Personnel changes at Marine Headquarters were executed with ruthless efficiency.
Within a few days, nearly half of the key confidential positions—previously controlled by the Dove faction—had been vacated. Every one of those seats was promptly handed to the Hawks.
Naturally, this restructuring came from Bryan's advice.
He could have suggested that those openings go to the neutral officers, but he didn't. Most of the so-called "neutrals" wanted nothing more than to perform their duties quietly, avoiding factional strife. They were competent, yes—but cautious, unambitious, unwilling to get their hands dirty.
Bryan had no intention of wasting time courting fence-sitters.
In the end, what mattered was simple—the Doves had been crippled, their influence slashed in half. Whether the Hawks took advantage of that to rise further was none of Bryan's concern. He had other plans, and one unfinished "assignment" to complete.
That night, under the soft neon haze of the Sabaody Archipelago, a grand farewell party was underway in one of the island's most lavish nightclubs.
Chaton had reserved the largest private room, hiring more than twenty songstresses and dancers to celebrate Bryan's new appointment.
Wine flowed freely. Dishes piled high.
By the third round of drinks and the fifth platter of food, Chaton was so drunk he could barely sit straight.
A cigar dangled from his lips as he slung an arm around a singer and roared tunelessly into a microphone.
To be honest, his voice was so rough it made even a duck sound like an angel.
"Beautiful! Sing another one, brother!"
Bryan, half-reclined with a glass in hand, chuckled with genuine amusement.
He enjoyed Chaton's company; the two spoke the same language—corruption, indulgence, and ambition masked with charm.
Across the room, Shiryu looked completely out of place—sitting stiffly, red-faced, trapped between four dancers who were clinging to him and giggling.
"What's with that look?" Bryan teased, squinting at him. "You're out having fun—so have fun! Don't tell me you're still a virgin, are you?"
Before Shiryu could stammer a response, Bryan stood up unsteadily, swaggering over to one of the women at his side.
With a wicked grin, he yanked her dress down in one motion.
The girl shrieked in mock fear; the others gasped theatrically, feeding the men's adrenaline and laughter.
"L-Lord Bryan, I've never even had a girlfriend…" Shiryu mumbled, face burning like a tomato.
"Your first time, huh? Then you lot—scram."
Bryan waved off the surrounding women and stumbled toward the door.
"Hey, where's the boss around here?" he bellowed down the corridor.
"Coming, coming! Lord Bryan, whatever you need, just say the word."
The nightclub's madam hurried over—a woman in her forties with heavy makeup and a deep-cut dress that clung to her curves. Her beauty had faded, but her experience showed in her every step.
She wasn't just any hostess either. Once, she had been the mistress of a high-ranking World Government official. Her background was not ordinary.
"You see my man in there?" Bryan said, pointing toward Shiryu. "That's my right hand, my most trusted aide."
"Yes, yes, I see him."
The woman's mind worked fast. She'd heard plenty of rumors—Bryan, the new darling of the Five Elders, a man of vast wealth and influence who spent money like water. Every nightclub in Sabaody knew him as a golden goose.
"Find two clean, pure girls," Bryan said lazily, lighting another cigar. "Help my man… celebrate his coming-of-age properly."
His tone was so casual that it left no room for misinterpretation.
The madam's eyes flashed with understanding. She bowed slightly, smiling sweetly, though her heart was pounding.
So young, yet already this cunning and composed… she thought. A man with power and no scruples—better to cling to him than stand against him.
"Rest easy, Lord Bryan," she said softly, her smile deepening. "I'll see that your loyal aide has an unforgettable night."
"Lord Bryan, whatever you ask, I'll make it happen."
The madam's tone was low and honeyed, but her eyes gleamed sharply under the dim lights.
Bryan returned to the private room, pulled open a drawer on the tea table, and casually took out several thick bundles of cash.
"Make sure they're pretty. Innocent-looking," he said flatly.
"Yes, yes, of course—only the best."
The madam gave an obsequious laugh, then pushed the money back toward him. "Please, there's no need. From now on, Lord Bryan is a friend of this establishment. You'll never pay a single coin here again."
"You know how to do business."
Bryan's gaze lingered on her a moment—half amusement, half appraisal—then he turned and yanked Shiryu up by the arm.
"Go on. Enjoy yourself. That's an order from Vice Admiral Bryan, Governor of the West Blue."
He shoved Shiryu out the door, practically dragging him down the hall toward the waiting madam.
Back in the private room, Bryan returned to drinking with Chaton, the two men bellowing songs off-key while dancers and songstresses performed increasingly daring routines.
Bryan had spent freely that night—tens of thousands of Berries thrown around without blinking. For most of the performers, one evening with him was worth a year's wages.
By the time they finally staggered out of the nightclub, the moon was high and the city lights shimmered off the waves of Sabaody.
Shiryu followed quietly, still dazed. Every few steps, he turned back toward the sixth-floor window where the two girls he'd just been with stood watching from above.
Bryan slung an arm around his shoulders. "So, did you like them?"
"I… I don't know," Shiryu muttered.
For a man who could slit a throat without flinching and toy with prisoners like prey, he looked almost boyish now, flustered and uncertain.
Bryan chuckled. "If you liked them, buy them. Bring them with us to the West Blue."
He turned to the madam waiting by the door. "You heard that, didn't you?"
The woman bowed deeply, her smile widening. "Understood, Lord Bryan. Leave everything to me."
She knew perfectly well what this was—Bryan was binding Shiryu to him with favors and indulgence, pulling the man further into his orbit. And she intended to play her part flawlessly.
While she went to fetch the girls, Chaton stumbled toward them, reeking of alcohol and wearing a stupid grin.
He'd had the night of his life. Wrapping a heavy arm around Bryan's shoulder, he hiccupped out, "Bryan, my brother—hic—I knew from the start you'd rise to power! But even I didn't expect you'd go this far—actually snatch the Academy from under them!"
Bryan grinned. "Brother, this is just the beginning. Once you've settled in at the Academy, start shaping it. The day will come when all of Marine Headquarters answers to us."
"Hah! That's right… all of it!" Chaton laughed so hard his eyes went watery. For once, the emotion was genuine.
For years, the man had been looked down upon—dismissed as weak, mocked by his peers. But today, those same admirals who'd ignored him were lining up to shake his hand, offer congratulations, even bring gifts.
It was intoxicating—a vindictive kind of joy.
The only blemish on his triumph was Momousagi, the talented vice admiral candidate. Despite his promotion, she'd shown him nothing but polite indifference.
Still, Chaton knew full well that everything had changed. His new post as Superintendent of the Naval Academy had turned him from a laughingstock into a man of influence.
On paper, it was a "retirement post," devoid of direct military power. But every officer in the Marines who'd come through the Academy knew what it really meant.
The Academy was the cradle of the Navy's future. Ninety percent of all Headquarters officers were its graduates.
And what was a school, really?
A place to teach knowledge—or to shape minds.
To indoctrinate.
Whoever controlled the Academy controlled the Navy's next generation.
Zephyr had done it for years, personally training students and filling the Doves' ranks with his protégés.
The Hawks had always struggled precisely because they lacked influence there.
Until now.
Bryan glanced sideways at Chaton and smirked. "Brother, why are you crying?"
Chaton's drunken grin faded. He wiped at his eyes, voice suddenly steady.
"Thank you, Bryan. I'll repay this debt."
Bryan laughed softly and patted him on the back.
"Relax, brother. Do your job boldly. Whatever you need—money, resources—just ask. The entire West Blue…"
He tilted his head, the cigar glowing between his fingers.
"…is our personal bank."
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