Marine Headquarters, Marineford — Fleet Admiral's Office
Sengoku sat behind his broad, imposing desk, fingers clenched tightly around a classified document that had just arrived from the World Government.
His face was dark, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly, as though he were fighting to keep a storm contained within.
Because what was written in that document made his blood run cold.
Portgas D. Ace had already been imprisoned in Impel Down for an entire week.
And only now had the World Government informed him.
Not a discussion.
Not a request.
An order.
[Portgas D. Ace will be publicly executed. The execution shall be carried out by the Marines.]
The justification printed beneath it was wrapped in lofty rhetoric, so impeccably phrased that Sengoku struggled to find grounds for outright refusal.
Because on the line marked Identity, Ace was no longer listed as "Adopted Grandson of Marine Hero Garp."
Instead, in glaring, unmistakable letters, it read:
Gol D. Ace — the sole bloodline of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
To execute the Pirate King's heir before the entire world — carried out by the Marines themselves — sounded, on the surface, entirely justified. A righteous spectacle. A display of power meant to terrify the seas.
But…
What it truly meant, Sengoku understood better than anyone.
Ace was the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. The son of Roger, born with explosive talent, possessing all three forms of Haki.
Marco, the First Division Commander, was not suited to lead the Whitebeard Pirates in the future.
Which meant the conclusion was obvious: Whitebeard had already realized his own age was catching up to him.
He had every intention of grooming Ace as his successor — with Marco serving as the loyal right-hand, the veteran regent who would stabilize the transition.
(Sengoku's own deduction. But a plausible one.)
And now the World Government was throwing the Marines onto a pyre.
They were forcing the Marines to stand at the very front and bear the fury of the "World's Strongest Man" — Edward Newgate.
"Those are the circumstances."
The CP0 agent standing before the desk wore a white mask. His expression was hidden, but his tone carried the unmistakable arrogance of a direct subordinate of the World Government.
"Therefore, Fleet Admiral Sengoku, the Government expects the Marines to promptly complete preparations for the execution platform and military deployment, ensuring—"
"Ensure your mother's head!"
The words exploded from Sengoku before the agent could finish.
He shot to his feet, snatched up the heavy jade paperweight from his desk, and hurled it at the CP0 agent without hesitation.
Bang!
The agent clearly hadn't expected Sengoku to lash out — or perhaps he didn't dare dodge. Maybe he wasn't allowed to.
The stone struck his forehead head-on.
The edge of the white mask cracked instantly. Blood began streaming down from his brow, staining the shattered fragments crimson.
"A fine example of acting first and reporting later!" Sengoku's chest heaved violently as he pointed at the agent's nose and roared.
"You capture him. You lock him up for a week. And only then you inform me?
And now you expect the Marines to face Whitebeard?! That's one of the Four Emperors! The entire Whitebeard Pirates!
And you want a public execution at Marineford?! That's an all-out war!
Do those fools in the World Government think this is some child's game?!"
Midway through his tirade, something seemed to click in his mind. He slammed his palm onto the desk so hard the solid wood groaned.
"No… Tell me something.
If I, the Fleet Admiral, refuse today…
Are you planning to leak this to Morgans — that chaos-loving vulture — and force my hand with public pressure?!"
His glare sharpened.
"Isn't that right?! Answer me!"
The CP0 agent clutched his bleeding forehead. His body trembled slightly beneath the cracked mask, jaw clenched so tightly it nearly creaked.
"Regardless… the matter stands as it is."
He raised his gaze to meet Sengoku's, swallowing the metallic taste in his mouth. His voice was hoarse, dry, barely holding onto composure.
"My orders have been delivered."
"Get out."
Sengoku didn't waste another word. The command slipped from between clenched teeth, cold as iron.
The next second, a concentrated wave of Conqueror's Haki burst forth — sharp, deliberate, and focused entirely on that single agent.
"—gh!"
The agent groaned. It felt as though a mountain had dropped onto his very soul. His breathing grew labored. His legs nearly buckled.
He dared not linger.
Swallowing humiliation and dizziness alike, he staggered out of the Fleet Admiral's office, nearly crawling as he fled.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Silence fell.
Only Sengoku remained.
He slowly lowered himself back into his chair, staring at the document that would determine countless fates. Time passed — how much, even he didn't know.
Until the office door opened once more, gently this time, breaking the suffocating stillness.
Garp entered.
The man whose laughter usually shook the building now stood in heavy silence.
He didn't grab any rice crackers. He didn't crack a joke.
He simply walked to the sofa and sat down like a stone statue, his back not even fully resting against it.
Sengoku didn't turn around. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
After a long while, his voice — thick with exhaustion — finally broke the silence.
"…Garp."
Almost simultaneously, Garp's low, hoarse voice answered.
"Sorry, Sengoku."
Sengoku turned slowly, his gaze sharp as a blade as it locked onto his old friend.
"What are you apologizing for?"
His voice trembled beneath the restraint.
"You shouldn't be apologizing to me."
He stood and walked toward Garp, step by step, looming over the so-called Marine Hero — who now looked nothing more than a tired, powerless old man.
"You should apologize to yourself!" Sengoku's voice quivered.
"Why didn't you hide him better?! Why didn't you let him grow up in the Marine academy?!
Why wasn't he raised under our watch?!
At least then… at least then he wouldn't have walked this path!
Things wouldn't have spiraled to this point!"
"Sengoku?!" Garp's head snapped up, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
His lips parted, but no words came.
"What?" Sengoku's mouth twisted into a bitter, self-mocking smile. "Did you think I knew nothing?
That I'm some rigid old fool?
Roger's child? At the end of the day, he was just a child.
You think the little coordination between you and Gern back then was flawless?
Don't forget, Garp! You are the Marine Hero — but you're only a Vice Admiral! You have prestige, but you don't have authority!
And yet… why did everything proceed so smoothly back then?"
His finger jabbed toward the document on the desk.
"Because of me!
Because I was Fleet Admiral!
Do you think that child's internal file would have carried the identity 'Adopted Grandson of Garp' without me?!
The World Government's hounds would have dug him out long ago!"
"You… self-righteous bastard!"
The dam finally burst.
Sengoku lunged forward, grabbing Garp by the collar and yanking him up from the sofa.
His eyes were bloodshot, locking onto Garp's — which were equally filled with anguish and inner torment.
"You had better options! I was waiting for you to choose!
But you… you decided to follow your own path!
Fine! You have your convictions! Then hide him properly!!!
Hide him somewhere no one could ever find!
Let him live as an ordinary man for the rest of his life — never letting anyone discover who he was!!"
"But now?!"
Sengoku's voice rose to a near roar.
"Now the World Government is forcing me!
They're forcing me!
They want to expose his identity to the world! They want to use the Marines' blade to sever Roger's son's head!
Do you understand what that means?!
Do you understand what an all-out war against Whitebeard means?!"
His hands trembled violently where they gripped Garp's collar. Each word seemed dragged from his throat by sheer force.
"It will be hell.
How many soldiers… how many families… will be torn apart by this war?
How many lives will vanish because of it?!
Tell me, Garp!!!
Tell me!!!"
...
(Sengoku's personality has changed greatly because of Gern — a butterfly effect set into motion by a single man.
When someone truly holds power, their stance toward the world inevitably shifts.
In other words, it is the difference between a puppet emperor and one who truly reigns.)