The next day.
Early morning light spilled through the towering windows of the Fleet Admiral’s office, casting golden reflections on the polished marble floor. Though the sun bathed the room in warmth, a palpable tension lingered in the air.
Fleet Admiral Kong looked worn. The lines etched into his weathered face had deepened after his return from the Holy Land, and the sharpness in his eyes was dulled by fatigue.
Across from him, Sengoku and Tsuru stood in patient silence, their hands stiff at their sides. They waited—not with Marine discipline, but with the barely restrained urgency of those who had been carrying the weight of a broken world.
"So?" Tsuru finally ventured, her voice quiet but steady. "Fleet Admiral Kong?"
Kong didn’t answer imdiately. He wiped his brow with a folded handkerchief, then lit a cigar with a practiced flick. Smoke curled up into the sunlight as he took a long drag. When he exhaled, a faint smile broke through his exhaustion.
"It wasn’t easy," he said, voice low. "But the World Governnt approved it."
Sengoku let out a triumphant shout, punching the air before quickly composing himself. Tsuru sighed, long and deep, the weight easing from her shoulders.
This was the news they’d been waiting for.
Kong’s mission to Mary Geoise had gone beyond ceremonial updates or symbolic presence. He had gone to beg.
Beg for funding—for the rebuilding of Marineford, for hospitals, for mourning families and fallen soldiers.
The Golden Lion’s reckless onslaught had left more than scars on stone. Hos had been reduced to ash. Civilians had died in droves, caught in a storm they never asked to be part of. And when Big Mom’s summoned army of soul beasts had surged across Marineford’s borders, it had taken everything just to hold the line.
The numbers were staggering. Fifty thousand civilians dead. Fifteen thousand Marines lost in combat. Tens of thousands more wounded. These weren’t just figures—they were lives, families, legacies shattered in a single war.
And for days now, Sengoku and Tsuru had been running themselves ragged, trying to juggle rebuilding, compensation, logistics, and morale—without enough funds to even feed their recovery teams.
The Marineford War hadn’t just broken bones. It had drained the soul of the Marines.
Now, at last, they could begin to nd.
Kong leaned back in his chair and blew another stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
"How have things been in my absence?"
The question carried the weight of authority. Sengoku straightened at once, setting aside his previous excitent.
"Reporting, Fleet Admiral. Marineford is stable. Reconstruction is progressing according to schedule. With this new funding, we’ll be able to continue relief operations, support the wounded, and resu standard defensive operations."
Kong nodded slowly.
Sengoku was many things—a war hero, a tactician, a martial powerhouse—but it was his versatility, his ability to shoulder both battlefield leadership and bureaucratic burden, that had made him the clear successor.
Kong’s eyes narrowed slightly. "By the way, how did the hearing for those three brats go—Sakazuki and them?"
He chuckled dryly, as if recalling sothing amusing. "When I passed through Mary Geoise, those Inspectorate vultures wouldn’t shut up about Darren. Said he was extraordinarily gifted, over and over again."
Sengoku and Tsuru exchanged glances. The mory of that hearing was still fresh in their minds—and deeply puzzling.
"The hearing was... smooth, in the end," Tsuru said carefully. "But halfway through, those hard-liners suddenly shifted their stance. They were grilling Darren relentlessly—until a Den Den Mushi call ca through."
Kong raised a brow but dismissed it with a wave. "Forget it. Whatever he did, it worked."
"That kid’s sharp. If he found a way to sway those self-important snakes, then it only proves his value."
He paused, then took another drag of his cigar.
"One more thing."
Sengoku stood a bit straighter. "Please proceed, Fleet Admiral."
Kong’s tone hardened. "The Training Camp graduation is today, isn’t it?"
"Yes, sir. Representatives from every major paper have already arrived. The official promotion ceremony for Sakazuki and the others will be held alongside it."
"Hmm..."
Kong leaned forward, fingers tapping the desk in thought. "What’s Zephyr’s status? There won’t be a repeat of the last two ceremonies, will there?"
His face soured, as if recalling an old wound.
Sengoku’s lip twitched, a mix of amusent and restraint. "No issues this ti. Zephyr’s already briefed Darren thoroughly. I believe we’ll have a smooth ceremony."
Kong nodded. "Good. The last thing we need right now is another public embarrassnt."
His gaze turned steely.
"Though we held the line at Marineford, let’s not pretend it was a victory. The war was a disaster. We lost far too much. The n know it. Morale is scraping the bottom of the sea."
He looked to the window, where the Oval Military Port shimred in the morning sun.
"That’s why today matters. If Darren—the one who stood tall during that hell—delivers the keynote speech, it might spark sothing again. Might remind our soldiers that this isn’t the end."
"But the dia campaign must remain... restrained. For now, our watchword is stability. No more large-scale movents. No more heroics. Just solid, steady rebuilding. Headquarters needs to get its feet back under it."
His voice softened—barely.
"We’re in no shape to start another war."
Beneath the calm, Kong’s eyes glead with warning.
The funds he’d secured were enough to stop the bleeding. But not nearly enough for another offensive.
And they wouldn’t be, for so ti.
Fortunately, the tides had cald. The Golden Lion had disappeared once more into the mists of the New World, his whereabouts unknown. Even Big Mom and Kaido had gone quiet—too quiet, perhaps, but quiet all the sa.
It was a fragile peace.
But it was peace.
And in this rare mont of calm, the Marines could finally rebuild—quietly, steadily, preparing for the day the seas stirred again.
And when that day ca, they would be ready.
To be continued...
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