Paradise, Marine G-3 Base.
Under a clear blue sky, two massive fleets crossed paths on the open sea in complete silence.
One fleet was slowly departing the harbor.
On the deck of its lead flagship stood five Marine Headquarters Vice Admirals with razor-sharp auras, including Onigumo and Doberman. Behind them stood the newly promoted Rear Admiral Dane.
The other fleet had just arrived.
At its head was the unmistakable dog-headed warship.
On its deck stood Sengoku, Garp, Zephyr, and Tsuru, shoulder to shoulder.
The moment the two fleets aligned
Onigumo and the others raised their right arms in unison, saluting with solemn precision.
Aboard the dog-headed ship, Sengoku lifted his hand and returned the salute.
At that instant, authority over the G-3 sea zone officially changed hands.
As the fleet bound for Marine Headquarters gradually disappeared into the distance, Sengoku's gaze settled on the brand-new G-3 Base.
What came into view was a true fortress of war.
The original base had been expanded dozens of times over. Towering walls forged from special alloys rose straight from the seabed, encircling the entire island.
Massive cannons with terrifying calibers lay in wait like slumbering beasts, their muzzles trained coldly on both sky and sea.
The harbor of G-3 was busier than ever.
Giant cranes, like steel titans, unloaded mountains of supplies from transport ships.
Food, weapons, ammunition, medical supplies. Everything was there.
Sengoku stepped down from the dog-headed warship and onto the docks.
Deep within the harbor, ten jet-black, streamlined, fully automated submarines silently surfaced.
Their hatches slid open on their own.
Cargo robots waiting nearby immediately moved in, carrying sealed metal containers out of the vessels.
Once unloading was complete, the submarines glided automatically toward a charging zone.
Another batch, already fully powered, seamlessly took their place and dove back into the depths to continue salvage operations.
The entire process repeated in cycles, efficient to an almost absurd degree.
Nearby, a newly constructed massive smelting facility roared with thunderous force.
Crates of corroded ancient coins and gold artifacts recovered by the submarines were sorted, then fed into enormous furnaces.
After high-temperature smelting and purification, they emerged as standardized gold bars, stamped with the Marine seagull emblem before being transferred into the deepest underground vaults.
Watching this scene of relentless growth and order, the frustration that had weighed on Sengoku for years finally dissipated.
He pulled out a pack of rice crackers, tore it open, took one, and popped it into his mouth.
Crunch.
The sound was crisp and satisfying.
He ate with genuine pleasure.
Delicious. Truly satisfying.
Just then, a large hand flashed out and snatched the entire pack from his grasp.
Garp dumped the remaining crackers straight into his mouth, cheeks puffed up like a hamster. "Sengoku, your reflexes are slowing down."
Sengoku's smile froze instantly.
His face darkened.
A freshly opened pack, and I only got one piece.
"Garp!"
A roar packed with fury echoed across the harbor.
Sengoku launched himself forward, leaving an afterimage as he chased after Garp, who had already taken off at full speed.
"You bastard. Give back my rice crackers!"
"Hahahaha! Catch me if you can!"
Nearby, Zephyr leaned against the railing, watching the two old comrades who together were nearly two hundred years old, yet still chased each other like children. He let out a helpless sigh.
"These two…"
Tsuru walked over and smiled gently.
"Let them be."
Her eyes followed the two figures disappearing into the distance, tinged with quiet nostalgia.
Victory at Marineford. The Marines standing on their own.
The older generation stepping aside. The rise of the new blood.
At last, they could set down the burdens of Fleet Admiral and hero, and return to who they truly were.
"They haven't been this relaxed in a long time."
Just then
"Yo."
A lazy voice drifted into Zephyr and Tsuru's ears.
A streak of golden light descended from the sky and slowly condensed into a tall, slender figure on the deck.
Kizaru walked over, holding a finely crafted wooden box in his arms.
His gaze swept over the G-3 Base beyond the railing.
"G-3 Base… how frightening," he said lazily. "This feels more like the real headquarters."
Tsuru glanced at him. "Did you get the Devil Fruit?"
"So impatient," Kizaru replied as he handed over the box. "Mission accomplished."
Footsteps approached from behind.
Zephyr walked over, his expression complicated as he looked at the student he had never quite gotten along with.
He raised his hand and gave Kizaru a heavy pat on the shoulder. "Borsalino. You did well."
Kizaru stiffened slightly. A flicker of surprise passed behind his lenses.
"From now on, when it comes to developing Devil Fruit abilities," Zephyr continued, "teacher and student should exchange ideas more often."
Kizaru broke into a grin, this one noticeably more sincere. "Of course."
"Zephyr-sensei. Adviser Tsuru," he said, turning away. "I'll take my leave. Hawk's two monster kids are still waiting for their special training."
Zephyr and Tsuru nodded as they watched him depart.
"Sengoku. Garp. Get over here," Tsuru called toward the training grounds. "Zephyr's about to eat a Devil Fruit."
The moment she finished speaking, two figures came rushing over, faces filled with curiosity and anticipation.
Zephyr opened the box.
Inside lay a pitch-black Devil Fruit, shaped like a curled bat, resting quietly.
Without hesitation, he picked it up and took a hard bite.
An indescribable stench exploded in his mouth.
But in the next instant, a vast surge of vitality flooded his withered limbs like a breached dam.
Zephyr could clearly feel old injuries being soothed and repaired by this new power.
Give him more enemy blood, and he could reclaim his youth.
…
In the waters beyond G-3 Base.
A massive, pure-white ship sailed slowly forward.
Its sails bore the emblem of the World Government.
The figurehead was a majestic griffin, golden eyes gazing down upon the rolling sea.
A man dressed in luxurious robes stood on the deck. His features were handsome, yet carried an inhuman coldness.
Figarland Shamrock Saint.
Vice Commander of the God's Knights.
He looked toward the Marine base ahead, towering like a war fortress, his gaze filled with detached scrutiny.
Imu had yet to awaken from slumber.
Otherwise, none of this would be necessary.
With a single thought, he could descend directly into this filthy lower world and pry out every secret hidden within.
Yet now he had to sail slowly like a common mortal.
How unpleasant.
"Then…" he said coldly, "cleanse G-3 Base in blood."