"Vice Admiral Darren, how do you train? Your muscles are like stone..." A princess from a mber nation breathed, cheeks flushed as she boldly traced his abs, eyes glinting with flirtation.
"Hey! Look at mine! Rock-solid!" Tokikake butted in, flexing hard—subtly layering a hint of Tekkai for effect.
The princess flicked him a frosty glance, taking in the rumpled uniform and rooster-comb hair. "Dead muscle," she said, and turned back to Darren with a warm smile.
Tokikake: ...
Dead muscle?! My muscles aren’t dead! Can dead muscle fight like I can?! He stood there, face frozen, seething inside.
"So firm..." purred a royal consort in a Western court gown. She winked at Darren, licking her lips. "Unlike this humble consort—my body is very supple." She leaned close, breath sweet with perfu. "I studied dance from childhood. Splits and other... flexible techniques."
Tokikake visibly trembled.
He lunged again, jaw clenched. "I’m also very interested in dance!"
"Tch." The consort cut her eyes at him. "I don’t care for ugly n."
Tokikake stood rooted, ashen—like a man struck by lightning in a desert.
Ignoring him, the consort stepped even closer to Darren, voice just for him. "Vice Admiral Darren, would you like to try?"
The dam broke. Queens, ladies, and princesses surged forward, each eager to advertise her particular "talents."
"Vice Admiral Darren, I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue!"
"Vice Admiral, my family’s massage technique will lt every knot..."
"Vice Admiral, I—"
Beauty rioted. The onlookers—seasoned to grand ceremonies and political theater—stared, speechless. They had never imagined these haughty, dignified queens, consorts, and noblewon would be so brazen.
Garp roared laughing and pulled out a Visual Den Den Mushi. "Bwahaha! Sengoku will love this!"
"That rascal really knows how to work a room," a courtier chuckled. "He’s already bridging the gap between the Marines and the mber states. This is how relationships are built..."
"Exactly!" Kuzan nodded hard, eyes shining. "Too cool!"
They were oblivious to the darkening faces of the assembled kings and royals—complexions turning as black as soot, then as red as livers, a faint greenish cast shimring above their brows.
Farther off, Stussy watched Darren glide through the crush of dazzling won. "He never learns," she sneered. "Royals and nobles from mber states are right here, and he’s still flirting like that..."
Her gaze snapped to the eager won, eyes practically dripping hunger. "Shaless hussies! Their husbands and fathers are standing right there—no modesty at all!"
Her tone dripped scorn, but her voice trembled, as if she were grinding her teeth.
Woooo—
A long, piercing horn pealed from afar. The somber blare cleaved through the rrint at the port.
All heads turned—and color drained from faces, replaced by naked dread.
"That..."
"That kind of battleship..."
"A warship like a fortress..."
"Could it be—?"
"Damn it! Has Neptune gone mad, inviting those war fanatics?!"
Fear rippled outward.
A massive warship, oppressive as a storm front, lood from Fish-Man Island’s entrance. Its bubble peeled away as it prowled toward the harbor, bristling with intent. The hull was colossal, the fortress-like superstructure crowding the inner sea until the waterways groaned. A black military keep rose from the deck, cannon mouths gaping like hungry beasts, tal stench thick in the air. The soldiers lining the rails were figures of iron—cold, identical, lethal.
Two flags snapped above the fortress. One bore the royal hawk-cross; the other, a stark black "66."
The Vinsmokes.
Forr rulers of the North Blue. The infamous "Army of Evil." A mber state of the World Governnt.
"It’s Germa 66," King Cobra said tightly, naming the specter that haunted a hundred nations.
Germa was not like other mber states. A country built as an army—its will singular, its ho the sea itself. With no fixed territory, its fleet served as mobile soil. Cloning labs and cutting-edge tech had given it terrifying reach; they even crossed the Red Line. As rcenaries, they had fought across oceans, their victories echoing across the world. Many rulers slept lightly, fearing they would be next.
And King Neptune had invited this god of war?
A shiver of tension went through the crowd.
"Clear the way!" a cold voice snapped as steel ramps slamd down. Ranks of n in black suits marched out in lockstep, long spears upright. They split into two walls without a glance for the gathered dignitaries.
"Do they have emotions?" Kuzan muttered, eyeing the uniform faces.
Garp’s brow furrowed. "Germa clones," he said. "Cloning tech. I didn’t think they’d taken their army this far."
Thump... thump... thump...
Heavy, deliberate steps rang from the gangway. Authority descended with them—cold, imperious, unyielding.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with a tal helm and a shock of long gold hair, Vinsmoke Judge ca into view. A sharply pointed black beard slanted up from his jaw, a neat mustache frad a severe mouth. He wore the white of Vinsmoke royalty, an imnse orange cloak billowing at his back.
Commander of Germa 66. Patriarch of the Vinsmoke family. The "Garuda".
Blood and iron seed to hang about him. The air thickened; throats tightened as he ca to a halt.
"My apologies for the delay," Judge said, voice smooth and cold. "I just concluded a war."
He surveyed the ranks of royalty with a thin, contemptuous smile.
From behind his leg, a small girl with pink hair peeked out, clutching his trousers with both hands as she peered timidly at the assembled dignitaries.
To be continued...
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