"What just happened?!"
"Why did Robinson suddenly drop to his knees?"
"Look—there's blood on the floor!"
"You bastard! What did you do to him?!"
Shock turned to fury in an instant, and several colonels were just about to rush Brian when the office doors slammed open.
"What's going on here?!"
Governor Karl stood at the doorway, his face thunderous—not at the colonels, but at Brian. After all, he'd already predicted this would happen. The moment Brian set foot in the Governor's Mansion, trouble was inevitable.
Brian, of course, didn't care. He stood there looking utterly unbothered—as if what had just happened didn't matter in the least—and even had the nerve to whistle at Ann.
To flirt with his niece so brazenly, right here in the Governor's Mansion, before the entire West Blue command staff—how could Karl not be furious?
And yet, he'd long since grown used to Brian's antics. As long as the man didn't commit outright treason against the Navy or the World Government, Karl could tolerate him. After all, with Admiral Zephyr's continued interest in Brian, it was only a matter of time before the kid was recalled to Headquarters. With that kind of backing, Brian was all but guaranteed to reach at least Vice Admiral someday.
"Enough. All of you—meeting room. Now."
Karl waved them off impatiently.
The colonels quickly dispersed, two of them helping the limping Robinson out of the room.
Brian glanced after them, muttering to himself,
"Tch. What a bore. I thought they'd at least show some backbone."
His voice was casual, but the words carried straight to Karl's ears.
"He deliberately provoked and injured Robinson?"
Karl's face darkened. Watching Brian's back as he walked away, he felt a twinge of unease—something that felt a lot like fear.
But he was the Governor of the West Blue, after all. A moment later, he drew a deep breath and forced his composure back, stepping into the conference room.
The room was sparsely furnished—a long table ten meters by three, twenty-one chairs, nothing more. Once the door was shut and the curtains drawn, the gathered colonels took their seats on either side.
Brian didn't. He hopped right up onto the table, sitting cross-legged across from Karl, staring him down.
It wasn't just arrogance; it was outright defiance.
"Don't take it personally, Senior Karl," Brian said lazily. "I just don't like sitting with weaklings."
The words were like sparks in a powder keg.
"Who are you calling weak?!"
"You bastard, I'll shut your mouth for you!"
"Don't stop me, Colonel Green! I'm gonna tear him apart!"
Karl slammed a fist down on the table.
BANG!
"Silence!"
The room fell quiet immediately.
Karl's expression hardened.
"Astona has been spotted near the Gattle Strait. We don't know why he's there, but no matter what, we're taking him down this time."
Clap, clap.
Polite applause.
Every head turned toward Brian.
He was leaning back, picking at his ear, speaking in that same lazy drawl.
"Senior Karl, I don't care about speeches. I just want to know—are you a man of your word?"
The tension in the room shifted—all eyes turned to Karl.
Karl's tone grew firm.
"If you can capture Astona, I'll promote you to Fortress Commander."
Brian grinned.
"Then I want my fortress built in the Kingdom of Nasia. Gotta have a place where there's… some profit to be made."
Leaving that behind, he stood and walked out of the meeting room without another word.
To him, the so-called "strategic conference" was just a formality. As for battle plans, encirclement tactics, or contingency measures—none of that mattered.
Brian believed in one thing only: power. If you were strong enough, everything else would take care of itself.
Karl, meanwhile, continued the meeting, outlining the plan in full detail.
The Seventh Branch would drive Astona's fleet into the reef-filled Devil's Sea, where the other branches' fast ships would encircle and block every escape route. Once Astona's ship ran aground or was trapped, they would close in for the kill.
It looked simple enough on paper—but any experienced officer could see the flaws.
The key risk: the Seventh Branch had to successfully herd Astona. If Astona broke through their lines head-on, the entire operation would fall apart.
Still, Karl felt confident. Whatever else Brian was, he wasn't weak.
After leaving the conference room, Brian didn't head for the barracks. Instead, he made his way to Ann's office.
She was bent over her desk, arranging logistics and supply orders for the coming battle. When she heard his footsteps and that obnoxious little whistle, her expression immediately hardened.
Ann had never given Brian a warm look—and she never would. He knew that well enough. But that fiery temper and that cold pride? He liked them. She was infinitely more interesting than the fawning songstresses and dancers he usually entertained.
Brian plopped himself down right on the edge of her desk, picked up a framed photo, and said casually,
"So, little pepper, I heard your brother was killed by Astona, wasn't he?"
Ann's body stiffened; her breath came sharper, faster.
Brian smirked.
"If tomorrow's operation goes as planned, Astona and his crew will be captured alive. They'll be sent to Enies Lobby for trial, then tossed into Impel Down to rot until they die."
Ann's eyes snapped up.
"What are you trying to say?"
Brian leaned closer, his voice dropping low.
"I mean… I could make sure he's brought to you. Let you slit his throat yourself. Avenge your brother."
He paused, then hooked a finger under her chin, lifting it gently.
"Of course, that kind of favor doesn't come free. You already know what I want."
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