Navy Headquarters.
Marineford.
In the top-floor emergency operations conference room, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like it could drip.
Around the long table sat every senior leader the Navy still had.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku occupied the head seat. His hands were clasped under his chin, his eye sockets sunken, the whites of his eyes webbed with bloodshot red—like he'd aged ten years overnight. Documents lay spread out in front of him, but he didn't seem to be reading a single line.
Beside him, Vice Admiral Tsuru—the Navy's chief strategist—sat quietly with a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. Her gaze swept across every face in the room.
Akainu, Sakazuki, sat rigidly in his chair, his expression dark as the sea before a storm.
Kizaru, Borsalino, was—rarely—present, but he was only slouched back with his head tilted, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, staring at nothing in particular.
Aokiji, Kuzan's seat, was empty.
Others—Onigumo, Doberman, Strawberry, and the rest—wore the same grim, tight faces.
The only sounds were strained breathing and the soft rustle of papers being flipped unconsciously.
"Sengoku."
At last, Vice Admiral Tsuru spoke. Her voice was steady, but it pierced the suffocating silence like a needle.
Every head turned—eyes snapping to Sengoku.
"Everyone here is the Navy's core," Tsuru said slowly. "What exactly happened at Mary Geoise? We need the truth—not that 'unknown cause' nonsense the newspapers feed to children."
Sengoku's fingers twitched.
He lifted his head slowly, his gaze unfocused, as if he were still trapped inside the shock and hadn't fully returned.
His mouth opened, but only a dry, rasping sound came out—as though, for a moment, he couldn't find words that could hold what he'd seen.
Akainu slammed a fist onto the table. The solid wood groaned under the impact.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku—at a time like this, what's left that can't be said?!"
His voice erupted like a volcano.
"The Holy Land is in ruins. The World Government has collapsed. The symbol of justice has suffered the greatest humiliation imaginable!"
"The Navy must act immediately—strike with thunder to wipe out every unstable factor and restore our authority!"
"Act? And how, exactly?"
Kizaru drawled lazily, the same old tone.
"Sakazuki… do you even know who the enemy is? Where they are? Or… was that really an 'enemy' at all?"
"Borsalino! What are you implying?!" Akainu snapped, glaring daggers.
"I'm saying…"
Kizaru lifted his hands in a shrug.
"If you don't even understand what you're up against, rushing in is a good way to get yourself killed~ Scaaary~"
"You…!"
"That's enough!" Sengoku growled.
It wasn't loud, but it carried authority. The argument died instantly.
He drew a breath—deep, long, as if it took his whole body to pull it in.
Then he let it out, slowly.
His eyes sharpened and focused at last—sharp, and… exhausted.
"Tsuru is right," Sengoku said hoarsely. "You have the right to know."
He leaned forward, palms braced on the tabletop, his gaze traveling from face to face—anger, doubt, dread.
"I saw it with my own eyes."
He paused, as if organizing his thoughts—or forcing down the surge of emotion threatening to rise again.
"That wasn't an attack. It wasn't a war. It wasn't any kind of 'clash of power' we can understand."
Sengoku's pupils tightened, as though he were seeing that world-ending, effortless scene all over again.
"It was more like…"
He searched for a word—something these battle-hardened officers could grasp.
"…a god."
He finally let the two syllables fall.
"A god that grew tired of the world… and casually wiped away an eyesore stain."
The room went dead silent.
So silent you could hear a pin drop.
Even Akainu—the most aggressive among them—had his fury freeze on his face, hardening into shock, and a faint, uncontrollable… bewilderment.
A god?
Wiping away a stain?
"Sengoku. Be specific."
Tsuru's voice was still calm, but the knuckles of the hand holding her cup had gone white.
"Specific?" Sengoku gave a bitter, twisted smile—more painful than crying.
"Specific is this: one man stood before thousands of elite Marines and my full-force assault… and didn't move an inch."
"Every attack vanished—soundlessly—the moment it came within three feet of him."
"Then he yawned… like he was bored."
"And he said, 'This place has no reason to exist.'"
Sengoku closed his eyes. His voice dropped, carrying the tremor of a nightmare.
"After that, he lifted a hand… and gave the direction of Mary Geoise the lightest little wave…"
He opened his eyes again. Deep helplessness and fear sat there, naked and undeniable.
"The sky split open."
"The earth was pierced through."
"The Red Line… gained a strait."
"And Mary Geoise, Pangaea Castle, the Celestial Dragons, the World Government—everything—after that one wave… was gone."
"Not blown up. Not collapsed."
"Gone—as if an eraser had rubbed it off the map. It simply… 'disappeared.'"
…
A long silence followed.
Everyone struggled to digest a description that shattered the limits of imagination.
One man. One wave of the hand. A system that had ruled the world for centuries—reduced to nothing.
This wasn't "powerful" anymore. It had stepped beyond power into the realm of the unknowable.
"How… how is that possible…" Vice Admiral Onigumo murmured.
"Then where is he now? That… 'god'?" Doberman asked in a low voice, his hand pressing down on the hilt of his sword.
Sengoku shook his head.
"I don't know."
"After he finished, he tore open space and left."
He glanced at Kizaru. "Borsalino was there too. He can confirm it."
All eyes shifted to Kizaru.
Kizaru nudged his sunglasses up slightly, lips tugging into a faint curve.
"Mm… yeah, more or less like that~ Scary as hell~ I remember thinking—good thing I didn't move. Otherwise there wouldn't even be anyone left to collect overtime pay~"
No one laughed.
The joke, in that moment, felt icy—and terrifying.
"So…"
Akainu's voice sounded again, but the earlier rage was gone, replaced by something compressed, cold, and resolute.
"What does the Navy do now? Declare war on a 'god'? Or accept all this and hide like turtles in our shells?"
"Sakazuki!"
Tsuru shot him a stern look.
"This is not the time for macho bravado!"
"Then when is it?!" Akainu growled. "Does justice bow its head to a force we can't even understand?!"
"It's not bowing!"
Sengoku suddenly raised his voice.
He stood up, hands planted on the table, leaning forward—eyes like lightning.
"It's recognizing reality! It's preserving our strength!"
"We have to face the massive chaos that's about to sweep the entire world—inevitably."