—Real World—
Marine Headquarters – Marineford
Most senior Marine officers were profoundly surprised that fish-men would actually join the New Marine in substantial numbers in the future. After all, that entire species harbored natural hostility toward humans—a grudge cultivated through centuries of slavery, discrimination, and violence.
Fish-men with genuinely gentle personalities were basically rare exceptions. You might find one among a hundred thousand individuals if you were exceptionally fortunate.
Jinbei, the Sea Knight, was an obvious outlier among his peers—possessing unusual temperament and diplomatic skill that made him completely unrepresentative of broader fish-man psychology.
But Admiral Kisame Hoshigaki seemed to have discovered a second viable path for his entire race. Integration through demonstrated excellence rather than separation through justified resentment.
"Judging from his name and physical appearance, Hoshigaki Kisame is clearly a shark-type fish-man," Vice Admiral Tsuru observed carefully, her analytical mind processing strategic implications. "He's definitely not the kind of person who treats others with natural kindness or gentle diplomacy."
The elderly strategist—whose tactical brilliance had guided Marine operations for decades—chose her words diplomatically to save her old friend Sengoku's pride.
In the remaining unspoken half of her assessment, she wanted to point out that Artoria Pendragon was obviously proficient in the art of controlling subordinates and managing diverse personnel. Fleet Admiral Sengoku was demonstrably at a disadvantage in this particular leadership dimension.
Ninety-nine percent of current Marine personnel belonged to the human camp. Even the giant Vice Admirals serving the organization were all connected to a human trafficker nun named Mother Carmel—her exceptional acting skills had conquered everyone she'd encountered, making some giants willingly shed blood and sacrifice themselves for Marine ideals.
Unfortunately, such psychological manipulation techniques weren't easily replicable. When fish-men joined the Marine system in the future broadcasts, Vice Admiral Tsuru genuinely didn't know what methods Artoria had employed to overcome centuries of racial hostility.
If she understood the methodology, perhaps the current Marine could adapt similar approaches. But Artoria's secrets remained frustratingly opaque.
The Chief of Staff cared primarily about the new Admiral's character and loyalty. Other senior officials were discussing Admiral Kisame's combat strength—speculating about whether the heavy sword he carried indicated mastery of advanced swordsmanship techniques.
Only Admiral Kizaru noticed a particularly ironic detail that others had overlooked.
"You all still remember Fisher Tiger, yes?" Borsalino asked casually, his voice carrying that distinctive lazy drawl despite discussing serious matters. "Last time, he caused catastrophic disturbance in Mary Geoise's holy land—freeing thousands of slaves, humiliating the Celestial Dragons before the entire world."
He gestured toward the Sky Screen with one languid hand.
"And this time, we see another fish-man. But this one is responsible for defending the holy land of the Celestial Dragons. Don't you find that profoundly ironic?"
The boomerang that had been thrown years ago was finally returning—and this time it was stabbing the fish-men themselves in an unexpected reversal.
Borsalino—who hadn't yet achieved Admiral rank when Fisher Tiger died—had brought his subordinates to receive the liberation hero's body. The encounter had resulted in an extremely unpleasant confrontation with the Sun Pirates. Fortunately, Jinbei had been more sensible than his grieving crewmates at that critical moment, preventing the conflict from escalating into full-scale combat between fish-men and humans.
The death of Fisher Tiger had caused numerous ongoing problems that still plagued Fish-Man Island relations.
The first major issue: He'd made the Celestial Dragons exceptionally unhappy through his audacious assault on their holy land. This eventually led to mermaid nobles from Fish-Man Island being even less accepted by surface human societies. Discrimination intensified rather than diminishing.
The second critical problem: Fisher Tiger had been elevated to heroic status among fish-men across all oceans. His martyrdom further intensified racial conflicts, indirectly leading to more and more young fish-men going ashore as pirates—seeking revenge or simply rejecting integration with human civilization entirely.
Although the fish-men race had never produced top-tier masters comparable to human legends, their basic physical fitness was several times greater than adult human men. Additionally, they possessed innate swimming abilities that made them ideally suited for naval combat.
Each fish-man warrior could be considered an elite soldier—rarely killed with a single shot, capable of fighting effectively even when severely wounded.
This created considerable tactical problems for grassroots Marine forces. During naval engagements, fish-men would exploit their racial characteristics ruthlessly—jumping into the ocean and swimming beneath enemy ships to begin drilling through hulls from below.
There were very few vessels in this world they couldn't penetrate given sufficient time. Even expensive ironclad warships with reinforced hulls couldn't withstand sustained underwater assault from determined fish-men.
"The user of the Sky Dragon Fruit can apparently heal the wounded remotely," Admiral Sakazuki observed, his gravelly voice carrying unusual enthusiasm. "This ability to save lives and treat injuries cannot be underestimated or dismissed as secondary. Sometimes healing capability can literally turn the tide of entire battles."
Admiral Sakazuki possessed the most relevant experience here. This man was always positioned on the front lines, constantly getting injured during combat operations. His aggressive fighting style prioritized victory over self-preservation.
Last time he'd been entangled by Buggy the Clown's Conqueror's Haki manifestation, the experience had been genuinely debilitating. Not only had he vomited blood from internal injuries, but the subsequent recovery period had consumed approximately one full week—time during which he couldn't participate in operations.
If Wendy had been stationed with Sakazuki during that particular engagement, he would have possessed a certain probability of defeating Buggy the Clown decisively. He could have employed the exchange-injuries-for-injuries strategy—trading damage knowing he'd be healed while his opponent accumulated irreparable harm.
This was the confidence a dedicated healer provided to aggressive combatants.
Even without consuming a Devil Fruit, someone with Sakazuki's monstrous constitution could still develop into a formidable warrior. His body's natural recovery abilities were already extraordinary by normal standards.
If the time required for treating injuries could be drastically compressed through external healing—reducing week-long recoveries to hours or even minutes—his operational attendance rate would become truly exaggerated.
If such a relentless fighter had a healer constantly supporting him, he'd essentially work every single day. Pursuing pirates without rest, fighting battles without recovery periods, accumulating victories at impossible rates.
"Mythical Zoan Devil Fruits with healing properties," Admiral Kuzan mused thoughtfully, his perpetually sleepy expression showing rare focus. "I remember Marco from the Whitebeard Pirates possesses similar capabilities through his Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Phoenix. These Mythical Zoan fruits are truly magical in their versatility."
After finishing this observation, Kuzan couldn't help glancing toward Fleet Admiral Sengoku's direction.
This pillar of heaven—this legendary warrior who'd fought Roger and Shiki in their primes—hadn't taken serious combat action for extended periods. Only the three Marine Admirals were supporting the organization's military operations now.
How much fighting strength Fleet Admiral Sengoku still retained was unknown to outsiders. Even Marine officers serving directly under him didn't possess clear assessment of his current capabilities.
Had age diminished him significantly? Or did he maintain peak condition through his Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Daibutsu?
The healing ability was definitely a T0-tier strategic asset across all the seas—the absolute highest priority capability for organizational development.
Every major force desperately needed such talents. Once you secured a mobile healer, the soldiers and commanders under your authority effectively gained second lives. The strategic implications were staggering.
Even though the Marine was the largest violent enforcement agency on the planet, personnel replenishment remained a constant concern. The vast majority of wounded soldiers who survived battles with permanent disabilities could never return to active combat roles.
They could only reluctantly retreat to secondary positions—logistical work, administrative duties, training assignments that didn't require full physical capability.
The Marine, which maintained strict hierarchical structure, could at most provide certain pension payments and send disabled veterans away with minimal support. Internal positions were already bloated beyond sustainable levels. The organization simply couldn't support large numbers of retired soldiers indefinitely.
Getting modest financial compensation and returning home to civilian life was already the best available outcome for most injured personnel. Many received far less.
But this tragic situation would definitely change in the future broadcasts. Admiral Wendy magical healing abilities that could drastically reduce casualty rates in Marine engagements.
Having more elite veterans surviving on the battlefield was an immense blessing for senior Marine officers commanding operations. Experienced fighters knew tactics, maintained discipline under pressure, and supported new recruits effectively.
The survival chances for new recruits would also increase dramatically if they operated alongside healed veterans rather than being thrown into combat with only other inexperienced soldiers.
"However, Wendy possesses a rather troubling capability that we must acknowledge," Vice Admiral Tsuru stated carefully, her tactical mind identifying potential political complications. "I strongly suspect she can understand ancient texts—possibly even decipher the contents of Poneglyphs. We must prepare ourselves mentally for this complication."
The elderly strategist thought of Grandine—that woman who'd lived for unknowable centuries, whose linguistic and scholarly attainments were unprecedented in recorded history. The daughter she'd personally educated would certainly possess extraordinary capabilities.
The Poneglyphs—the historical texts carved in indestructible stone—were absolute taboos for the Celestial Dragons. The Marine was merely carrying out Five Elders' orders when destroying O'Hara and hunting Robin, the so-called "Devil's Child."
The Marine itself actually possessed minimal interest in knowing what those ancient stones recorded. Sometimes maintaining ignorance was strategically preferable to dangerous knowledge.
Knowing too many forbidden secrets made organizations easier targets for Celestial Dragon suspicion and elimination. The current Old Marine still required financial support from the World Government. It was far too early to contemplate breaking away from Five Elders' control.
Survival demanded calculated ignorance on certain topics.
Finally, discussions returned to the most puzzling practical question:
Where had newly-appointed Fleet Admiral Artoria Pendragon obtained mountains of gold necessary to construct the magnificent New Marine Headquarters in Rome?
That fortress-city had consumed resources equivalent to decades of current Marine budgeting. The architectural scope was comparable to Mary Geoise itself—a maritime castle-city of unprecedented scale.
The construction alone would require trillions of Beli. The ongoing operational costs would be astronomical.
Yet somehow, the New Marine had built it. Staffed it. Made it functional.
Where had the funding originated? Who controlled those financial streams? What compromises or alliances had secured such wealth?
These were questions without obvious answers—mysteries that made senior Marine officers profoundly uneasy about their organization's future trajectory.
Money meant power. Power meant independence.
And independence from the World Government meant... what, exactly?
The Sky Screen showed them futures they couldn't yet understand.
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