The most crucial point was that Kuzan himself carried a flaw deep within his heart — his faith in justice was the most unstable kind.
Of course, that instability stemmed from the very actions of the World Government. Its conduct had sown doubt within him — doubt about himself, about the justice he served.
It was precisely because of that doubt, and the series of events he later witnessed, that Kuzan, after losing the position of Fleet Admiral to Akainu in the Marineford War, chose to leave the Marines, even though he knew their power had been devastated by the battle against Whitebeard's forces. He walked away… and, for reasons still unclear, eventually joined Blackbeard's crew.
No one knew why he had made that choice. But one thing was certain — the kind of justice the Marines represented no longer resonated with him.
Once he realized he couldn't become Fleet Admiral — couldn't steer the Marines toward the vision he believed in — Kuzan left, disappointed yet aimless, wandering across the seas.
Until, for reasons unknown, he found Blackbeard… and joined him.
"Since he could join Blackbeard," Ren thought, "why couldn't he join me?"
If the so-called justice of the Marines and World Government had disappointed Kuzan so deeply that he abandoned everything — if it left him so lost that he chose to follow Blackbeard —then why couldn't he follow him instead?
At the very least, Ren believed that his vision of justice aligned far more closely with what Kuzan truly believed justice should be.
Of course, this conversation was only Ren planting a seed — a wedge in Kuzan's heart. A man like Kuzan couldn't be swayed or controlled by a few mere words.
Yet when Ren spoke, Kuzan's hand unconsciously tightened, the glass bottle of his pear brandy cracking ever so slightly.
A single sentence — a single judgment from an enemy — and Kuzan's composure wavered. Because it was the truth.
When the World Government ordered the Buster Call on Ohara — commanding the Marines to annihilate all who dared to study the Void Century — Kuzan, then a Vice Admiral, had taken part.
Yes.At the time, Kuzan didn't believe the Buster Call was wrong.
"Justice changes with one's position," he had said back then. "So I understand your stance now. Protecting civilians is also a form of justice. And I know that turning our guns on unarmed scholars who merely study history… that can't be called justice either. But if the World Government is so desperate to hide the Void Century, there must be a reason — something catastrophic that could destabilize the world. Sometimes, choices made for the sake of the world's future are unavoidable… besides, those scholars did break the law. And the law represents order."
That was what Kuzan had said to his former comrade — the man protecting Nico Robin.
And then… an explosion cut him off. A shell fired from the ship of then-Vice Admiral Sakazuki — now Akainu.
It struck a refugee vessel full of innocent people, engulfing it in flames, drowning its helpless passengers in the sea.
Sakazuki's justification afterward had been chillingly simple: "If even one scholar escaped aboard that ship, then this sacrifice would be meaningless."
Kuzan murmured those same words under his breath now — and the bottle of pear brandy shattered in his hand, liquor spilling onto the floor.
Perhaps it was Sakazuki's ruthlessness in that moment that Kuzan could never accept —and that was why he had spared Robin.Why he had watched over her from the shadows for years afterward.
Even if he couldn't fully agree, he knew — rationally — that Akainu's decisiveness had its purpose.A few sacrifices for the greater good.
That was the contradiction inside Kuzan's heart — the root of his fixation on Robin.He couldn't bring himself to kill her — to deny his own sense of justice.
Even when the young girl carried a seventy-nine-million-Beli bounty, branded as an enemy of the World Government, Kuzan couldn't do it.
But at the same time, he feared another Ohara — that Robin's pursuit of truth would once again trigger a massacre like Akainu's "necessary sacrifice."
That fear was why he had frozen everything in Mock Town. If he had only come as a Marine Admiral, there would've been no need to go that far.
"She told you quite a lot, didn't she?" Kuzan finally said after a pause, casually wiping his damp hand on the "Justice" coat draped over his shoulders.
Unexpectedly, Ren shook his head. "No. Robin doesn't trust me that deeply."
"Oh? Then what is it?"
"Past and future — some people can always see them. Just like the Poneglyphs."
"…?"
Kuzan frowned. He couldn't make sense of it. Was this some kind of ability? If so, that made the man even more dangerous.
He thought for a moment, then dropped the matter. Instead, he reached for the unopened bottle on the table, bit off the cork, and took a deep swig. The burn of alcohol brought him some relief.
"So, what are you trying to say? What profit could possibly make you risk standing here, spouting all this?"
"To talk," Ren said, "to plant a seed."
"A seed?"
"Yes. A seed of thought — 'What is justice?'"
"As a pirate, do you really have the right to ask that question?"
"I've told you already — I'm not a pirate."
"Then what are you?"
"An idealist. A man of ambition. My wish is to reshape this world — to make it into one I can actually like."
"…You sound just like her."
Kuzan's drinking motion halted. He looked up at Ren, his expression cold. "You're just as dangerous as Robin."
"You've said that before," Ren replied calmly. "Seems you're getting a little agitated, Kuzan. When a person's thoughts are in chaos, they unconsciously repeat themselves — trying to keep their mind steady. Which means you're thinking, aren't you? Not decisively rejecting me… but considering what I said."
Ren remained perfectly composed — as though he were the one in control of the situation.
"Heh… maybe," Kuzan said dryly. "So, how do you want to talk? You, discussing justice with a Marine?"
"Let's start with a question." Ren raised a finger. "For you, for the Marines, for everyone in this world — what does the World Government, which has stood for eight hundred years, represent?"
"Isn't the answer obvious?" Kuzan frowned. "Justice. Order. Authority. The embodiment of the rulers of the world."
"I thought so." Ren nodded, unsurprised — and didn't argue. Because Kuzan was right.
Ever since he had seen Nami cry, Ren understood: if the people of this world are alive and real, then the structures around them — governments, powers, institutions — are alive as well.
"To you — to all of you — the World Government is absolute truth. Because for eight hundred years, everything you've seen, learned, and been told — history, stories, knowledge — all declare that absolute truth. Humans are limited creatures. Blind obedience is one of those limits, born of being social animals."
This was Ren's understanding of the world of One Piece — of its society.
Eight hundred years. What does that number mean?
If it were a single, endless war, then to short-lived soldiers, that war would've spanned eighteen generations. Even a long-lived commoner, reaching a hundred years, could only see one-eighth of that span — seven or eight generations at best.
Children, parents, grandparents — those are familiar ties. But who can name the generations above those? Perhaps a few. Go further, and almost no one can.
Under such circumstances, what would the ruling class — the World Government — become? The answer: Absolute truth.
No matter what it does, no matter its true nature, no matter what it may become —so long as information remains locked away, the World Government is justice.
There may be scandals, but unless they spread worldwide — unless people see them with their own eyes —its legitimacy will never waver. Because for eight hundred years, it never has.
That inertia of thought — that blind trust — is the reason people can't see the problem.The "knowledge" that could awaken them simply doesn't exist. Every channel of information is controlled.Every possible spark of revelation, suppressed.
Like the Poneglyphs.
Under such conditions, Ren continued, the Marines themselves must be understood.
To someone like Ren, who remembered another world, the Buster Call on Ohara was an absurd act — something that defied every military principle he had ever known.
His judgment came from that other world's experience.
For example — in his previous life, when soldiers entered a disaster zone, refugees saw them as family, as saviors. But was that an absolute truth?
In his homeland, yes — it was. There, the army truly was the people's army, a force of kinship and duty.
But that was unique — one army in five thousand years of civilization that could claim such a bond. Elsewhere, history spoke differently: "Bandits plunder like combs; soldiers scrape like lice. "And in other nations — like the so-called beacon of freedom — it was worse. Their soldiers carried guns into disaster zones, not for rescue, but for suppression. Their governments didn't always help the weak. Remember that mayor in Texas who resigned at lightspeed after a blackout? He'd said, "Only the strong survive — don't expect handouts."
That cruel truth revealed something simple: society's logic shapes the rules of its rulers.
And through that, one could understand the Marines. Understand their position.
Even the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force — if placed in that same world — would likely act the same way. Protecting civilians is part of a Marine's duty, yes — perhaps even why most enlist. But the Marine organization itself exists as the tool of the World Government — a weapon to preserve its rule.
Even if many within know something is wrong, they still continue — because stopping would be worse.
Take a recruit who joins to avenge his family destroyed by pirates. He needs the Marines' power — and to use it, he must protect it. Even if that means perpetuating corruption.
Supporting the decaying rule of the World Government might still allow him to strike down a hundred pirates —at the cost of oppressing fifty civilians. But without that Government? Those fifty might suffer less — yet those hundred pirates would run free. The fragmented kingdoms of the seas would never unite to stop them. No one would sail across the world to save a distant people.
So they choose the lesser evil — to preserve rotten order rather than embrace chaotic freedom.
That — that was the Marines' true stance. The "justice" Ren once knew had never existed here.
And now, he laid out before Kuzan what he believed justice should be.
"In the end," Ren said, "the justice you serve is not your own — it's the justice the World Government created for its needs. Why not return it to what it was meant to be? To the justice that most people once hoped for?"
He stopped and waited, watching Kuzan, who now bowed his head slightly.
"I see," Kuzan finally said, raising his gaze to lock eyes with the man before him — the man who seemed like a devil himself.
"What do you see?"
Ren tilted his head, curious. He doubted Kuzan had accepted his words.
"Now I understand why Robin followed you," Kuzan said coldly. "You're two of a kind."
He raised his hand, unable to deny that some of what Ren said made sense. But he refused to accept the path those ideas led to. To destroy the World Government over its flaws? That was insanity.Just thinking of it filled him with dread.
Better to trust his own way than follow this madness.
"Is that so?" Ren sighed softly, realizing he had failed. Of course — he wasn't Nika, not a destined protagonist. And Kuzan wasn't ready — not yet.
"Any more tricks up your sleeve?" Kuzan asked icily. The temperature in the room dropped, frost thickening into white mist. "To be honest, I hadn't planned to kill you. But after this talk — you've changed my mind. With Nico Robin around you, you'll only invite more trouble!"
Without warning, a torrent of freezing air burst forth.
Everything — the dust in the air, the furniture, the very breath between them —froze solid in an instant.
And the young man who had spoken so calmly a moment agowas now a transparent sculpture of ice.
Kuzan lowered his hand slowly, pressing it over his thundering heart.
He seemed to want to say something — to end this unpleasant meeting —but before he could, something unexpected began to happen.
(End of Chapter)