Back in his smoke-filled office in Loguetown, Smoker stared at the Den Den Mushi, a grim, satisfied smile pulling at his lips.
But no matter what, this was a good thing.
He knew, with a certainty that infuriated him, that Black Thorns Island was one of the rare dark places in the East Blue that he was forbidden to touch.
It was a mirror of Arlong Park—a festering wound protected from on high.
They all had high-ranking inspectors, men with deep, shadowy connections, acting as their patrons.
In other words, they were all hands of the same corrupt masters, the Celestial Dragons, mechanisms for siphoning money from the weak.
Even he, the highest-ranking Marine in this sea, wouldn't dare act lightly against them without direct, irrefutable orders.
Now, however, the situation was fine.
Lancelot, who was also a hand of the Celestial Dragons, had just torn their operation apart.
It was a proxy war, and Lancelot had just won him a major victory.
Smoker's only regret was that the mysterious, whirlwind-using pirate captain had escaped.
He decided then and there.
This time, in the eradication of Black Thorns Island, Lancelot had the primary merit, but he, as the commanding officer of the East Blue, would get the secondary credit.
He would give Lancelot a strong, unequivocal push.
He would help him secure the position of Chief Inspector of the East Blue.
A consolidated, single line of "corruption" that he knew and could predict was infinitely better than the current chaos of nine independent inspectors, all wreaking havoc, harming civilians, and protecting their own pirate assets.
Lancelot was a scoundrel, but he was a scoundrel with a (seemingly) soft spot for civilians and a terrifyingly hard line against pirates.
He was the lesser of many evils.
Thinking this, Smoker couldn't help but let out a gravelly chuckle.
"Then let me be the first to congratulate you in advance, Lancelot. Your promotion to Captain this time shouldn't be an issue."
Once the Captain rank was confirmed, Smoker knew he wouldn't even need to lift a finger for the next step.
Burns would handle the rest from Mariejois, and the position of Chief Inspector of the East Blue would naturally fall into Lancelot's lap.
Lancelot's voice came back over the line, smooth and appreciative.
"Thank you, Captain Smoker. I owe you one."
This was no small thing.
Though this was only the East Blue, a rank was still a rank.
Promotions were not easily obtained, especially not sequential, exceptional ones.
The Black Thorns Island incident alone was barely enough to warrant his promotion to Captain, especially since he had just been exceptionally promoted to Lieutenant Commander.
He simply didn't have the time-in-grade.
However, with the strong, personal recommendation of the East Blue's highest-ranking officer, Captain Smoker, things were entirely different.
Smoker's endorsement would bypass the bureaucracy and validate the achievement instantly.
Smoker took a deep drag from his cigar, then slowly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, momentarily obscuring his face.
"I hope you won't disappoint me," he said, his voice a low growl. "And even more, I hope I won't live to regret this."
Lancelot understood what he meant—a warning to keep his corruption in check, to not become the problem Smoker was trying to solve.
He replied with a carefully crafted earnestness.
"I don't claim to be a good person, Captain, but... I have my limits. Even if I skim money like the others, I won't ever touch civilians."
After saying this, he added silently in his heart,
'Besides, how much can civilians earn, slaving away? The nobles and the royals are the ones who hold most of the world's wealth. Skimming from them could feed my ambitions for years.'
Smoker felt a familiar toothache upon hearing Lancelot's carefully worded non-denial.
As expected, he thought, no one who thrives under the Holy Land's shadow is any good. But... when choosing between two evils, one must always pick the lesser.
He had a distinct premonition that certain corrupt nobles and a few of his fellow Marine Captains in the East Blue were about to face a period of terrible misfortune.
But so what? As long as the civilians were unharmed, the rest... who cared?
Both parties, each satisfied with their own ulterior motives, ended the call.
....
Lancelot gave the order, and the Dreadnought Saber set out again.
This time, their holds were heavy with treasure, and their destination was final: Syrup Village.
That night, after a long day of overseeing the repairs to his ship and the division of spoils, Lancelot returned to his spacious captain's quarters.
He found Lina and, to his surprise, Johnson, already waiting for him.
He wasn't surprised in the slightest to see Lina there.
She had, in effect, moved in. But Johnson?
Lancelot's expression remained neutral, but his eyes were sharp.
He was puzzled, and he asked directly, "What do you need, Johnson?"
Before Johnson could stammer out a reply, Lina stepped forward, a slightly nervous, placating smile on her face.
"Master, here's the thing... Johnson was appointed as the Quartermaster General, which we're both so grateful for, but his combat abilities are... well, you know... somewhat lacking. So I was thinking..."
At this moment, Lancelot's expression, which had been relaxed, darkened.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
He didn't need her to finish.
He already understood Johnson's true intentions.
The kid wasn't just ambitious; he was greedy, and he was trying to use his aunt as a pawn to leverage more from him.
Did they truly take him for some kind of naive, lovestruck sucker?
"Gulp..."
Lina swallowed hard, her feline instincts screaming.
This was the first time she had seen Lancelot with this particular expression—a cold, dispassionate, and utterly terrifying stillness.
She was genuinely startled. The rest of her words died in her throat.
Lancelot's gaze fell upon Johnson, and a chilling glint flashed in his eyes.
"If you have anything to say to me in the future, you come to me directly. Do not use your aunt as a mouthpiece. This is the first time, and it will be the last."
Johnson, who had been hiding behind Lina, snapped to attention.
"Yes, sir!" he squeaked.
His entire body was trembling, his legs feeling weak and watery.
Lancelot then turned his cold gaze back to Lina.
"You were thinking? Thinking what? That I should get him a Devil Fruit, too? Do you have any idea how precious Devil Fruits truly are?"
He didn't yell.
His voice was quiet, sharp as a blade of Frost Demon.
"In the Sabaody Archipelago, Devil Fruits occasionally appear at auctions. Each one sells for no less than 100 million Berries. And those," he sneered, "are the unknown ones. The mystery boxes. You spend 100 million, and you could get a useless fruit, like the ability to turn your fingers into spoons."
"For a confirmed Zoan-type, like the White Tiger Fruit you ate? Five or six hudrer millions Berries would be a normal starting price. But whether it's the 100-million-Beri gamble or the multi-billion-Beri certainty, they are all practically impossible to obtain. Do you know why? Because your competitors at these auctions aren't just nobles. They are the world's elite—the Celestial Dragons. And they don't bid. They simply take. Even if you had the Berries, would you dare bid against them?"
He took a step closer to Lina, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.
"Not to mention, the White Tiger Fruit you ate is among the top-tier of all ordinary Zoan fruits. My father originally spent a fortune and called in every political favor he had just to obtain it from a Celestial Dragon as a personal gift. It was meant... for me."
He let that fact hang in the air, a weight of immeasurable value.
"Do you think this is some common fruit from the market? That you can just ask, and I can get you another one? What absolute nonsense are you thinking?"
"What?"
Both Lina and Johnson's eyes were wide with shock.
They knew about Devil Fruits, of course, but they had no idea.
They were from the East Blue; their concept of wealth and power was laughably small.
They had no idea just how precious, how impossibly rare, these fruits truly were.
Especially Lina.
Only now... only now... did she understand the true, staggering value of the Devil Fruit she had consumed.
At the same time, a second, more devastating realization hit her: Lancelot had given her his own Devil Fruit.
He had given her something worth billions, something his own father had procured for him.
This realization filled her with an overwhelming, suffocating wave of gratitude.
"I... I'm sorry, Master!"
But along with that gratitude came an intense, burning guilt and shame.
How could she... how could she have dared to ask for another one of such a precious, personal item for her nephew?
Johnson was completely, utterly stunned.
He was frozen in place, pale and trembling.
Lancelot's gaze then fell upon him, and it was devoid of all warmth.
"Remember this, Johnson. You are the Quartermaster General. You do your job well—you manage my finances, you launder my spoils, you procure my supplies—and I will treat you fairly. But do not ever get any wild ideas above your station. Do not overreach. Otherwise, just as I raised you up, I can just as easily crush you down."
"Y-yes... Yes, Captain Lancelot! I understand! I won't, I swear!"
Lancelot waved his hand dismissively. "Get out."
Johnson practically scrambled from the room, leaving his aunt behind.
The moment the door clicked shut, Lina immediately pulled Lancelot deeper into the room and locked the door behind them.
Her face was a complex mask of shame, awe, and a burning, renewed devotion.
"Master..." she whispered, her voice thick. "Please... let Lina properly... thank you."
As she spoke, she loosened the collar of her uniform, revealing a thin, black leather chain around her neck.
She unclipped it and placed the end in Lancelot's hand.
Then, with a deliberate, practiced motion, she unbuttoned her Marine-issued outer garments.
Underneath, she wore a tight-fitting black top, a perilously short skirt, and black, thigh-high stockings.
"Holy..."
Lancelot had to admit, this girl was becoming increasingly, and dangerously, attuned to his preferences.
And she was getting much, much bolder in her approaches.
....
Time passed quickly, and another half-month went by at sea.
On the Dreadnought Saber, life was anything but dull.
During the day, the ship's deck was a flurry of activity. Lancelot, Zoro, Lina, and Gin were either training their own strength or sparring relentlessly with each other.
Zoro and Lancelot would clash, two-swords against two-swords, their battles a deafening symphony of steel.
Lina, now fully comfortable in her hybrid form, would test her new power and speed against Gin's iron-clad defense and brutal pragmatism.
The foundation of a small, terrifyingly powerful group was slowly taking shape, their abilities and teamwork growing with every clash.
Of course, of the four, Lancelot was by far the most exhausted.
After all, every night, after a full day of training, he still had to engage in... intense, one-on-one battles.
Brrr... Brrr... Brrr...
Just as the lookout shouted that they were about to reach Syrup Village, the Den Den Mushi in Lancelot's quarters finally rang.
It was Smoker.
Lancelot answered, and Smoker's gruff voice came through, sounding almost impressed.
"The appointment orders from Headquarters have been issued."
There was a pause, and then: "Lieutenant Commander Lancelot, for exceptional merit in the eradication of the Black Thorns pirate alliance, you are hereby promoted to Captain. Furthermore, you are appointed Inspector General, tasked with overseeing all other inspectors in the East Blue and establishing the East Blue Inspectorate Headquarters at a location of your choosing."
Lancelot's grin was sharp as a blade.
Smoker continued, "In addition, Lina is promoted to Lieutenant, and assigned as Staff Officer of the new East Blue Inspectorate Headquarters."