The silence after Jin's last words felt heavier than cannon fire.On the other side of the Den Den Mushi, Sengoku's brows drew together in iron lines. The image of the battlefield lingered before him—blood-slick decks, the corpses of CP0, and Jin standing calm in the eye of the storm, as if none of it touched him.
Even from thousands of miles away, Sengoku could read it. That monstrous bear wasn't a pet. It was a weapon, a soldier. One that fought at the level of a seasoned Vice Admiral. And that was just a subordinate.
What did that make the man himself?
Sengoku exhaled slowly. His years as Fleet Admiral had taught him that true power was measured not in strength alone, but in control. And Jin—damn him—showed both. No panting, no shaking hands, no ragged clothes. He looked like a man who had merely stretched his legs.
"Say your price," Sengoku said at last. His voice was steady, the voice of a man used to steering storms.
The line crackled with Jin's laughter. It was not joyful laughter. It was jagged, cutting, the kind that left wounds behind.
"Ahh, there you are. Sengoku the strategist. Always the dutiful dog of the Celestial Dragons. You'll even slaughter civilians if it keeps them happy, won't you?"
The words were a knife. Sengoku's jaw tightened. He despised being compared to those parasites he served—but duty was duty.
On the deck, Charlmak Saint was shrieking, waddling in his gilded robes, demanding salvation from men who were already dead. The Vice Admiral at his side clenched his teeth, sweat beading his brow.
Jin tilted his head, violet eyes gleaming. "One condition," he said at last. "A thousand pounds of seastone."
The Den Den Mushi's eyes bulged in shock, mirroring Sengoku's own. "What?!" Sengoku roared. "Do you think seastone is cabbage? A thousand pounds is impossible!"
Jin ignored the protest. His gaze slid lazily to the cowering Saint. "Oi. Bubble-head. Did you hear that? I'm offering to trade your worthless life for a thousand pounds of stone. But the great Fleet Admiral doesn't think you're worth it."
The Celestial Dragon's face twisted, pale flesh quivering. "N-no! No, no, you must! Sengoku! Do you hear me? You must give him what he wants! I am a Celestial Dragon! You cannot let me die!" His voice broke into sobs. "I don't want to die… I don't want to…"
In Marineford, Sengoku pinched the bridge of his nose. Fool. Absolute fool. The Nobles would demand blood if this leaked. But if it didn't—if the Celestial Dragon returned alive, even humiliated—the balance could be preserved.
"Fine," Sengoku ground out. "You'll have it. But you will release him, Jin. Do not mistake my words."
"Of course," Jin replied smoothly, though the curl of his smile promised anything but mercy. "Send the stones to Loguetown's base. I'll collect them myself. Promptly, Fleet Admiral. You wouldn't want a god's life to tick away while you drag your feet."
With a flick, he tossed the snail back toward Vice Admiral Godee, who scrambled to catch it.
Jin stepped forward, boots squelching in blood, and crouched before Charlmak Saint. The man tried to scramble back, but Jin's hand landed lightly on his jeweled shoulder.
"You know," Jin murmured, almost kindly, "the world's very big. Out here, your little title doesn't mean much." He patted the man twice, three times, casual as a friend might. His smile softened. "Remember that."
What Charlmak Saint didn't feel was the faint pulse of inner force threading into his meridians, weaving like a snake. It would sit there, quiet, harmless—until the day Jin willed otherwise. And then? No healer, no title, no godhood would save him.
The Celestial Dragon swallowed hard, too terrified to speak.
Jin rose, turning toward Kuma. The giant bear's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with exhaustion, wounds still dripping. Without a word, Jin hooked an arm under him and lifted, body blurring as he stepped onto the air itself. Each step rippled the sky, carrying them away from the ruined warship.
The Navy could clean up the mess.
In Marineford, the Den Den Mushi line clicked dead. Sengoku stared at the empty shell, his knuckles pale with pressure.
Across from him, Garp chewed on a rice cracker, utterly unbothered.
"You saw it," Sengoku said at last. His voice was lower now, edged with a rare weariness. "That man… he's a bomb waiting to go off. Today it was CP0. Tomorrow—who knows?"
Garp crunched. "Or maybe he just wants to be left alone. But the Celestial Dragons, hah—they never let anyone rest. They poke, they prod, and when they get bitten, they come crying to us."
"Garp." Sengoku's tone sharpened.
"What?" Garp shrugged. "I'm not wrong. You think he'll come after us for no reason? Nah. But if one of those puffed-up Saints points a finger, he'll snap it clean off. That's the kind of man he is."
Sengoku didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
Back on the Eternal Life, the mood was starkly different.
Jin lowered Kuma gently onto a padded mat, uncorking a vial of dark-red liquid. He poured it between the bear's fangs, massaging his throat until Kuma swallowed. The color slowly began to return to the beast's face.
Kuina appeared in the doorway, sword slung across her back, her usual composure cracked by worry. Her eyes went straight to Kuma's prone form. "How bad is it?"
Jin wiped his hands on a cloth. His earlier coldness was gone, replaced by a warmth reserved only for these walls. "Exhaustion. Blood loss. Nothing that won't heal. He fought like a monster today. He deserves to rest."
Kuina exhaled, shoulders easing. She knelt beside Kuma, brushing his fur absently. Then, after a pause, her gaze lifted. "And you? Did you take any wounds?"
Jin chuckled softly. "You think I'd fall so easily? No, Kuina. I don't go down. Not while you're still climbing."
Her brow furrowed. "Climbing?"
"Your sword path," Jin said simply. "I have to watch it to the end, don't I?"
Something in her chest tightened. For so long she had stood beside him, never reaching, never daring to bridge the gap between warrior and man. But tonight, after the blood and the fire, his hand came down to ruffle her hair.
Her breath hitched. Childish, almost—but she didn't pull away.
"Don't vanish," she whispered. It was barely more than breath. "Not before I reach the summit."
His violet eyes softened. "I won't."
For a moment, the roar of the sea outside faded, and it was only the two of them, bound by words neither had spoken before. Then Jin pulled back, the moment dissolving, leaving only the warmth of its echo.
"Go," he said quietly. "Rest. Tomorrow, we move again."
Kuina lingered a heartbeat longer before standing. She gave a single nod, face calm, though her ears burned red.
Jin watched her go, then turned back to Kuma.
Even Sengoku bends, he thought. But the Celestial Dragons? They'll never learn. Which means sooner or later… they'll come again.
His hand closed over the hilt of his blade.
And he smiled.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
T/N :
Access 25 chapters in Advance on my P@treon: [email protected]/GodFic