Sengoku, Tsuru, and Garp were enjoying a quiet evening at L'Écume de mer, a luxurious restaurant in Sabaody. Their table, set in a secluded booth draped in velvet, was overflowing with lavish dishes — steaming lobster bathed in a red wine sauce, fresh oysters from the North Blue gleaming on a bed of ice, and rare, seared beef cuts so tender they fell apart at a touch — accompanied by expensive bottles of wine and cigars that Sengoku and Tsuru lit with practiced ease.
A soft jazz tune floated through the air, performed by a beautiful young singer on a corner stage.
She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her curves, her auburn-tinged hair cascading over one shoulder as her sultry voice breathed life into a modern jazz piece that had recently gained popularity among the elite of the New World.
The music was a calming balm, a temporary escape from the turmoil of their world.
They had just concluded a formal meeting with one of the Marines' largest benefactors, Saint Rosward — now a far cry from the pompous Celestial Dragon he once was, his face sharp with a quiet resolve and his body imposing with muscle.
He was accompanied by his enigmatic business partner, Gild Tesoro, the infamous king of the casino empire. Both were among the rare few who claimed to support the Marines' welfare without any overt political agenda. At least, as far as Tsuru could tell.
Her sharp eyes had caught a glint of something deeper, something far more complicated, in their exchange.
Garp, of course, had not attended the meeting.
As always, he avoided diplomacy and politics like the plague. He had joined them only for one thing: to eat, his face already covered in the savory sauce from a mountain of seared beef.
As a waiter arrived with another platter stacked high with grilled meat and special fried rice, Garp was already laughing heartily, grabbing the food with his bare hands, utterly unconcerned with table manners or the glares of high-society patrons.
Sengoku merely shook his head as he refilled his glass, while Tsuru exhaled a wisp of cigar smoke, too tired to scold him and far too content with the jazz performance to care.
Tsuru arched an eyebrow as Garp grabbed a roasted sea king leg with both hands and bit into it like a beast. "You're embarrassing us," she murmured, exhaling a puff of cigar smoke. "Again."
Garp grinned, cheeks full. "Don't care. I'm here to eat, not impress a bunch of snobs."
Sengoku, polishing his glasses as he tried to stay calm, and muttered, "You could at least pretend you're a Vice Admiral."
Garp just chuckled; he laughed with a deep, rumbling sound.
He swallowed a massive chunk of meat, then leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face.
"Speaking of snobs, you two wouldn't believe what happened in Alabasta," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if sharing a piece of gossip, utterly ignoring the gravity of the events. "That desert... that place was a complete dump. Sand, sand, and more sand. But then..."
He waved his hand dramatically, a spray of food flying from his fingers. "Then that girl, Robin, started singing, and now... now the whole place is a green heaven! Flowers, trees, rivers... it's amazing!"
Garp took another bite of his meat, completely oblivious to the shocked expressions on Tsuru's faces. As for Sengoku, who had already been briefed on the event from Kuzan's report, he was less surprised. He had more pressing matters.
"This is a total mess," Sengoku growled, his hand now tracing a slow, furious circle on the tablecloth. He looked at Tsuru, his eyes narrowed in deep thought. "Cobra is demanding an official statement and accountability."
The King of Alabasta, Cobra, was demanding accountability and an official statement regarding Sakazuki, who had deceived them into attacking Guts and Robin—two individuals who, according to a front-page World Economy News Paper article, were World Government agents sent to help Alabasta.
It was a manufactured story, a piece of propaganda created by the World Government and the Gorosei to save face and corner the Alabasta kingdom.
Tsuru took a long, thoughtful drag from her cigar, a thin wisp of smoke curling from her lips. "So, what are you going to do about it, Sengoku?" she asked calmly, her voice as smooth as silk.
Sengoku sighed, his shoulders slumping under the immense weight of his responsibilities. "I can't go myself. I'm burdened with preparing for the inauguration ceremony."
He gestured vaguely with his cigar toward the sea. "Zephyr has miraculously accepted his position as Admiral again, alongside Kuzan and Borsalino as new Admirals. And all of this," he grumbled, his tone laced with a familiar, weary exasperation, "is because that damned Garp keeps refusing the Admiral position!"
Sengoku sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath the crushing weight of duty. As if the chaos in Alabasta weren't enough, he still had to deal with the fallout from Impel Down — namely, finding a new head warden to replace Shiryu, who had been killed during Sakazuki's reckless, blood-soaked mission to free Douglas Bullet.
Although the Marine's prosperity and influence had increased during his time as Fleet Admiral, so too had the problems.
Sengoku, his brow furrowed with the weight of his responsibilities, looked up as a young waitress approached their table.
When she arrived, she bowed politely, her eyes lowered, and in a soft, deferential voice, she said there was a Marine standing just outside the restaurant who needed to deliver an urgent message.
Sengoku simply told her to let the Marine in.
A moment later, the waitress returned, guiding a young female Marine to their table. The Marine, who looked no older than twenty, was visibly trembling. The waitress bowed once more, then discreetly left.
"Rully, sir, here to report," the young Marine said, snapping to attention with a salute that was a little too rigid, her face a pale mask of shock.
"What is it?" Sengoku asked, his voice low and weary.
"It's... it's, sir..." Rully's voice was a nervous stutter before she forced herself to continue. "The same incident, sir. This time it's the pirate Jorher..."
Rully, her hands now clenched into tight fists, reported on the message she had received from Lieutenant Smoker, who was stationed in Loguetown.
Smoker's men had found a ship, suspected to belong to the pirate Jorher, that had been left adrift near the port.
Strangely, the ship was just floating, silent and still. After several warnings given by Smoker, there was no response. Smoker, then, decided to investigate himself with his small boat.
When Smoker stepped onto the ship, he was met with a sight of pure, unadulterated horror.
He discovered a dozen corpses scattered throughout the deck, all of which bore witness to unspeakable brutality. With nearly surgical accuracy, their skin had been peeled off the bone, exposing raw muscle and sinew to the briny sea air.
While vital organs like livers, hearts, and lungs were haphazardly strewn about as if thrown by a frantic butcher, intestinal fragments poured out of ruptured bellies and coiled like serpents across the planks.
Some bodies swayed hideously with the motion of the ship, hanging over the railing on strips of ripped flesh.
Others were in strange positions, with limbs twisted off completely or bent backward.
Their faces had been completely defaced, the eyes gouged, their sockets black and hollow, as if they were screaming inaudibly. Many mouths were frozen in mid-scream, and ears were missing and raggedly cut away.
And Jorher, the pirate captain, was hanging by a rope from the mainmast. His body, skinned and mutilated, was missing both hands and legs, his eyes were gouged out, and his ears were cut off. His mouth, however, was still moving, chanting nonstop the same horrifying, rhythmic hymn.
A wave of nausea washed over Rully, turning her face a ghastly green. She clamped a hand over her mouth, knuckles white, desperately trying to keep her stomach down.
The candlelight flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls of the booth. Tsuru's voice, a low and somber murmur, cut through the quiet hum of the jazz music. "The same incident that happened to the Arlong Pirates months ago in Cocoyasi Village," she said, a cold dread in her eyes. "My men and I found the same scene...."
Her gaze drifted, distant, as if she were reliving the memory.
She had been investigating the disappearance of several Marines from the 16th branch, including their captain, Nezumi, who, according to the last clues, had been visiting the island.
The villagers were a people broken by fear, their faces etched with the quiet suffering of many years under Arlong's rule.
They kept their mouths shut. Until she met a small girl with a wild mess of bright orange hair. The little girl, Nami, whose face was pale with fear, guided Tsuru and her men to Arlong Park, the headquarters of the Fish-Man pirates.
The headquarters, once a place of fear, was now in ruins. The stone walls were shattered, the towers were toppled, and the bodies of the Fish-Men were scattered everywhere, starting to rot, their flesh mutilated, their eyes gouged out, their ears severed. The stench of death, salt, and blood hung heavy in the air, a physical representation of the terror that had once reigned over the island.
Nami, her voice small and hoarse, told Tsuru that before the horrible incident, a group of Marines and men in black suits had come to their village. With unsettling calm, they'd asked about the Arlong Pirates, acting on a report from her older sister, Nojiko, who, defiant to the last, had guided them to Arlong Park.
The group had forbidden the other villagers to come along, saying that they didn't need to worry about Nojiko's safety.
Nami, her tiny hands clenched into fists, wanted to follow her sister, but Genzo, the sheriff of the village, had stopped her, saying to leave the matter to the authorities.
The next morning, the same group returned to Cocoyasi Village. Their bodies, and Nojiko's, were covered in blood. They told the villagers that the Arlong Pirates had been taken care of and forbade them from going to Arlong Park and burying the bodies. Nojiko then left with the group, and Nami was left alone, desperately asking Tsuru for help in finding her missing sister.
After performing an autopsy, Tsuru discovered that some of the human bodies found among the Arlong Pirates were the missing Marines from the 16th branch, including their captain, Nezumi.
Sengoku's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitened with rage that clashed with a deep tiredness. He would have been unconcerned, perhaps even a little grimly satisfied, if it had been just those damned pirates. However, the reports that Tsuru had given him and that Rully had delivered depicted a horror that was much more pervasive.
The incident was only one of many others, based on the reports he had received. There was the royal official of a minor kingdom, found in his own room, his body skinned and mutilated.
There was a rich merchant's family, found in their own home, their bodies skinned with their guts spilling out, their mouths chanting nonstop.
And the most recent one, the one that made Sengoku feel a profound sense of failure, was a Marine's family, who had been found with their eyes gouged out and their ears cut off.
These were not just random acts of violence. They were targeted, deliberate, and had a clear, ritualistic nature.
The incidents were happening across all the Blues.
"Garp!" Sengoku said, trying to get the man to stop eating.
Garp, however, was already shouting, his face turning blue from the horrible story.
"I'm still eating, Tsuru! Stop telling horrible things!"
Tsuru simply ignored him and looked at Sengoku, who was now sighing and looking at the window, a look of immense weariness on his face.