Marineford—the heart of naval justice—stood like an iron bastion against the sea. Yet today, a heavy shadow hung over its walls.
Inside the Fleet Admiral's office, the massive plaque reading Justice gleamed coldly under the lights. The air was thick, stifling, as though smoke from an unseen battlefield still lingered.
Fleet Admiral Kong sat in his tiger-skin chair, face darkened like a stormcloud, while Sengoku, in his crisp white coat of justice, reported with grim weight. His boots echoed against the polished floor as he bowed slightly.
"Roger… was snatched from the execution platform in Loguetown. By none other than his own crewmate—Jabal Shiro."
The words struck like thunder. Kong shot to his feet, his bronzed face turning red with fury, veins bulging at his temples.
"That brat Shiro! To steal Roger away right under the Navy's nose—that's a direct challenge to us!"
His broad palm slammed the desk. Solid hardwood split like glass, spiderweb cracks crawling across its surface.
"And the trouble doesn't end there," Sengoku pressed, brows knitted beneath the brim of his cap. "Before the world's eyes, Roger declared that One Piece is real. The seas will erupt—men and women everywhere will throw themselves into piracy. In the coming years, the number of pirates could multiply tenfold!"
Kong roared, the very windows rattling with the sound.
"Damn that Roger! A walking disaster!"
His fist smashed down again. The desk exploded into splinters, ink spilling like black blood across the floor. Papers and shards of wood rained down in chaos.
Sengoku ground his boot against the debris, his jaw tight.
"Admiral Kong, shall we inform the Gorosei?"
He knew this failure would stain the Navy's honor—and perhaps his own future. Zephyr had stepped down. Garp refused promotion. Sengoku was the only one left with the rank and strength to lead. But this fiasco might cost him everything.
Kong slumped back into his battered chair, age showing in the deep lines of his face. With a long sigh, he waved a hand.
"I'll shoulder this. Sengoku, be careful from now on. The Navy cannot survive such upheaval again."
But Sengoku's eyes hardened, his voice edged with steel.
"Then let us strike where we can. Roger's core crew may be untouchable for now—but the shipwright who built the Oro Jackson… he must pay."
His fists clenched, knuckles white.
"If not for that miracle of craftsmanship, Roger's crew would have fallen into our hands in the Florian Triangle three years ago!"
"Then so be it!" Kong snarled, fists cracking like stone. His chair groaned under the weight of his fury.
"Arrest the shipwright. Deliver him to the World Government!"
Sengoku snapped to attention, saluting sharply.
"Yes, sir!"
As he strode from the office, Kong lifted the encrypted transponder snail, his voice grave as he relayed the news to the Five Elders.
Half an hour later, in the Holy Land of Mariejois, the Gorosei's thunderous outrage shook the very council chamber. By afternoon, a world-wide decree was issued:
Jabal Shiro's bounty soared from 2.53 billion to 3.85 billion berries.
On the wanted poster, the golden-haired youth's faint smile seemed more defiant—and more dangerous—than ever.
Meanwhile, in the Water 7, the canals bustled with shipwrights and merchants. Shiro wove through the noise, sea wind carrying sawdust through his hair. Stopping an old craftsman hefting rivets, he asked,
"Excuse me—do you know where I can find Master Tom?"
The man only shook his head, eyes wary.
That was the twelfth shipwright Shiro had questioned. Tom, the legendary builder of the Oro Jackson, kept himself hidden well. Finding him was like chasing mist across the sea.
Just as Shiro reached the end of a rusted pier, pondering his next move, the sound of boots echoed sharply down the street.
A squad of Marines fanned out, plastering fresh posters across the stone walls. Shiro's eyes narrowed. This time, it wasn't his own face. It was Tom's.
The soldiers lingered at the docks, hands resting on their sheathed blades, waiting for informants to come forward. But time dragged on, and though carpenters and fishermen alike glanced at the posters, not one dared speak.
Among them stood Rear Admiral Chaton. Normally jovial, his grin had twisted into something colder. He licked dry lips and suddenly barked:
"Listen up! Round up every shipwright in Water 7! If they won't talk, we'll make them!"
Chaos erupted. Marines stormed into workshops, cries and clattering tools filling the air. Over a hundred shipwrights were dragged out; three oars snapped as punishment.
At last, under torture, a young apprentice broke and revealed the truth.
Chaton led his men to a secluded workshop hidden behind a waterfall at the city's edge. Pushing open the creaking door, they found him.
Master Tom—bearded, broad, with a bottle of rum tipped against his lips. Liquor ran down his chin as he scribbled on blueprints, explaining keel-forging secrets to a circle of apprentices.
"Tom," Chaton's voice cut through the workshop like a blade, making the oil lamps flicker. "By order of the World Government, you are under arrest."
A blue-haired boy with tinted goggles sprang to his feet, hammer shaking in his hand.
"You… You can't just take Tom-sensei like this!"
"Franky, stand down!" Tom roared, slamming his bottle to the table. His tone brooked no argument.
Chaton stepped forward, his hand on his blade. His eyes gleamed with cruel certainty.
"Answer me, Tom. The Oro Jackson—was it your work?"
T/N: If you would like to read up to 20 chapters ahead for all my works, check out my P@treon: patreon.com/GhidorahWriter
Thanks for reading! Be sure to collect and vote for more chapters! A Bonus Chapter will be released once we hit 25 Powerstones!