While contemplating these political complexities, Finn listened carefully to Jonathan's advice. Experience from seasoned officers was invaluable, even when you thought you knew the answers.
"But ultimately, the most critical responsibility for any base commander is protecting regional peace," Jonathan continued, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone. "That's the primary assessment criterion. However, I now believe financial capability must be prioritized equally. The more independent funding you secure, the less restricted you'll be by Headquarters' military budget. You can achieve what I call 'counter-current momentum.'"
He leaned forward slightly. "Given G-7's current situation, don't expect Headquarters funding to provide meaningful development resources. That allocation barely covers daily operations. If you want to achieve real results, you'll need to rely on your own skills."
Jonathan began ticking off strategies on his fingers. "First method: nurture a trustworthy pirate hunter team. Emphasis on trustworthy. Strength matters less than loyalty. You personally capture pirates, then transfer them to your hunters who claim the bounties from the World Government. After a while, you'll accumulate substantial development funds. You'll sacrifice some personal merit, but you don't need additional merit at this stage."
Finn nodded thoughtfully. The logic was sound, if ethically questionable.
"Second approach: identify someone among your subordinates with a head for business. One of G-7's greatest advantages is its position near the southern Calm Belt, which gives us direct access to the South Blue. As you know, very few ships dare cross the Calm Belt at this point in time. But our warships can, we have the strength to drive off Sea Kings and the equipment to row through those waters. You select a reliable officer with solid combat, give them command of a warship, and back them in establishing a trading route. They cross the Calm Belt, purchase South Blue specialty goods in volume, and bring them back into the Grand Line…" Jonathan's smile turned knowing. "Massive profit margins. Understand?"
Finn listened intently, nodding frequently. He actually possessed plenty of money-making strategies already, but having a senior officer willing to share practical advice represented recognition and investment in his future. That alone made it worth absorbing every word.
Besides, Jonathan wasn't offering empty theory. Many methods he described aligned perfectly with Finn's own preliminary thoughts, while others provided fresh perspectives he hadn't considered.
The core concept matched his original vision: money and people.
Only with funds in hand could he confidently recruit soldiers and continuously expand the base's military strength. Greater numbers would further strengthen the installation's capabilities. With strength came better protection for the region, which meant superior performance on that most important assessment criterion.
After finishing his crash course in base management economics, Jonathan shifted topics. "So tell us about Shiki. What actually happened at Marineford?"
When he spoke, every officer in the room turned with open curiosity.
Finn, Gion, and the others who'd experienced it firsthand saw no reason for secrecy. They recounted Shiki's attack in detail.
"We were eating hotpot and relaxing with Admiral Sengoku when warships suddenly started falling from the sky onto Marineford," Finn said with dramatic flair. "The situation escalated very quickly."
As the story unfolded, describing Shiki's assault and eventual capture, visible satisfaction spread across every Marine officer's face.
They'd captured Roger first, then Shiki immediately after. Two of the New World's three strongest pirates eliminated in rapid succession, leaving only Whitebeard standing alone.
Dealing with Newgate would be considerably easier once Roger and Shiki were permanently removed from the board. Perhaps the Marines should move against Whitebeard next, find a method to eliminate him, then sweep across the New World unopposed.
An era of true justice seemed to be beckoning...
Ignoring his colleagues' optimistic speculation about the future, Finn poured himself tea and turned to Tsuru. "Chief of Staff, is there anything we can do to help with Roger's execution?"
Tsuru smiled and waved dismissively. "Sengoku already contacted me. He said he originally didn't want you or Gion coming at all, but you both insisted. So he told me explicitly: don't involve you in any operations here. Your most important task is recuperating properly."
Finn patted his chest confidently. "I'm fine. Just minor injuries."
"Minor injuries?" Gion interjected immediately. "The medical officer repeatedly warned you against strenuous activity. Otherwise, your wounds will definitely worsen."
The senior officers in the room burst into laughter at her matter-of-fact betrayal.
Finn didn't feel embarrassed or angry. He shook his head with exaggerated helplessness. "You're remarkably skilled at undermining your superior, aren't you?"
Regarding Roger's execution, Tsuru had already finalized all arrangements. Finn was genuinely just here to witness history. Since he had no operational role, he didn't press the issue.
After chatting a while longer, at Gion's insistent urging, he followed a Marine Lieutenant to his assigned quarters for rest.
For the next two days, Finn remained within the Marine base, recovering his strength.
Meanwhile, in Loguetown proper, monsters from every ocean gradually revealed themselves.
Buggy and Shanks had also arrived in Loguetown.
During the Roger Pirates' final voyage to Raftel, Buggy had fallen seriously ill. Shanks had stayed behind to care for him, a decision that meant neither trainee reached the legendary last island. They'd even missed the crew's official disbandment.
At this stage, since both were merely apprentices on Roger's ship, they attracted no particular attention. Two unremarkable kids wandering the island warranted no concern from Marine surveillance.
At Loguetown's port, Donquixote Doflamingo sat cross-legged atop a large oak barrel, his posture deliberately unruly. An evil smile played across his features as he watched a figure approach from the distance.
"Fufufufufu! You're remarkably brazen. If I remember correctly, you're wanted by the Marines, aren't you? Though the bounty's not particularly impressive..." Doflamingo called out in greeting.
The approaching man had a cigar clenched in his teeth, dark purle hair slicked back, and a perpetually defiant expression. He wore a black suit under a fur-lined coat. Everything about his appearance screamed villain.
"The so-called Desert King… Crocodile," Doflamingo added, voice dry with amusement.
Indeed, this was Crocodile, future Warlord of the Sea and the pirate world's most consistent "50-50 fighter." From the strongest monsters to rookie pirates just setting sail, Crocodile could somehow force any opponent into an apparently even match.
Crocodile's bounty was genuinely mysterious. At this stage, he could fight Douglas Bullet to a standstill in the New World, neither gaining decisive advantage. Logically, his strength warranted a bounty of several hundred million Berries at minimum.
Yet Marine Headquarters seemed to disdain him specifically. His current bounty sat at merely sixty-some million, not even breaking one hundred million. By New World standards, he was barely worth notice.
But anyone who truly understood his accomplishments wouldn't dare underestimate him. He was genuinely formidable now, a Logia-type Devil Fruit user with proven combat capabilities.
"Hmph." Crocodile's cold snort conveyed zero friendliness. "You think the Marines will waste resources on me right now?"
"Fufufu, of course not," Doflamingo agreed with another wicked laugh.
Obviously, the Marines wanted Roger's execution to proceed smoothly without complications. They wouldn't create unnecessary incidents over other matters. Even with Crocodile standing openly at Loguetown's port, the Marines only maintained discreet surveillance without taking action.
Ignoring Doflamingo entirely, Crocodile strode toward the town proper.
As they separated, Doflamingo called after him: "Fufufu, still so cold? Speaking of which, what do you think of my proposal? Want to join forces?"
"You're barely qualified to be my subordinate," Crocodile replied without hesitation. "Nowhere near worthy of partnership."
Murderous intent flashed in Doflamingo's eyes before he suppressed it. He stood from the barrel, dropped lightly to the ground, and walked toward town with his characteristic arrogant swagger.
Crocodile had come to Loguetown specifically to witness Roger's execution. He found it nearly unbelievable that the man who'd stood at the pirate world's absolute peak would die today.
Part of him refused to accept this reality. As Admiral Sengoku had predicted, Roger's death would discourage countless pirates, wouldn't it?
Without interference, that would certainly be true. But interference was coming, transforming discouragement into the Great Pirate Era instead.
Crocodile possessed towering ambitions. He needed to witness Roger's death with his own eyes, to see whether his own resolve would be defeated or strengthened by the Pirate King's fall.
Loguetown's central square was already packed with spectators. Marines maintained order as civilians gathered before the execution platform, waiting to witness the Pirate King's final moments. The entire town had become an audience.
Crocodile and Doflamingo stood separately within the crowd, their distinctive appearances and bearing making them stand out dramatically despite their attempts to blend in.
Toward the back of the assembly, Dracule Mihawk also waited for Roger's appearance. He hadn't yet been identified as a pirate by Marine forces, having kept relatively low profile recently. He seemed to be accumulating experience and strength, honing his swordsmanship.
As a lone wanderer, his intelligence capabilities were limited. He knew nothing specific about Finn beyond the basic fact that this Vice Admiral had captured Roger. He didn't know Finn's exact strength or capabilities.
But at the port, Mihawk had recognized the Great Grade sword hanging at Finn's waist. He'd also noticed that powerful Rear Admiral he'd fought previously, Gion, serving alongside this Vice Admiral.
Therefore, Mihawk had mentally categorized Finn as a swordsman worth testing.
I should find an opportunity to duel him, Mihawk thought. See whose blade proves superior.
Not far behind Mihawk stood an a tall, sharp-featured man with pale skin and a lean, powerful build. His dark red hair was short and wild, his grin full of pointed teeth that made the crowd instinctively give him space. A black coat hung loose over his shoulders, and there was a restless, hungry intensity in his eyes.
Gecko Moria. Or rather, Kozuki Moria, if one knew the truth of his lineage.
Moria hadn't yet launched his pirate career or fought his catastrophic battle with Kaido. Currently, he was just an unknown man trying to uncover his roots.
He came because he carried Kozuki blood—not from the main family, but from a branch line that had left Wano generations ago, much like the Shimotsuki who founded villages in the East Blue. That history survived only as whispers and heirloom stories, yet it was enough.
He knew that once, a Kozuki had stood on Roger's ship.
Kozuki Oden.
So, Moria stood in the crowd searching every face, every silhouette, hoping to see the man who had walked the seas with the Pirate King. But the execution platform held only Roger. Oden was already gone.
After Roger's execution, he'd follow the era's tide and join the promising pirate industry. He'd become one of the first wave's representative figures, charging into the New World with tremendous momentum. Then he'd clash with Kaido in Wano Country trying to claim his birthright, nearly dying on the spot, his entire crew slaughtered, all ambitions shattered by overwhelming force.
After that defeat, he'd fall into decline. When the Seven Warlords system launched, he'd barely secure a position and retreat to the Florian Triangle to become a reclusive shadow of his former self.
Nothing remarkable would remain.
Like a shooting star, Finn had once thought. Shining brilliantly for a brief moment before falling into darkness.
The crowd continued swelling. Tension built like gathering storm clouds.
History was about to turn.