-Sky Screen Broadcast Continues-
The camera followed Admiral Sakazuki deeper into Rome, documenting his journey through progressively more exclusive districts. Each checkpoint revealed higher concentrations of military personnel, and the rank insignia visible on shoulders grew increasingly impressive.
This isn't just a base, viewers realized. It's a hierarchy made physical. Status determined by proximity to the center.
The New Marine Headquarters operated under strict military regulation. Life here wasn't relaxed or casual—every aspect governed by rules, schedules, protocols. But the restrictions came with compensations the old Marine had never provided.
Better housing. Consistent supply lines. Healthcare that actually functioned. Fair promotion systems. Predictable advancement paths.
Treating people like people, observers noted. Revolutionary concept for military organization.
Acting Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon had implemented these reforms based on simple philosophy: comfortable subordinates performed better than miserable ones. Seems obvious in retrospect, but previous leadership had never prioritized troop welfare over bureaucratic convenience.
The old Marine's dormitories had been cramped, unsanitary nightmares. Inadequate water supply. Irregular garbage collection. Conditions that breeding resentment and low morale among enlisted personnel who had no power to demand better.
Superior officers had exploited this misery. Blamed subordinates for failures caused by systemic dysfunction. Created cultures where mistakes meant collective punishment, leading to information suppression and cascading organizational failures.
The word "acting" was only removed from Artoria's title less than a year ago, text explained across the image. Yet she already commands loyalty bordering on worship from most Marine personnel. Perhaps because she treats subordinates as human beings deserving dignity rather than expendable tools.
The devotion was remarkable. Marines spoke of their Fleet Admiral with genuine warmth—not the fearful respect that tyrannical leaders inspired, but admiration mixed with protective instinct.
Some of these people would die for her without hesitation, viewers understood. Not from duty or coercion, but genuine willingness to sacrifice themselves for someone they believe deserves their loyalty.
That spirit permeated Rome's entire structure. From lowest-ranked privates to Admiral-class officers, the willingness to sacrifice for their Marshal seemed universal.
Terrifying, some observers thought. That level of devotion to a single individual. Historically, such cults of personality end badly.
Inspiring, others countered. A leader who earns that kind of loyalty must be exceptional.
Both perspectives had merit. The truth probably occupied uncomfortable space between them.
Admiral Sakazuki's journey concluded at Rome's highest elevation—a district called Temple Mount. The name was appropriate: the architecture possessed almost religious grandeur, designed to inspire awe rather than mere respect.
A castle dominated the summit. Not medieval fortress but modern interpretation of classical design—marble columns, expansive courtyards, aesthetic sophistication combined with defensive pragmatism.
Before the castle entrance spread an enormous fountain square. Water features created ambient sound that masked conversation, providing natural anti-surveillance for sensitive discussions. The plaza could accommodate thousands for ceremonies or serve as final defensive position during siege scenarios.
This is the core, text explained. Marine Marshal's residence, senior operations center, and meeting place for the Twelve Admirals. Political and military heart of the organization.
Guards stood at attention throughout the square—not ceremonial decorations but elite fighters positioned to intercept any threat approaching the Fleet Admiral's quarters.
As Sakazuki crossed the plaza, a small figure intercepted him.
"Mr. Sakazuki! You came back just in time—the Fleet Admiral just mentioned you!"
The voice belonged to a child. A girl with blue hair arranged in twin ponytails, barely reaching Sakazuki's waist. Her appearance screamed "harmless youth," but viewers noticed the Admiral's respectful acknowledgment.
Admiral Seiryū - Donquixote Wendy, character information appeared. User: Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Tenryū (Bird-Bird Fruit, Model: Sky Dragon). Mythical Zoan type. Age: 14. Status: Celestial Dragon (Donquixote Family).
Sakazuki nodded to the girl with genuine respect despite the absurd height difference. "I was planning to report immediately. Thank you for the information, Admiral Wendy."
The formal acknowledgment of her rank was deliberate. Age and appearance didn't diminish her position or authority.
Wendy beamed with childish delight. "I'm glad you're back safe! But I have to run—made afternoon tea plans with my friend in Mary Geoise. Can't be late!"
White light enveloped her small form—not transformation but acceleration. When it faded, she was already a blur vanishing toward Rome's exit at speed that made tracking her movement nearly impossible.
Sky Dragon abilities, viewers understood. Flight, weather manipulation, enhanced speed. Mythical Zoan granting powers comparable to eastern dragon legends.
Sakazuki watched her departure with expression suggesting this was routine. "Celestial Dragon privileges," he muttered to himself. "Some rules don't apply to nobility."
There was no resentment in his tone—just acknowledgment of reality. Wendy might hold Admiral rank, but her bloodline granted additional freedoms that common-born Marines couldn't access.
Sakazuki's Royal Guard remained outside Temple Mount. Only the Admiral himself proceeded into the castle, walking alone through corridors bustling with staff and officers.
Marines parted automatically, creating clear paths. Nobody wanted to obstruct Admiral Akainu—his reputation preceded him like a pressure wave. Even those who'd never met him recognized the scarred face, the perpetual scowl, the aura of barely-contained violence.
Plague god, some called him. The Admiral you don't approach unless absolutely necessary.
He navigated familiar routes through administrative sections, ignoring the nervous glances from civil servants. His destination was clear: the Fleet Admiral's office, where Artoria would be expecting his report.
Reaching the appropriate door, Sakazuki paused. Smoothed wrinkles from his uniform. Brushed dust from his justice coat. Checked his appearance with uncharacteristic attention to detail.
Present yourself properly, his actions conveyed. The Fleet Admiral deserves your best.
Satisfied with his grooming, he raised his fist and knocked—three precise taps that carried clearly through the heavy wood.
The door opened immediately. A woman stood in the entrance—tall, statuesque, with long blue hair and piercing gaze that assessed Sakazuki in single glance.
"Sakazuki," she said, voice carrying aristocratic accent and predatory undertones. "You've been away three months on this assignment. Can't imagine what could have delayed you so extensively. Come inside and explain."
Admiral Shirousagi - Esdeath, Combat specialist with reputation for extreme cruelty toward enemies.
Sakazuki nodded respectfully despite the challenging tone. "The situation at Egghead Island was complicated. Requires detailed report to the Fleet Admiral."
"Of course it does." Esdeath's smile suggested she found his seriousness amusing. "Everything's complicated with you, Sakazuki. You couldn't have a simple patrol if your life depended on it."
She stepped aside, allowing him entry. The office beyond was spacious but functional—designed for work rather than impressive visitors. Maps covered one wall. Filing cabinets lined another. A massive desk dominated the room's center, currently buried under documents requiring review.
Behind that desk sat the person Sakazuki had traveled weeks to report to.
Artoria Pendragon looked up from the paper she'd been reading, removing reading glasses that made her appear even younger than usual. Her expression was welcoming despite visible exhaustion.
"Esdeath is correct," the Fleet Admiral said, setting aside her work. "I haven't seen you for three months. But I'm very interested in hearing what could make my Admiral Akainu so concerned he needed to report personally rather than through secure channels."
My Admiral Akainu.
The possessive phrasing was deliberate. Not subordinate to some abstract authority—her Admiral. Personal relationship rather than purely institutional.
Sakazuki felt absurdly pleased by the casual claim. A faint smile crossed his normally stern face—expression so rare that Esdeath immediately noticed and filed away for future teasing.
Character Note: Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon, appeared across the image. Age: 23. Despite youth and gender, commands absolute authority through combination of combat prowess, strategic brilliance, and genuine concern for subordinate welfare. Leadership style resembles monarch governing kingdom rather than military officer managing troops.
Artoria didn't look like a military commander. Petite, youthful, wearing reading glasses and surrounded by bureaucratic paperwork. But the presence she projected was unmistakable—authority in its purest form. The kind of charisma that made people want to follow, to serve, to protect.
"Could it be," Esdeath interjected with malicious glee, "that Admiral Akainu has been learning bad habits from Admiral Kizaru? Taking his time, enjoying the journey, letting deadlines slip because 'circumstances demanded flexibility'?"
The comparison to Borsalino—notorious for his lackadaisical approach to duty—was deliberately insulting. Sakazuki's expression darkened.
"I would never—"
"She's teasing you," Artoria interrupted gently. "Esdeath, please don't antagonize Sakazuki before he's even delivered his report. I need him coherent, not defensive."
"Fine," Esdeath conceded, though her smile suggested she'd found the exchange entertaining. "But I'm staying to hear this. If it's important enough for personal report, I want to know details."
"Agreed," Artoria said. "Sakazuki, proceed. What happened at Egghead Island?"