North Blue, Naval Branch 73.
A Marine warship docked at the port, and Lieutenant Colonel Mandral personally escorted the heads of the Quick Slash Pirates to the Military Merit Office. There, the identities of the pirates would be verified and the corresponding merits recorded before being reported to Marine Headquarters.
Because this pirate capture was part of a practical training exercise for Marine Academy cadets, the branch took merit assessment with utmost seriousness. There was no concealment, no attempts to claim credit falsely—everything was handled by the book.
Upon arriving at the branch, Mandral first led Rosinante and the other cadets to meet the highest-ranking officer at the base: the branch's commanding Captain—an oily, bureaucratic old man who exuded political cunning.
At first, the Captain treated Rosinante and the others with cold formality, barely giving them the time of day. But when Rosinante inadvertently mentioned that his father was none other than Sengoku, the man's demeanor changed completely.
He turned warm and obsequious in an instant, showering Rosinante with praise—"a promising youth," "a rising star," "the pride of the Marines." It was as if he had suddenly turned into an entirely different person, eager to unload every compliment he knew.
Rosinante found this kind of flattery utterly repulsive, but he also understood that there was little he could do about it. The Navy as an institution was bloated and riddled with inefficiencies, and oversight was sorely lacking.
While the Marine Headquarters—under the watchful eyes of figures like Sengoku and Garp—still maintained a modicum of discipline and order, the regional branches in the Four Seas were another matter entirely. In those parts, the phrase "the heavens are high and the emperor far away" couldn't be more apt.
For a branch Captain, their authority was virtually unchecked. They acted as warlords in their own little fiefdoms, with minimal supervision. This gave rise to rampant corruption, abuses of power, and even collusion with pirates.
Only a rare few officers still upheld justice and integrity. The rest had long since devolved into villains, some more despicable than pirates themselves.
Take, for instance, Captain Nezumi of Branch 16 in the East Blue, who colluded with Arlong and persecuted Nami. Or Captain Morgan of Branch 153—the infamous "Axe-Hand Morgan," known mockingly as the "Axe Emperor." The man once wounded Garp with a single blow of his axe; surely that deserves a crown.
These two were merely symptomatic of a wider rot. And they were far from isolated cases.
The Navy's foundation was clearly unstable, and its internal rot ran deep. To truly purge these ills, the best solution would be for the World Government to reach down into the grassroots, installing base commanders loyal to Headquarters, men and women of true merit.
But the problem was, Marine Headquarters was already under enormous pressure just maintaining order across the Grand Line. It simply didn't have the personnel to spare for such a large-scale restructuring of the Four Seas. Sending top officers into regional branches without care might provoke local resistance—or worse, result in those new leaders being rendered powerless by entrenched factions.
So, if top-down reform wasn't feasible, Rosinante figured there was only one answer: bottom-up revolution.
In his plan to reform the Navy's grassroots, Rosinante decided to employ a classic three-pronged strategy: win over one faction, suppress another, and cultivate a new generation.
The "win over" faction referred to upright officers like Mandral—men of justice in the mid to upper ranks. They were capable of holding down their territories and far preferable to the corrupt scum currently in charge.
The "suppress" faction? That meant purging those rotten Captains and Marines who had betrayed justice. But Rosinante knew better than to act rashly, this would need to be done gradually and strategically.
Then came the "cultivate" faction—perhaps the most important. Among the first graduating class of the Marine Academy, not all cadets were exceptional. Some were glaringly weak. Throwing them straight into the Grand Line would only get them killed—fodder for the pirates they were supposed to fight.
Of course, there would be outliers—cadets with monstrous talent who would somehow survive and grow stronger through sheer grit and luck.
But for the rest, these "fodder" Marines could still be incredibly valuable. Their foundational training may be mediocre for the Grand Line, but in the Four Seas? They were seasoned fighters. They could be deployed at the grassroots level, slowly taking control of branch bases from the bottom up. And once they'd matured—and were reinforced with stricter oversight—Rosinante believed the Four Seas could once again become a zone of true peace and order.
But to make this happen, he needed one more step: win the unwavering loyalty of his fellow cadets.
Only with their loyalty could Rosinante one day raise a banner and have the Four Seas answer his call. That was how a true movement would begin, a movement he would build with his own hands.
After enduring a stiff, pointless meeting with the branch Captain, Rosinante followed Mandral to the mess hall for a meal with the base's enlisted soldiers. Once they finished eating, Rosinante pulled Mandral aside.
"Mandral," he said, voice low. "Are you satisfied with your branch Captain?"
"Huh? What do you mean, Blue Eagle?"
"I mean," Rosinante said, eyes narrowing, "your Captain is a useless coward—timid, incompetent, a disgrace to his post. With him in charge of Branch 73, I'd say you're all doomed to mediocrity."
Mandral frowned, confused—but only for a moment. He couldn't disagree with what Rosinante had said, but as a subordinate, he was reluctant to speak ill of his superior, no matter how pigheaded or money-hungry the man was.
"I'm just asking you this," Rosinante continued, voice firm. "Have you ever thought about replacing him?"
Mandral froze.
Take his place? Of course he'd thought about it—he dreamed about it. But how? Over the years, Mandral had accomplished plenty. Yet every time he submitted a report, the Captain would either bury it or claim the credit for himself. With every passing year, the old man's position grew more secure, and Mandral could only watch from the sidelines, unable to fully live out his sense of justice.
"I want to," he admitted bitterly. "But how could I ever make it happen?"
Rosinante leaned in, voice calm. "If you want it, I can make it happen. But in return, I'll need something from you."
"What is it?"
"Your loyalty."
Mandral looked at him.
He had been in the system long enough to understand the weight behind those words. Rosinante might just be a cadet now, but he was the son of Admiral Sengoku. If Mandral pledged allegiance to Rosinante, he would essentially be aligning himself with one of the highest authorities in the Navy. From that point forward, his career path would be drastically different—filled with possibilities.
After a moment's thought, Mandral nodded. "If you can get me that position, then I swear my loyalty to you, Blue Eagle."
(End of Chapter)
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