-Real World - Marine Headquarters, War Room-
The Egghead Island crisis—while genuinely concerning—had been temporarily forgotten. Admiral Sakazuki's important intelligence about technological threats? Pushed aside. Unknown robot armies with capabilities exceeding Marine technology? Could wait.
Because the gathered Marines were too distracted by something more immediately fascinating: the two new female Admirals shown serving under Acting Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon.
More specifically, one particular Marine was having an emotional crisis about it.
"Don't. Sleep. Wake UP."
Gion grabbed Artoria by the collar, shaking the blonde girl with enough force to rattle teeth. Her voice carried the distinctive edge of someone whose composure had completely shattered.
"Everyone is staring at you. EVERYONE. And more importantly—" Gion's grip tightened, her knuckles white. "—why is the new Admiral called 'Admiral Shirousagi'? WHITE RABBIT? That's MY title! Mine! I'm Momousagi—PEACH RABBIT! What kind of explanation can you possibly give for this?!"
Artoria had been feigning sleep—a tactical retreat from uncomfortable questions. But Gion's increasingly aggressive shaking made continued pretense impossible. She opened her eyes reluctantly, meeting her friend's furious gaze.
"That's years in the future," Artoria said carefully, trying to sound reasonable. "I haven't even met Esdeath yet. Gion, you're holding me accountable for decisions I haven't made in a timeline that doesn't exist yet."
"Don't give me that!" Gion's voice cracked slightly. "The Sky Screen shows FUTURES, Artoria. Probable futures. Likely futures. And in that probable, likely future, someone ELSE has an Admiral title that conflicts with mine! Someone you apparently chose over me!"
The hurt beneath her anger was palpable. This wasn't just professional rivalry—this was personal betrayal.
Artoria's expression shifted to genuine apology. "Gion, I—"
"I'm already an Admiral candidate! I've served faithfully for YEARS! My record is spotless! I've led successful operations, trained countless Marines, fought pirates from Paradise to the New World! What more do I need to DO?!"
The outburst shocked the surrounding Marines into silence. Gion was legendary for her composure—the beautiful, deadly Vice Admiral who never lost control. Seeing her defense crumble publicly was deeply uncomfortable for everyone present.
She's been passed over, observers realized. In the future, they expanded the Admiral positions—and she still didn't make the cut.
For someone as accomplished as Gion, that rejection would be devastating.
"Let's analyze this logically," Gion continued, her voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. "Admiral Wendy—fine. I can't compete with a Celestial Dragon who has a Mythical Zoan. She has political backing I'll never match and power I can't replicate. I accept that."
She released Artoria's collar, pacing now. Working through the problem like tactical puzzle.
"But Esdeath? Who IS she? The Sky Screen showed her name, her title, nothing else. No Devil Fruit mentioned. Which means she's probably just skilled fighter. Swordswoman, maybe, based on her pursuit of Zoro in that Fishman Island memory."
Gion's hand moved to Meito Konpira—her own legendary blade. "If she's a female swordsman, and I'm a female swordsman, what's the difference? Why does SHE get Admiral rank while I'm... what? Still Vice Admiral? Retired? DEAD?"
The question hung in the air. Nobody wanted to answer it.
"Maybe you're doing something else," someone suggested weakly. "Important work that doesn't require Admiral rank?"
"Or maybe I'm just not good enough." Gion's laugh was bitter. "Maybe in the future, after everything I've done, I'm still just... mediocre."
Artoria stood, reaching for her friend. "Gion, that's not—"
"Don't." Gion stepped back. "Don't make it worse with false comfort. The Sky Screen doesn't lie. It shows what IS. And apparently what is... is me being insufficient."
The silence was excruciating.
Vice Admiral Tsuru watched the exchange with the analytical detachment of someone who'd seen thousands of personal crises resolve themselves over decades of service. She felt sympathy for Gion—genuine sympathy—but strategic concerns took precedence.
"The name troubles me," Tsuru said quietly, redirecting attention away from Gion's emotional breakdown. "Rome. New Marine Headquarters."
Her tone carried weight that made everyone focus. When Tsuru spoke in that particular register, smart people listened.
"Some of you may not recognize the historical significance," she continued. "But Rome has very specific connotations. The Roman Empire. One of the greatest civilizations in recorded history—before the Void Century, naturally. They controlled vast territories through military supremacy and administrative brilliance."
She paused, making sure everyone understood.
"And more relevantly: the Holy Roman Empire. The successor state that claimed Rome's legacy and positioned itself as divinely ordained authority. The connection between 'Rome' as Marine Headquarters and potential future 'Holy Roman Empire' is... not subtle."
Sengoku's expression had gone from stressed to catastrophic. "You're suggesting—"
"I'm observing that the New Marine built a city called Rome. I'm noting that empires historically use such names to claim legitimacy. I'm wondering what happens to the World Government in a timeline where the Marine establishes an independent empire."
Rebellion, several people thought simultaneously. She's suggesting the Marine rebels against the World Government and establishes independent state.
"That's treason," someone whispered.
"That's years from now," Tsuru corrected. "And we don't know the context. Perhaps the World Government falls for other reasons—the Mary Geoise Incident, perhaps—and the Marine fills the resulting power vacuum. Perhaps it's less rebellion and more... succession."
Sengoku looked like he wanted to vomit. "I'll have to report this to the Five Elders. Explain that future projections show possible Marine independence. They'll demand explanations I can't provide."
"They'll demand we prevent it," Tsuru agreed. "Which we probably can't do. Trying to prevent prophecy tends to cause the very outcome we're attempting to avoid. Self-fulfilling prophecy through paranoid overreaction."
"So what do we do?"
"Nothing." Tsuru's answer was firm. "We observe. We learn. We avoid making decisions based on incomplete information about futures that might not manifest."
It was good advice. Politically astute. Strategically sound.
It was also completely unsatisfying to everyone desperate for concrete action.
Admiral Borsalino raised a hand lazily, drawing attention with characteristic lack of urgency. "I have a question~ How did they afford to build Rome? That level of construction requires astronomical funding."
The question refocused the room. Economics were safer territory than political rebellion.
"Excellent point," Sengoku seized the distraction gratefully. "Rome's scale rivals Mary Geoise. Building that city would require... what? Trillions ? Decades of the Marine's entire budget?"
"Unless funding sources changed dramatically," someone suggested. "Maybe the World Government became more generous after Mary Geoise?"
"Or maybe they found alternative revenue," another officer countered. "Independent taxation. Control of trade routes. Seizure of pirate treasure at unprecedented scale."
Borsalino's lazy expression sharpened slightly. "Or someone with gold-producing Devil Fruit. Though that would crash markets if they produced too much~ Economics is tricky that way."
The speculation continued:
Theory One: World Government increased Marine funding massively after near-destruction during Mary Geoise Incident. Rome represents investment in preventing future disasters.
Theory Two: New Marine achieved financial independence through controlling key economic resources. Operates more like nation-state than military organization.
Theory Three: Looting. Massive, systematic looting of defeated pirate organizations over six years. Not proud, but effective.
Theory Four: Literal gold-fruit user managing economy carefully enough to avoid inflation while providing construction funding.
Theory Five: Some combination of all above theories plus factors they hadn't identified yet.
None of the theories were satisfying. All raised more questions than they answered.
"The Fleet Admiral's gold coin," Borsalino mused. "Artoria apparently has her own currency. That's... significant. Nations have currencies. Military organizations don't."
Unless that military organization is becoming a nation, everyone thought. Which circles back to the Holy Roman Empire theory.
While senior officers worried about economics and politics, the radical faction had fixated on different detail: the Royal Guard.
"Did you see Sakazuki's command?" one radical Vice Admiral whispered to his neighbor. "He leads an elite corps directly answerable to the Fleet Admiral. A HUNDRED griffin riders with complete authority to bypass normal chain of command!"
"Supervision powers," another added. "Which probably means investigating corruption. Internal affairs but actually empowered to do something about it."
The appeal was obvious. Current Marine had oversight offices, yes, but they were toothless. Corrupt officers were protected by political connections. Incompetent leaders maintained positions through nepotism. The system resisted reform.
But a Royal Guard answering only to the Fleet Admiral? With explicit authority to ignore normal protocols? That could actually fix things.
Onigumo—Vice Admiral known for his radical views and distinctive hair-spider techniques—was practically vibrating with excitement.
That's what I want, he thought. That's what we ALL want. Clear authority. Direct action. No bureaucratic obstruction. Just identify problems and ELIMINATE them.
He imagined himself riding a griffin. Wearing the golden-lion banner. Carrying the Fleet Admiral's authority as tangible weapon against Marine's institutional corruption.
Magnificent.
Then reality intruded. I died. Iron Archipelago battle. Killed by Buggy's forces. I won't live to see the Royal Guard exist.
The disappointment was crushing. To see the future he'd always wanted and know he'd never experience it.
At least someone gets it right eventually, he consoled himself. Even if I don't benefit.
Sakazuki himself sat in uncomfortable silence, processing what the Sky Screen had revealed about his future self.
The loyalty was... unexpected. Disturbing, even.
Current Sakazuki served the Marine faithfully. Believed in absolute justice. Would die for the organization if necessary. But he maintained professional distance from superiors. Respected Sengoku without worshiping him. Followed orders while privately disagreeing with moderate policies.
Future Sakazuki seemed different. The way he'd addressed Artoria—"my Admiral Akainu"—the casual possessiveness in her tone. His visible pleasure at the simple acknowledgment. The devotion evident in every interaction.
What did she do to earn that? Sakazuki wondered. What changed between now and then to transform professional respect into... whatever that was?
He'd never been the type to follow anyone blindly. Even his mentors had earned measured respect rather than unconditional loyalty. The idea that someone could inspire such dedication from him seemed fundamentally incompatible with his personality.
She must be extraordinary, he concluded. To earn that kind of commitment from future me. Something happened. Something significant enough to completely reshape my understanding of leadership.