed Fleet Admiral Sakazuki ("Akainu")—having defeated Admiral Kuzan—insisted on relocating headquarters to the G-1 Branch in the New World to signal their resolve against the New World pirates.
The new HQ mimicked Marineford's layout, erecting a vast, oval-shaped naval base as a defensive bulwark. Countless gun emplacements and fortresses stood shoulder to shoulder, while squadrons of warships patrolled the surrounding waters like leviathans devouring all in their path.
In the Supreme Military Council Chamber, Fleet Admiral Akainu presided at the head of the table, flanked by the Navy's top brass. When the messenger laid a "Top Secret" dossier before them, an eerie silence fell—cold and laced with menace, more biting than the sea breeze outside.
"I trust you've all reviewed the intelligence report?" Akainu's voice, clipped and severe, broke the stillness. He sat like a silent volcano, a burning cigar clenched in his gloved hand; the brim of his cap cast his eyes in shadow, concealing his expression yet amplifying the steel in his tone.
No one dared speak. Neither former Fleet Admiral Sengoku nor the newly promoted Admiral Fujitora—renowned for his "Monster"-class strength—bothered to reply. The news was simply too terrifying: if this intelligence was true, and that man had truly returned to these seas, no one could predict the upheaval he might provoke.
"Is this intelligence credible?" Finally, Sengoku broke his silence, despite having relinquished his command authority. His old rivalry with the subject made it impossible to sit still.
Vice Admiral Tsuru, the advisor, spoke gravely: "It comes directly from Colonel Dash of the Loguetown Garrison. He was a top Naval Academy graduate—otherwise he wouldn't have been entrusted with such a critical post. With his credentials, there should be no mistake."
"That man… is back." Even Tsuru's seasoned composure wavered; she cleared her throat, throat suddenly parched.
They all knew full well: Roger had not been captured—he had surrendered himself. In that era, the Marines had thrown every resource at him—Garp, Sengoku, Tsuru and all the Admirals—yet failed to apprehend Roger and his crew. And now he'd somehow been resurrected.
Worse still, the Marines had just endured the Summit War against the Whitebeard Pirates (one of the Four Emperors). Though they scraped out a victory, the cost in lives and resources was immense. With the Four Emperors circling the New World, adding Roger to the mix painted a grim picture.
"The old bastard's dead—why come back?" muttered Garp, his brow furrowed.
Sengoku shook his head. "Roger alone is bad enough. But what terrifies me most are those lurking in the shadows—they'll seize the 'Pirate King' name to kindle a new war." His graying hair and lined face betrayed a weariness deeper than his years.
Fujitora's voice was low, measured. "If memory serves, Roger's right-hand man—the Dark King Rayleigh—is still alive, yes?"
A cold sweat broke out across the room. Classified reports had revealed that Roger himself had disbanded his crew. Yet Rayleigh had lain low on the Sabaody Archipelago, and only two years ago had squared off with Admiral Kizaru, proving still a formidable force. And that was but the tip of Roger's once-mighty crew. If he rallied them again—if word spread that the crew who had shaken the world to its core had re-formed—the Marines and World Government would face their gravest threat yet.
Not to mention that former Warlord Buggy the Clown and Emperor Shanks had once sailed under Roger. The Marines already struggled against the Four Emperors—if Roger's crew re-emerged, the outcome would be unimaginable.
"More than that, I'm concerned about that brat called Liu Feng," Akainu interjected, grinding his teeth. With a single motion he crushed out his cigar, veins bulging on his hand. "Roger may be only the first. If he can resurrect others…"
Before he could finish, a parade of names rose unbidden in every officer's mind—names that should have stayed buried, specters of wars and bloodshed—they flooded their thoughts beyond control.