A massive dog-headed battleship slowly pulled into harbor.
From the deck stepped down a towering old man, broad-chested, his muscles corded like steel cables. His left eye bore a savage scar, his hair was a mess of white, and his jaw worked noisily as he crunched on rice crackers.
"What the hell is Sengoku up to this time?!"
Monkey D. Garp grumbled through a mouthful of crumbs, scratching the back of his head without a care for the bits of cracker tumbling down his beard.
Just earlier, he had been chasing a few cocky rookie pirates around Paradise, playing his own version of cat-and-mouse. He was having fun until a Supreme Commander's Order slammed him in the face, dragging him back to headquarters by force.
That wasn't like Sengoku at all.
Ever since becoming Fleet Admiral, Sengoku had grown fussy and cautious, always muttering about "the bigger picture" and "public perception," like some nagging housewife constantly worrying about appearances.
But today? The urgency, the recklessness it was more like the Sengoku he had known back in their days as Admirals.
"Garp-sensei…"
A familiar, lazy drawl drifted from the pier.
Garp paused mid-crunch and turned his head.
There, leaning casually against the dock wall, was a tall man with messy curls of black hair and an unhurried expression.
"Kuzan?!"
Garp's eyes bulged. "Weren't you in the New World on assignment?" He shoved the rest of the crackers into his mouth and mumbled, "Don't tell me that old bastard Sengoku dragged you back too?"
"Yeah, something like that."
Admiral Kuzan straightened, hands shoved into his pockets, his tone as sluggish as ever.
"Halfway through the mission, I was told it was a Fleet Admiral's order. Urgent. No time to argue, so I came straight back."
His words were relaxed, his voice carrying the same nonchalant lilt but Garp frowned. Something was different.
Kuzan didn't carry the same heavy air of weariness he once did. He still looked lazy, his posture still screamed "nap-ready," but the hollow drift in his eyes, the listless despair that had long plagued him, was thinner now.
Instead, Garp sensed something rekindling within him. The faint but unmistakable flame of conviction.
Kuzan had found… direction again.
"What happened to you, brat?"
Garp stepped close, peering into his former protégé's face.
"You look more fired up than before. Don't tell me you fell in love or something?"
Kuzan scratched his head and chuckled dryly. "You're joking, Garp-sensei. Nothing like that. Just… met an interesting junior officer. He gave me a bit of a wake-up call. Knocked some sense back into me."
"…Huh?"
Garp's mind filled with question marks. What kind of rookie could lecture an Admiral?
Before he could press further, the sound of crashing waves tore across the harbor.
A colossal battleship, the kind reserved for only the highest Navy authority, cut through the sea foam and glided into port.
"Sengoku, what the hell are you ?!"
Garp's voice died in his throat.
On the bow stood Sengoku himself, arms clasped behind his back, unmoving as a statue. His expression was carved from stone.
Garp knew that look. Too well.
For decades, they had fought side by side. That mask of silence only appeared when matters grave enough to shake the foundation of the Navy were at stake.
Beside him stood Vice Admiral Tsuru, her white hair whipped about by the sea breeze. Her calm gaze swept the docks, a faint gleam flashing deep in her eyes. Invisible threads of Observation Haki spread outward like a net, blanketing the entire harbor.
Half a warehouse of gold sat hidden in the ship's hold. It needed to be transferred, quietly, without the world ever knowing.
She met Sengoku's glance. A subtle nod. "Leave it to me."
Sengoku turned back without a word. The instant the ship docked, he strode down the gangplank without so much as a glance toward Garp or Kuzan, his steps heavy with purpose as he marched for Navy Headquarters.
"…Well, that answers nothing," Garp muttered.
He and Kuzan exchanged a look, then followed silently.
Behind them, Tsuru gave a wave of her hand. "Move the cargo. Take it to Warehouse Zero. Discreetly."
Her loyal aides snapped to work, hauling massive, canvas-shrouded crates with utmost care, their boots soundless on the dock.
Inside the High Command meeting chamber, tension hung as heavy as lead.
Admiral Akainu sat stiff-backed, arms crossed, his face as unreadable as chiseled granite.
Across from him, Admiral Kizaru lounged with one leg crossed over the other, tapping his fingers lazily against his knee in an uneven rhythm.
Further down the table sat a man with short violet hair and a massive mechanical arm in place of his right limb. He wore sunglasses, his silence radiating quiet authority.
This was "Black Arm" Zephyr, the Navy's Chief Instructor and a former Admiral. Though he had retired from active duty to train the next generation, his students now filled nearly every corner of the Navy. He knew the undercurrents swirling through Headquarters well.
And at the heart of those ripples was one name: Renn Hawk.
A mere year ago, he had been a Lieutenant Colonel of a small branch in the East Blue. Now he commanded G-3, rising at a pace that shook even seasoned veterans.
Zephyr's sharp eyes flicked toward Akainu.
As his teacher, he knew the man inside and out. Sakazuki's report from the East Blue was brief, but telling. Zephyr had ignored most of the details except one.
The soldiers under Renn Hawk.
According to the report, when faced with the suffocating presence of an Admiral, those soldiers had not faltered. They had not broken ranks. They had stood firm, disciplined, and unyielding.
That wasn't mere training. No amount of drills could forge that kind of will.
That was conviction. Absolute loyalty.
The kind of army Zephyr himself had pursued his entire life yet had never been able to perfect.
And somehow, a young officer named Renn Hawk had achieved it.
The door slammed open.
Sengoku entered with long strides, Garp and Kuzan flanking him.
The room immediately rose to their feet.
Sengoku took his place at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping across the gathered Admirals, Vice Admirals, and Zephyr himself.
"Everyone is here."
His voice was deep and steady, a weight pressing against every heart in the room.
"Today, I have summoned you for a matter of the utmost importance a decision that will shape the very future of the Navy."
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