Just as the air between Gern Reginald Sigmar and Borsalino grew heavy with unspoken tension over the phrase "a move not easily made," the Den Den Mushi that had been sitting quietly on the small round table suddenly began to ring.
"Buru buru—!"
Its eyes snapped open. The shell shifted in shape and color at a startling speed, transforming to mimic a man with round-framed glasses and a neatly tied chin-beard ponytail. Yet the expression it wore was unmistakably furious—cheeks puffed out, eyes bulging with indignation.
The Den Den Mushi perfectly imitated Sengoku blowing his beard and glaring. Its voice burst out through the receiver:
"Hey! You damn brat, Gern!"
"Stop hiding there and slacking off! There's something important you need to personally confirm and handle—immediately!"
Gern stared at the absurdly lifelike expression on the Den Den Mushi's face and rubbed his temples with a faint headache. His reply carried a trace of perfunctory resignation.
"And what is it this time, Fleet Admiral Sengoku?"
"If I remember correctly, every document that required my personal approval has already been dealt with. The rest are just things you need to stamp and be done with, aren't they?"
"You insolent punk!" The Den Den Mushi's forehead seemed to sprout a throbbing, cross-shaped vein. "It's the World Military Draft!"
"Zeffa— that old geezer—is already waiting for you at the temporary training grounds in New Marineford!"
"The candidates pushed over by the World Government have finished the global selection process. After preliminary screening, two of them stand out. And from what we've seen… they're serious trouble."
Sengoku's tone grew more solemn.
"One's called Issho. The other's Aramaki."
"Based on initial testing and observation, the strength they've displayed… might be enough to fill the Admiral vacancies."
"Momousagi and Chaton have already crossed hands with them. They both lost."
"So the Admiral candidates can't fill the gap for now."
There was a brief pause.
"Which means you need to get over there personally and confirm their caliber—and their upper limits."
Another beat.
"After all, you're the one truly calling the shots in the Marines now, you brat—the real 'Fleet Admiral' in practice."
"For personnel appointments at that level, if you don't nod your head, nobody else's word counts."
"...Tch."
Gern clicked his tongue, his face practically spelling out trouble and don't want to move.
He was just about to come up with an excuse—something like "I trust Teacher Zephyr's judgment," or "This is a small matter, you and Teacher can decide"—
Unfortunately, Sengoku had already predicted that Gern would try to predict him.
He didn't give him the chance.
Instead, he dropped a nuclear threat, going completely shameless:
"You're not refusing. Hear me, Gern!"
"If you dare say the word 'no'—if you dare slack off—"
Sengoku's voice suddenly rose, carrying the unmistakable resolve of if I suffer, you suffer with me.
"I'll throw the whole damn thing down right now! I'll go find that old bastard Monkey D. Garp immediately!"
"The two of us will head straight to Foosha Village in the East Blue and go fishing!!"
"Documents? Let whoever wants to approve them do it! You think I won't?!"
"..."
Gern froze mid-breath, the receiver in his hand.
He could vividly picture it—Sengoku dragging Garp by the collar, the two old men slinging fishing rods over their shoulders, leaving a mountain of paperwork behind in the Fleet Admiral's office as they walked off into retirement bliss.
The image was too beautiful.
Too terrifying.
Faced with this pinpoint strike at his weakest spot—a completely dignity-free, "retired old man" style threat—even the mighty "Heaven-Shaker" Gern Reginald Sigmar found himself speechless.
After a long moment, he squeezed a single word out through clenched teeth.
"…Fine."
"That's more like it." The Den Den Mushi mimicked Sengoku's satisfied expression—"Good, you know what's good for you"—before decisively hanging up.
"Buru—"
The line went silent.
Gern let out a helpless sigh.
Beside him, Borsalino did his best to maintain composure, but the constant twitching at the corner of his mouth betrayed the laughter he was desperately suppressing.
"Well now…" Borsalino lifted his teacup, hiding his grin behind it. "Seems being 'Fleet Admiral' isn't all glory and prestige, hmm~?"
Gern shot him an irritated look and rose to his feet, adjusting the Justice coat draped over his shoulders.
"Let's go, Senior Borsalino."
"Hmm? I'm going too?"
"Obviously." Gern snorted. "As a Marine Admiral, evaluating the strength of your potential new colleagues is part of your job description. Trying to slack off? Not happening."
"And check if Mihawk and Bullet are done sparring at the training grounds. If they've finished, have them come over."
He clicked his tongue again.
"Tch. Shame Enel isn't here. He'd have been perfect for testing them. What a waste…"
...
New World.
The former site of Marine G-2 Base—now reborn as New Marineford.
On one side of the temporary training grounds, a man sat quietly on a long bench, his presence composed and tranquil.
Short black hair. A tall, sturdy build. A simple light-purple kimono tied with a black-violet sash.
A neatly trimmed beard circled his mouth. His eyes were closed. On the left side of his forehead, a striking X-shaped scar extended downward—stretching across both eyes.
It left no doubt that he was blind.
In his hand rested a shikomizue—a cane sword.
This was Issho, the powerful warrior who had answered the call of the World Military Draft.
Across from him stood another towering man—long-legged, broad-shouldered—but radiating a completely different aura.
His upper body was bare, revealing lean, powerful muscles. On the left side of his torso was a bold tattoo reading "Shinigawa Shinjuu."
High-set brows, heavy-lidded eyes, slightly thick lips. Messy dark-green curls. Sunglasses. A cigarette dangling from his mouth.
The air around him was wild and untamed, brimming with arrogance.
Aramaki, from the South Blue.
"Hey, blind man!" Aramaki exhaled a ring of smoke, voice dripping with impatience and swagger. "Is that so-called 'White Qilin' Admiral ever going to show up? We're supposed to wait for him? He's got quite the ego, huh?"
He grinned to himself.
"Say… when he gets here, if I just knock him down right away—"
"Does that mean I get to take his position as 'Grand Commandant of the Marines in the New World'?"
"Heh. Breaking the rules and going straight to the top? I wouldn't mind that at all."
Issho kept his eyes closed.
"He is strong."
"Strong?" Aramaki barked a laugh, as if he'd just heard a joke. He jerked a thumb at himself. "The former Admiral Zephyr—they say he was that guy's teacher, right?"
"Didn't he still lose to us?"
"And those two Admiral candidates—Momousagi and Chaton? Tch, tch…"
He seemed to recall a particularly amusing rumor, his tone growing even more flippant.
"I heard that the one codenamed 'Momousagi'—the woman with the spider tattoo on her thigh—"
"Isn't she the White Qilin's ex-girlfriend?"
"As for her strength… well. It was just so-so, hahaha!"
Aramaki had once been an unknown powerhouse hidden within the ranks of a World Government–affiliated nation.
But during the World Military Draft, he had defeated former Admiral Zephyr and both Admiral candidates in one sweeping rise to fame.
The sudden contrast between obscurity and explosive recognition had clearly gone to his head. His arrogance surged unchecked.
Not far away, Zephyr—now wearing sunglasses—stood at the edge of the training field with his current disciples, Binz and Ain. He had been overseeing the preliminary reception and observation.
He happened to hear every word of Aramaki's wild, personal attacks.
Zephyr's face remained calm, unreadable beneath the glasses.
But beside him, Binz and Ain erupted instantly.
"That bastard! What is he spouting?!" Ain's beautiful face flushed red with fury, fists clenched tight. The insult toward Senior Gern—and the mention of Sister Gion's private matters—lit a blazing fire in her chest.
"Damn it! He's way too arrogant!" Binz ground his teeth.
As the user of the Paramecia-type Flourish-Flourish Fruit, his ability also involved accelerating plant growth—conceptually similar to Aramaki's Logia-type Woods-Woods Fruit.
But during their earlier exchange, he had been completely crushed—overwhelmed by Aramaki's absolute strength and the natural intangibility advantage of a Logia user.
Now, hearing the man belittle their side so brazenly, old humiliation and fresh anger surged together in his heart, leaving him seething with frustration.