-Broadcast-
The Adventure Group was merely a tool for winning hearts and minds—nothing more, nothing less. It could be called anything the Marine pleased. As long as this particular instrument remained firmly in Marine hands, it possessed a certain justice by definition.
The right to interpret justice would always belong to the glorious Marine. That was the fundamental axiom underlying everything.
The pirate groups entering the whitelist enjoyed no guaranteed employment, no ironclad protections. If they continued committing atrocities—acts deemed "extremely evil" by Marine standards—being kicked off the list was just a matter of paperwork. All interpretative authority belonged exclusively to the Marine.
No appeals. No negotiations. Final decisions rendered by those who controlled the system itself.
After Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon established the Adventure Group framework, she'd initially achieved her strategic objectives with remarkable efficiency. The Marine's influence had extended into the second half of the Grand Line—territory that had never before acknowledged their authority. Several organizational "nails" had been driven firmly into the spheres of influence belonging to the Four Emperors.
Removing these thorns from their territories would cost the Yonko blood and treasure. But losing such expendable assets would cost the Marine nothing whatsoever. They could simply invite more pirate groups to join the Adventure Group system, replacing casualties as quickly as they occurred.
After all, the last thing these seas lacked was pirates.
In order to grow stronger and accumulate wealth, desperate crews would launch suicidal charges against people of their own class—fellow pirates, former allies, anyone the Marine designated as a target. Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon exploited human greed with surgical precision, allowing those who could still be useful to fight among themselves. All in service of maintaining stability at sea.
Or what passed for stability when the powerful consumed the weak.
The Adventure Group system contained so many hidden mechanisms, so many subtle traps. Admiral Kennen certainly wouldn't explain all of them to Boa Hancock. He'd spared no effort in promising generous benefits, painting an attractive picture of opportunity and prosperity.
But whether anything he'd promised would actually be fulfilled depended entirely on the final decision of the Marine Fleet Admiral. Kennen was merely an instrument of policy, not its architect.
"The Shichibukai system has generated tremendous complaints from World Government member nations," Kennen continued, his small frame still crackling with residual electricity. "Although joining the Adventure Group reduces some of your nominal power, the practical benefits you'll gain are definitively greater than remaining a Warlord under the World Government's thumb."
Working for anyone was still working. Boa Hancock could serve the Celestial Dragons behind the World Government while holding her nose in disgust—and this time she'd be serving as a tool of the Marine instead. There was no fundamental psychological barrier preventing the transition.
After all, they were all adults here. What mattered in the end was protecting one's own interests.
The Empress had to consider Nine Snake Island first and foremost. An entire nation depended on her alone to provide sustenance and security. Carrying such a tremendous burden was the weight any woman who wore a crown must bear, willingly or not.
The title "World's Most Beautiful Woman" still carried considerable influence across the seas. Compared to figures like Crocodile or Donquixote Doflamingo, Boa Hancock's reputation tilted toward the positive side of the spectrum. This represented one of the main reasons Admiral Raizumi had seriously considered recruiting her into the Adventure Group rather than simply attempting to capture or kill her outright.
The hostility between both parties had dropped to near-freezing temperatures. The tension that had filled the plaza like electric fog began dissipating.
Diana lowered her shield completely, securing it against her back with practiced efficiency. Simultaneously, she sheathed the sword that had been half-drawn at her hip. Her calm eyes turned toward her friend, expression neutral and accepting.
Wonder Woman respected any decision Boa Hancock would make. That was what true friendship meant—supporting choices even when you didn't fully understand them.
Boa Hancock revealed one of her nervous habits. Whenever she was lost in deep thought, genuinely uncertain about a course of action, she liked to bite her thumb gently. The gesture looked almost childlike on someone who projected such overwhelming confidence most of the time.
Her mind raced through calculations, evaluating the feasibility of joining the Adventure Group from every conceivable angle.
Quitting the World Government's Seven Warlords of the Sea... joining the Marine's Adventure Group system instead...
Was there some hidden conspiracy lurking beneath this seemingly generous offer? What kind of trap might the enemy be preparing specifically for Nine Snake Island? This was the kind of decision that affected every citizen—one wrong move could doom them all.
Such a critical choice required careful deliberation. And when making decisions with these kinds of stakes, Boa Hancock needed to hear opinions from outsiders, perspectives unburdened by her own biases.
"Diana," the Empress began, her voice unusually soft. "If I put you in my exact position—if Paradise Island faced this same choice—would you agree to join the Marine's Adventure Group?"
Wonder Woman considered the question seriously, her classical features thoughtful. Several long moments passed before she formulated her response.
"The population of Paradise Island is significantly smaller than Nine Snake Island's," Diana said carefully. "My homeland can achieve self-sufficiency without relying on the outside world for basic necessities. We're protected by permanent storm barriers and magnetic field disruptions that prevent unwanted visitors."
She gestured vaguely toward the plaza around them, encompassing the entire island nation.
"But Nine Snake Island is extremely dependent on external materials due to geographical factors. Your arable land cannot support your population. The Calm Belt prevents reliable trade. From a purely realistic perspective..." Diana's eyes met Hancock's directly. "I think compromising with one major power in exchange for better prices and higher benefits is the most advantageous path for this particular country."
"You're right," Hancock acknowledged, her thumb still pressed against her lip. "Nine Snake Island's land is too barren. Our geographical location determines everything about how we must survive."
When Boa Hancock truly confronted the problem of population explosion, her brows twisted into a shape like the character "川"—three vertical lines of worry carved into her perfect forehead.
Nine Snake Island had exceeded its sustainable population limit years ago. The time for fundamental change had arrived whether she welcomed it or not.
Under her previous governance, the Empress had perhaps been too kind-hearted. She'd allowed many homeless women—refugees from abusive situations, survivors of pirate raids, escaped slaves—to take refuge on Nine Snake Island. The nation's entire defensive capability was supported almost entirely by the three Boa sisters and a handful of elite warriors.
For many outside observers, it was genuinely miraculous that this bloated, overpopulated island had survived to the present day.
Relying solely on foreign robbery to replenish supplies had left the Nine Snakes Pirates led by Boa Hancock completely exhausted. The dignified Empress had become little more than a glorified transport captain for the country she loved so desperately.
She was perhaps the only ruler in all the seas who'd degraded herself to this extent for her people's sake.
Just as the Empress hovered on the edge of decision, Admiral Kennen suddenly spun around, his small body going rigid with alertness. Through his ultra-long-range Observation Haki—what he called his "Heart Network"—he'd detected something approaching.
Two people. Both possessed powerful auras. Both flying directly toward Nine Snake Island at tremendous speed.
"It seems our discussion must be postponed," Kennen announced, electrical discharge intensifying around his frame. "Two individuals are approaching your country. Their strength should absolutely not be underestimated."
Boa Hancock's Observation Haki was merely adequate—barely scratching the surface of what the ability could accomplish. She couldn't even blanket the entire island with her perception, let alone detect threats approaching from miles away across open ocean.
She had no choice but to believe Admiral Kennen's warning.
Although the Empress wielded all three colors of Haki, her Armament and Observation were essentially cosmetic—present but underdeveloped, barely functional. Only her Conqueror's Haki had made significant progress through years of training, serving as a genuine supplement to her Devil Fruit abilities.
In the previously quiet sky above Nine Snake Island, a mysterious azure bird suddenly materialized. Its body was wreathed in blazing flames that somehow burned without consuming, feathers sparkling with supernatural light like blue gemstones given life.
The strange bird spread massive wings—each feather appearing like crystallized fire, beautiful and terrible simultaneously. When it flew at altitude, the creature resembled a ball of blue flame dancing through the air itself, defying conventional physics.
Mysterious light flashed in its eyes, as if the bird could perceive things beyond normal vision. The presence brought an atmosphere of mystery and awe that made even experienced warriors hold their breath.
A handsome old man with gray hair stood balanced at the phoenix's feet, man and mythical beast crossing the ocean in this impossible posture. They descended toward Nine Snake Island just as negotiations had reached their most critical juncture, arriving to disrupt the entire situation.
"I rushed over the moment I received news of the attack," the old man called out, his voice carrying easily across the plaza. "Hancock—are you unharmed?"
Character Note: Former Pirate King's First Mate - Silvers Rayleigh, the Dark King
The azure phoenix—wingspan approaching one hundred meters when fully extended—placed the elderly man gently on solid ground. Simultaneously, it released its beast transformation, blue flames condensing and reshaping.
Where the mythical bird had been, a man now stood. Yellow hair styled in a distinctive pineapple shape. The flag of the Whitebeard Pirates tattooed prominently across his chest—an emblem that hadn't been seen openly at sea for quite some time.
Edward Newgate's flag had become a relic of the past, something displayed only in memory. As the sole survivor of the former Yonko's command structure—at least according to public knowledge—this man hadn't smiled genuinely since the Battle of Marineford had torn his world apart.
Character Note: Captain of the Whitebeard Pirates' First Division - Marco, wielder of the Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Phoenix (Bird-Bird Fruit, Mythical Zoan type)
Among everyone present, only Admiral Raizumi was seeing Marco for the first time in person. An expression of complete disbelief flashed through his small eyes—shock so profound it bordered on existential horror, as if he'd witnessed a ghost materialize in broad daylight.
This is impossible.
According to Marine intelligence records—information Admiral Kennen had personally reviewed before this mission—the Whitebeard Pirates' First Division Commander Marco should have died during the Battle of Marineford. The victory had been officially credited to Admiral Borsalino. The man's death was documented fact, confirmed through multiple sources.
Is there some hidden truth here that outsiders don't know about?
Has the Marine been operating on false intelligence this entire time?
Or...
Kennen's mind raced through possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. If Marco had survived Marineford—if the Phoenix had risen from ashes that should have consumed him permanently—then what else might the Marine's intelligence apparatus have gotten catastrophically wrong?
The small Admiral's electrical discharge intensified involuntarily, voltage spiking with his racing thoughts.
This changed everything.
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