At the same time—
In the Holy Land of Mary Geoise, within the vast and solemn Pangaea Castle, inside the cavernous Hall of Authority, five familiar figures stood encircled beneath the towering dome.
The supreme rulers of the World Government—the Five Elders—had fixed their gaze upon the full-scale war that was about to erupt at Marineford.
This "open conspiracy," personally engineered and set into motion by their own hands, was never merely about eliminating Whitebeard as a threat.
"Everything is proceeding according to plan."
Saint Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro—Ethanbaron V. Nusjuro—clad in a dark kimono and resting one hand upon the hilt of the First Kitetsu, spoke in a measured, unhurried tone.
"It is time for Sengoku's era to end," Saint Shepherd Ju Peter—Shepherd Ju Peter—added coldly.
"No matter the outcome of this war, the enormous casualties—particularly among high-ranking officers—must be laid entirely at his feet as Fleet Admiral. That burden is his to bear.
This will be the perfect moment for him to resign in disgrace… and the outcome we must ensure."
Just as Zephyr had once surmised, the Five Elders had already chosen the next Fleet Admiral in private.
"Sakazuki…" Saint Topman Warcury—Topman Warcury—murmured, fingers lightly tapping the table.
"His doctrine of 'Absolute Justice' is clear. His methods are ruthless… and predictable. He is a blade sharp enough to cut—and obedient enough to wield.
If he ascends, it will best serve our current needs.
A man like him will never allow someone like Gern to continue existing freely in the New World. The fragile balance of dual governance will be shattered. Internal strife within the Marines will follow. And in the end… everything will return to how it once was."
Raising Akainu was, after careful deliberation, their most controllable option.
But eight centuries of ruling the world were not sustained by short-sighted fools.
"Of course," Saint Jaygarcia Saturn—Jaygarcia Saturn—calmly interjected, laying out the contingency.
"We must prepare a second course of action.
If unforeseen developments in the war make the transition of power unfavorable to us…
Then the World Government will spare no expense. Vast sums will be allocated to compensate the families of fallen officers. The living will be granted the highest honors and rewards.
With sufficient benefits—and the banner of 'justice'—we will quell internal doubt and grief. Sengoku will stabilize the situation… and remain seated in that position."
A brief silence settled over the hall.
In the end, Saint Marcus Mars—Marcus Mars—spoke a single sentence that drew a decisive line beneath their discussion, revealing the deepest fear behind all their calculations.
"In short, the Fleet Admiral's seat may go to Sakazuki. It may be temporarily held by Kuzan. Sengoku may even remain.
If necessary, it could be given to Borsalino."
His voice turned sharp, final—leaving no room for argument.
"But under no circumstances—none whatsoever—can it fall into the hands of Gern Reginald Sigmar."
That was their shared bottom line.
Born from their fear of Gern's uncontrollable strength…His unfathomable ambition…And the vast power structure he commanded—entirely beyond their influence.
They would rather tolerate an imperfect but obedient Fleet Admiral than allow a potential calamity—a natural disaster capable of overturning the world's order and devouring its masters—to sit upon the throne that commanded the entire Navy.
The war at Marineford had yet to begin.
Yet high above the clouds, the pieces of power had already been set upon the board.
And Gern—the variable they feared most—remained a sword of Damocles hanging over every scheme.
...
Marineford Plaza.
The massive execution platform towered above the square. Beneath it stood ranks upon ranks of elite Marines, packed shoulder to shoulder, their formation immaculate, their killing intent thick enough to choke the air.
It was a near-perfect execution formation—iron walls, absolute readiness.
And yet—
Standing at the very front of the platform, Fleet Admiral Sengoku and Chief Staff Officer Tsuru wore no trace of ease.
Sengoku's gaze was locked firmly below.
Not far from the platform, Gern Reginald Sigmar stood with Douglas Bullet, Gild Tesoro, and Lilpo at his side.
The four of them seemed utterly out of place amid the suffocating tension—less like participants in a war, more like spectators attending a performance.
"Sengoku."
Noticing where his eyes lingered, Tsuru spoke calmly. Her voice was soft, yet carried clearly to him.
"You've already laid your cards on the table with him, haven't you?
Otherwise, given his personality, he wouldn't appear here so 'peacefully'—let alone bring three combatants with him."
At her words, Sengoku's mind flashed back to the private conversation he had shared with Gern in the Fleet Admiral's office.
His eyes narrowed.
"Tsuru. You're mistaken.
That man… has never truly laid his cards on the table with anyone.
He understands better than anyone that the most successful schemes are carried out in shadows no one sees.
He would never reveal his full hand to anyone—not even to me."
A shadow of worry crept into his voice.
"So yes… I am concerned.
In this full-scale war against Whitebeard, the greatest variable isn't Whitebeard himself. Nor the Seven Warlords. Not even Garp.
It's him.
It's Gern."
"Heh." Tsuru let out a quiet, knowing laugh.
"You talk about others—but didn't you also withhold your full hand?"
She turned her head slightly, studying Sengoku's solemn expression.
"But tell me, Sengoku… deep down in your heart, haven't you always hoped that he would be the one to succeed you?"
"Tsuru! You—"
Struck through by his oldest friend's insight, Sengoku stiffened, looking at her in stunned silence.
In the end, it became nothing more than a weary sigh.
He could not deny it.
That chaotic, overwhelming, uncontrollable man—yet one who truly possessed the courage and vision to break deadlocks and carve a future—
In the depths of his subconscious, Sengoku had believed him the most suitable successor.
Even if the road toward that future was lined with thorns… and almost certainly forbidden by the World Government.
Forcing the conversation elsewhere, Sengoku asked, "What about the New World? Any movement from the other pirates? Red-Hair? Kaido? Big Mom?"
"None," Tsuru replied, her smile fading. "On the contrary… it's unnaturally quiet. As though they're all waiting for the outcome of this war."
"Quiet?!" Sengoku's expression shifted sharply.
This abnormal calm unsettled him more than any large-scale mobilization could have.
The monsters of the New World were not saints. How could they possibly sit idle during such a once-in-a-generation opportunity?
Unless—
Almost instinctively, Sengoku's gaze returned to the figure below.
At that very moment, as his eyes fell upon him, Gern—who had been standing with his back to the execution platform—slowly turned his head.
Across the vast distance.
Across tens of thousands of Marines.
Their eyes met.
A faint, tranquil smile curved Gern Reginald Sigmar's lips.
That smile made Sengoku's heart sink completely.