Marine Headquarters, Marineford — Fleet Admiral's Office
Sengoku sat behind his broad desk, piles of documents stacked high before him, each awaiting review and signature.
Yet his mind was clearly elsewhere.
His fingers tapped the desktop unconsciously, a steady, restless rhythm, his brow drawn tight in a deep frown—an unmistakable sign that some thorny problem had him firmly in its grip.
It had been some time since that world-shaking incident at the Holy Land. The initial surge of excitement—the sheer, guilty thrill of it all—had gradually settled.
Even now, when Sengoku recalled joining forces with Gern, watching the Five Elders' faces darken like the bottom of a scorched pot as they were forced to compromise against their will, a sharp flicker of illicit satisfaction still stirred in his chest.
That feeling had truly been… intoxicating.
Exhilarating beyond words.
But once the rush faded, reality came crashing in—one problem after another.
In order to placate him—or perhaps more accurately, to restrain Gern—the World Government had indeed relinquished a significant portion of the authority and resources it once clutched tightly in its grasp, handing them over to Marine Headquarters.
This was something Sengoku had dreamed of for years. Greater autonomy, greater freedom to act, more room for the Marines to grow and reshape themselves.
And yet, now that it came time to decide how these newly acquired "spoils of war" should be allocated and utilized, Sengoku found himself with a pounding headache.
He could already foresee what would happen once the upcoming high-level Headquarters conference concluded in two months.
With Gern personally stationed there, the G-10 Branch—bolstered by overwhelming strength, a strategically independent location, and Gern's own towering prestige as a living "Marine legend"—would, without question, become the de facto core of Marine power in the New World.
A true "New World Marineford" in every sense of the word.
The Marines' strategic focus would inevitably crystallize into a clear division:
Marineford Headquarters would maintain stability across the first half of the Grand Line—the so-called Paradise—and the Four Seas.Meanwhile, the crushing burden of confronting the New World's monstrous pirates and the fearsome "Emperors" would fall squarely upon Gern and his so-called "Calamity."
This had been an unspoken understanding during their cooperation—a mutual acknowledgment of necessity and the most rational choice given the current state of the world.
But Sengoku was still Sengoku.
The brain of the Marines.A strategist of the highest order.
Unspoken understandings were one thing—but once it came time to divide the spoils and establish long-term rules, he had no choice but to think in terms of the Marines' overall interests and their future.
"We can't let the New World become Gern's personal domain…" Sengoku muttered under his breath, his gaze sharpening.
He wasn't worried about Gern betraying the Marines. At least for now, their interests were tightly bound together.
What concerned him was the loss of balance—and the absence of necessary coordination.
If G-10 were to operate in complete independence, beyond the influence of Marine Headquarters, then in the long run, a host of problems could arise.
For instance, if Headquarters needed elite forces for operations in other strategic directions—such as countering the Revolutionary Army, cleaning up remnants in Paradise, or even executing certain confidential, special missions—could they be sure G-10 would actively cooperate?
Would they be able to "borrow" manpower from Gern when needed?
If Gern chose to cooperate—or not—purely based on his own interests, then Headquarters' ability to exercise unified command across the entire Marine force would face an enormous challenge.
"We need to establish some kind of framework…"
With that thought, the brilliant tactician picked up his pen and began sketching ideas onto a blank document.
He needed a plan that would both fully acknowledge and safeguard G-10's special status and autonomy in the New World—meeting Gern's expectations and preserving their cooperative relationship—while also ensuring that Marine Headquarters retained a minimum level of coordination authority and emergency requisition rights.
For example: stipulating that G-10 had an obligation to cooperate with Headquarters on non–New World matters within certain limits; establishing regular high-ranking officer exchange mechanisms; or reaching agreements on intelligence-sharing regarding key developments in the New World…
The balance here was absolutely critical.
Impose too many restrictions, and Gern might push back, jeopardizing a hard-won alliance.
Impose too few, and they might be planting the seeds of future chaos beyond anyone's control.
"Being Fleet Admiral really does drain the brain…" Sengoku sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.
Dealing with Gern was like riding a wild, apocalyptic beast—one whose power could be harnessed to sweep away obstacles, but which might just as easily turn and devour its rider if caution slipped for even a moment.
"Damn bastard… impossible not to love and hate him at the same time," Sengoku muttered under his breath, though his eyes only grew more focused as he immersed himself in the dense and crucial strategic planning before him.
Just as he was racking his brains over the empty document, a soft knock sounded at the office door.
"Come in," Sengoku replied without lifting his head.
The door opened, and Vice Admiral Tsuru—the Marines' chief strategist—entered with calm, measured steps. She carried a folder in her hand, her expression as composed and efficient as ever.
"The handover procedures for the New World's G-45 and G-22 branches have been fully completed," Tsuru reported, placing the documents on Sengoku's desk. "All relevant authority transfers and defense-zone delineation papers have been formally handed over to G-10."
She paused, then added evenly, "And per your implicit instructions, I made it explicitly clear to them that all future maintenance costs, equipment upgrades, and personnel salaries for those two branches will be borne entirely by G-10."
At her report, the deep crease in Sengoku's brow finally eased. He set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, a relieved—and faintly sly—smile crossing his face.
"As expected of you, Tsuru," he said sincerely. "Always meticulous. If anyone else had gone to negotiate with Gern's side, that kid would've stripped them to the bone—and had them counting money for him afterward."
Tsuru merely walked over to the sofa and sat down calmly. She poured herself a cup of steaming black tea from the teapot on the table, blew gently on the surface, took a sip, and only then looked back up at Sengoku.
Her gaze remained placid, but the words she spoke caught him off guard.
"Still, this handover wasn't quite as effortless as it may seem."
"Oh?" Sengoku leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "If even you found it troublesome, then something must've gone wrong. Did Gern pull another stunt?"
"Not Gern himself," Tsuru replied, setting her teacup down and folding her hands neatly on her lap. "It was one of his subordinates—a Rear Admiral candidate named Tesoro. He handled nearly all of the detailed negotiations and confirmations."
A trace of admiration flickered through her eyes as she continued, "That young man is exceptionally sharp—frighteningly so. From what I can tell, G-10's daily military administration, patrol deployments, financial operations, and even external negotiations… Gern has likely long since delegated all of it to Tesoro."
"And the way Tesoro manages these complicated affairs—he's completely at ease. His efficiency is astonishing, his judgment precise. He refuses to concede a single inch where interests are concerned, yet always strikes exactly the right tone when it's time to show restraint."
Tsuru let out a soft sigh, a hint of envy threading through her voice. "A rare talent, truly—both in business acumen and political maneuvering. Honestly, I almost envy Gern. If someone like that were under my tutelage, I'd have a successor without question."
Sengoku, however, was clearly focused on something else entirely.
Instead of marveling at Tesoro's capabilities, his eyes widened abruptly, disbelief and intense imbalance flashing across his face.
He practically ground his teeth as he spoke.
"Wait—are you telling me that Gern, that bastard, commands a territory larger than Marine Headquarters itself… and yet doesn't have to rot in an office every day buried under mountains of paperwork like we do?!"
"He gets to wander around freely, picking fights wherever he wants, happily playing 'Heaven-Shaking' Gern—while someone else handles all the headaches for him?!"
Seeing Sengoku's expression—a perfect embodiment of why does he get to have all the fun—Tsuru froze for a moment, then shook her head helplessly.
Wisely deciding not to further provoke an already overworked Fleet Admiral, she smoothly changed the subject.
"Ahem… by the way, where's Garp? Slacking off somewhere again?"
As expected, the mere mention of Garp instantly redirected Sengoku's attention—and reignited his fury.
"That old bastard!" Sengoku snorted angrily. "Said he was taking the leave I promised him and ran back to the East Blue to see his precious grandson!"
"And before he left, he specifically came to show off how adorable his grandson is! Absolutely outrageous!!"
Watching Sengoku fume, Tsuru couldn't help but smile knowingly. She lifted her teacup and said teasingly,
"Sengoku, you're not getting any younger. Even I have a granddaughter I can think about from time to time—what about you?"
"Still alone, drowning in paperwork all day, or getting driven up the wall by people like Garp and Gern…"
"Don't you think it's about time you gave some thought to your own personal life?"
The remark struck Sengoku squarely in his weak spot.
He fell silent at once, mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again—utterly at a loss for words.
In the end, he could only pick up his pen again and bury his head in the documents, grumbling stubbornly,
"I—I still have a ton of work to do!"
"Oh, you…" Tsuru shook her head with a helpless sigh.