"..."
As soon as Tsuru's words fell, Sengoku was the first to nod. "A sound proposal. G-3 is indeed the most suitable place to store the gold."
"But, Tsuru..." His tone shifted, concern etching into his voice. "We just gave Hawk an unprecedented fleet. Now you propose to expand the G-3 base, and on top of that, station five of Headquarters' elite Vice Admirals there permanently? That kind of move will make too much noise."
He frowned, his strategist's instincts gnawing at him. "How do we justify such a disproportionate tilt of resources? Claiming it's simply to support a promising junior isn't enough. The World Government will become suspicious."
His concerns were not unfounded. Every major expenditure of the Marines required approval from the World Government. Expanding G-3 on such a scale was nearly equivalent to recreating a smaller Headquarters an act that would inevitably draw the most ruthless scrutiny.
"It's simple," Tsuru replied with calm certainty, as if she had anticipated this question long before.
"I, Tsuru, Chief Strategist of the Marines, have devoted my life to justice. I am old now. My only remaining concern is my granddaughter, Peacock." Her eyes softened briefly before hardening once more. "She now serves under Hawk.
"So I, this old woman, will defy all objections. I will use every shred of influence I have, every connection accumulated over my lifetime, to turn G-3 into an impregnable fortress so that my granddaughter's Marine career is safeguarded."
She leaned forward, her tone like a blade. "Who can fault a grandmother for wanting the best for her own blood?"
"You... Tsuru...!" Sengoku's eyes widened. In an instant, he understood her intent.
She was preparing to carry the weight of this plan herself. All the "unreasonable" aspects, all the accusations of favoritism, all the political fallout it would all fall on her shoulders. She was ready to stain her lifelong reputation with the taint of personal bias just to shield this secret.
Tsuru glanced at him lightly, a faint smile at the corner of her lips. "Do you think I still care about reputation at my age? For the Marines to finally stand tall, for justice to truly become independent, what is fame worth?"
Sengoku fell silent, staring at the unyielding conviction carved into her expression. He let out a soft sigh. Yes, Tsuru had already decided.
They were of the same generation, veterans who had given their entire lives to this sea, all for one word: justice. But the justice they carried had always been heavy too heavy and often stifled beneath the chains of the World Government.
He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and when they opened again, the excitement and sentiment were gone. In their place was the calm and calculating gaze of the Fleet Admiral of the Marines.
If his lifelong comrade was willing to stake her entire reputation, how could he as Fleet Admiral lag behind?
The map of the seas unfolded sharply in his mind. The Great Age of Pirates the greatest scourge was unquestionably rooted in the New World's four Emperors. But where did those Emperors get their endless stream of manpower?
From Paradise, the first half of the Grand Line.
Countless arrogant young pirates surged from the four blues, plundered their way across Paradise to build a name, and then entered the New World to pledge loyalty to an Emperor. Paradise was the feeder ground for the Four Emperors' armies.
A ruthless yet grand strategy began to crystallize in Sengoku's heart.
Step one: center everything on Hawk's G-3 base, and purge Paradise clean. Turn it into a graveyard for pirates, a one-way slaughterhouse where none could rise, severing the flow of new blood to the Emperors.
Step two: secretly use Skypiea's gold to expand the Marines' overall strength. With enough funds, they could raise more warships, train more soldiers, and free themselves from the Government's leash.
He would transfer Zephyr to G-3 to train recruits. On the surface, it would be "for Tsuru's granddaughter," but in truth, it was to sharpen the next generation of Marines. Under Zephyr's drill, new soldiers would be forged, and under Hawk's leadership, they would be tempered with real combat, hardened in the blood of pirates.
An endless cycle of training, battle, and growth.
As this war machine expanded, wages could be raised, morale strengthened, and the Marines transformed into an unstoppable force.
On one side, the Four Emperors would be choked of their supply lines. On the other, the Marines would rise in secret, their power growing beyond imagination.
At last, the total defeat of the pirates would no longer be a dream.
Sengoku's fist clenched, his gaze blazing with iron resolve.
"No time to waste! Tsuru, let us return to Headquarters immediately and begin preparations!"
He turned on his heel, but not before locking eyes with Hawk.
"As for you, boy... You've accomplished too much to still be a Commodore. With G-3 about to expand and five Vice Admirals joining to reinforce you, that rank isn't nearly enough."
He raised his voice with finality. "From this day forth, Renn Hawk, you are a Rear Admiral of Marine Headquarters! Settle into this post, learn the ways of command, and when G-3 is rebuilt into New G-3, you will be ready to take your place as a Vice Admiral!"
"Yes, Fleet Admiral!" Hawk snapped to attention, his posture proud and resolute.
For him, the expansion of G-3 was nothing but advantageous. No matter how much it grew or how many reinforcements arrived, he would remain its supreme commander. The five Vice Admirals sent to "assist" were, in truth, his allies. And if need be, with four Buster Call authorities in his possession, he could command them without hesitation.
Sengoku and Tsuru soon departed, their flagship carrying away half of the gold. Hawk stood on the pier, watching the vessel of the highest Marine authority vanish into the horizon.
The wind tugged at his brand-new Rear Admiral's coat, the fabric snapping crisply in the sea breeze.
A strange, undeniable feeling welled within him. He could sense it clearly now. A storm, vast and unstoppable, was brewing within the Marines themselves and he was at its very center.
Perhaps the storm had already begun.
[Justice System, open the panel.]
A blue interface, invisible to all but him, unfolded before his eyes.
[Host: Renn Hawk]
[Rank: Rear Admiral, Marine Headquarters]
[Justice Points: 54,088]
[Observation Haki: Advanced (Vice Admiral Level)]
[Armament Haki: Advanced (Vice Admiral Level)]
[Physical Strength: Advanced (Vice Admiral Level)]
[Martial Arts: Advanced (Vice Admiral Level)]
[Conqueror's Haki: Advanced]
"Still not enough..." Hawk muttered under his breath as he studied the display.
Four attributes at Vice Admiral level, one Advanced Conqueror's Haki. In Paradise, that was more than enough to dominate. But his ambition had never been limited to this shallow sea.
Marineford.
The World Government.
Im, the shadowed sovereign hidden in the dark.
Each one required power at the absolute peak at the very ceiling to even challenge.
"It seems..." Hawk raised his head, eyes narrowing as he stared into the endless horizon, his voice sharpened with resolve.
"I'll need to accelerate my pace."
Meanwhile, at Marineford, Headquarters.
Borsalino, freshly returned, strolled casually into Sakazuki's office. His gaze drifted across the room and froze.
Mountains of paperwork towered over the desk, threatening to bury it entirely. And behind that mountain, Sakazuki sat, his face dark as soot, radiating a heat and pressure that was almost tangible.
"My, my," Borsalino drawled, lips curving into that lazy smile. "So scary, don't you think~?"
"Sakaaazuki~ Where is the Fleet Admiral?"
Sakazuki's head rose slowly, eyes locking onto him with the intensity of molten magma. His so-called friend hadn't lifted a finger to help and now had the gall to prod his sorest wound.
If it weren't for Sengoku's scheming, he too might have been "relaxing" at G-3. Instead, he was buried under this avalanche of bureaucracy.
"Borsalino..." His voice was gravel and fire.
"Address me by my proper title. For now, I am the Acting Fleet Admiral!"
"Eh? Acting... Fleet Admiral?" Borsalino blinked, his expression twisting into something unreadable.
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