The first half of the Grand Line.
Marine Headquarters – Marineford.
Recently, rumors had spread across the seas that the Marines had "co into money" and were using it to renovate their headquarters. In reality, Marineford was indeed undergoing a massive overhaul. The entire island bustled with activity, and the once-orderly base now resembled a chaotic construction site.
Unlike ordinary renovations, however, Marineford hadn't hired external workers. Instead, Marines from bases around the world had been summoned to help with the task. They traded in their uniforms for work clothes, grabbed shovels and pickaxes, and got to work.
No one found this suspicious. Marineford was the headquarters of the World Governnt's military might, full of confidential materials and secret blueprints. Letting civilians handle the renovation would have been a security nightmare. Historically, the Marines had always managed their own repairs for precisely this reason.
Deep in the trenches of Crescent Harbor, a tall figure swung his pickaxe into the hard-packed earth. His hair was ashen white, and two cigars jutted from the corners of his mouth. Each strike sent cracks through the stone beneath his feet.
Smoker.
He was once the star of the Marine officer training camp, graduating at the top of his class and earning the rank of Colonel straight out of the academy.
For soone like him, the usual career trajectory was clear: serve as Commodore within a year or two, assist a Vice Admiral for field training, and eventually climb to Rear Admiral. With enough achievents, even the title of Vice Admiral could have been his within a decade.
But Smoker was different.
Despite his exceptional abilities and the power of his Logia-type Plu-Plu Fruit, he'd been stuck as a Colonel for years. He was the sha of the officer training camp's instructors.
Why? It wasn't a lack of talent. Smoker was undeniably gifted. His swift mastery of his Devil Fruit had even prompted Zephyr-sensei to personally advocate for his potential as a future Admiral candidate.
The problem was Smoker's temperant.
He was stubborn, reckless, and allergic to authority. His sense of justice burned so brightly that it often blinded him to the bigger picture.
The Seven Warlords of the Sea plan was a pri example.
To Smoker, it was a betrayal of Marine principles, allying with pirates was unforgivable. He'd ranted endlessly about it, convinced the upper ranks had "lost their moral compass." What he didn't know was that the Warlord system had been heavily infiltrated by CP-X operatives. Pirates like Doflamingo, Crocodile, and Enel were all covertly working to fracture pirate unity from within.
But that information was restricted to Vice Admirals and above. Smoker, a re Colonel, remained in the dark. From his perspective, Marine leadership was rotten, and he despised every mont of it.
His outbursts had earned him the title of Marine Headquarters' Problem Child.
Eventually, the brass had grown tired of his insubordination. Rather than discharge a promising talent, they'd reassigned him to East Blue, a quiet backwater. The intent had been to give him ti to cool off, reflect, and hopefully mature.
Instead, Smoker had turned Loguetown into his personal playground.
With his Logia powers, he beca the undisputed "strongest Marine in East Blue." The local officers were all two ranks beneath him, so he ruled the region with unchecked authority.
Smoker quickly grew comfortable there. The New World was a chaotic ss, but East Blue had civilians who needed protection too. His frustration with Marineford's leadership only deepened.
For ten years, he stayed put. Each ti HQ tried to transfer him back, he either refused or found so excuse to stay.
Only now, with the headquarters overhaul, had Smoker finally been summoned back under direct orders.
And his "welco" assignnt? Manual labor.
"Dig trenches around Crescent Harbor," the orders said.
When he'd received the pickaxe and work uniform, he'd nearly coughed his cigars out of sheer rage. But walking away now would likely get him expelled from the Marines entirely. So, for the sake of his "justice," he gritted his teeth and started digging.
---
The midday sun blazed overhead. Sweat soaked through Smoker's shirt as he swung the pickaxe into the rocky ground. Each strike broke apart thick clumps of soil, which were quickly shoveled away by the Marine beside him.
This Marine, wearing a helt and missing a front tooth, worked with quiet efficiency. His expression was perpetually stern, almost zombie-like.
Lieutenant Colonel T. Bone – the Ship-Cutter.
"Dammit... what the hell are we even doing here?" Smoker grumbled, straightening to crack his shoulders.
Bone chuckled. "Getting restless already? That temper of yours hasn't changed a bit."
The two had trained together at the officer camp, so Bone knew Smoker's personality well.
Smoker lit another cigar and scowled. "Doesn't this piss you off? We're elite Marines. We should be chasing pirates, not digging ditches."
Bone shrugged, stabbing his shovel into the dirt. "I used to lead my kingdom's army before joining the Marines. Command decisions rarely make sense from the bottom. For all we know, these trenches might serve so critical purpose later."
Smoker exhaled a cloud of smoke. "So you're saying I'm short-sighted?"
Bone laughed. "Yup."
"You bastard," Smoker muttered, though he couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching.
With a grunt, he hefted the pickaxe again and resud digging.
Bone watched for a mont, his expression softening. "You've matured a little, Smoker. Ten years ago, you'd have thrown the pickaxe at soone's head by now."
"Shut it, zombie-face. I'm still your superior officer," Smoker shot back.
Before Bone could reply, a voice called from nearby.
"Colonel Smoker! Lieutenant Colonel Penn! I brought so tea!"
A young woman with glasses and short brown hair jogged toward them, balancing two cups of tea on a tray.
Tashigi.
Smoker turned his head and imdiately sighed.
Sure enough, her foot caught on a stray rock.
Tashigi squeaked in surprise and toppled forward. The tea splashed into the dirt as she hit the ground with a muffled thud.
Smoker pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a stream of smoke.
"...Idiot," he muttered.
***
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This book is completed so you can read all chapters on: /Blownleaves.
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