"Ahem… cough, cough…"
Morgans adjusted his tie and smoothed down his feathers.
Once he realized what the marines and pirates were doing—pulling back and letting the two monsters fight—he knew he had a golden opportunity.
A battle like this didn't happen every day.
"Alright, get ready. I'll do the intro, then you swing the lens over to both sides, then finally the battlefield. Got it?"
"Ready, boss. Equipment's all set!"
"Good. Three, two, one—rolling!"
"Cough, cough. Hello, everyone."
Across the world, on countless transponder-snail screens, the beaked face of a birdman appeared.
"This is Morgans, president of the World Economy News Paper, and I'm very happy to be bringing you a live report today."
He lifted the mic with one wing, voice solemn.
"The battle between the three Emperors of the New World and the Marines' forward base… has reached a conclusion."
"Who won?!"
From taverns to palaces, civilians everywhere leaned closer to the screens, hearts in their throats.
Morgans didn't bother stringing them along.
"Our brave marines, through unrelenting struggle and sacrifice… have successfully repelled the Emperors' attack!"
As he spoke, the camera swung around toward the marine side.
"Our courageous marines have paid a terrible price… but they have held the line against the three Emperors of the sea!"
On his cue, the lens zoomed in.
On screen, the world saw:
Garp, upper body bare, chest crisscrossed with old scars, standing tall.
Akainu, wrapped in bandages and still smoking like a gangster boss.
Aokiji, cloak draped over his shoulders, chest freshly bandaged.
And behind them—row after row of bandaged marines, all standing firm like a living wall between the pirates and the rest of the world.
Farther back, medics tended to the grievously wounded. Screams and groans echoed nonstop.
Some of the marines noticed the camera.
A few sneered. Some turned away in disdain. Chaton, of course, threw up a big peace sign.
Gion kicked him off-screen with a flying side-kick.
"Is war… really this brutal…?"
All around the world, ordinary people stared at the image of maimed, bloodied marines. Some were missing arms or legs. Some lay motionless, sheets soaking through red.
"Thank goodness the marines are there… If they weren't, those pirates would have turned the world into hell long ago…"
—
Marineford, Headquarters.
Sengoku watched the broadcast in silence. Beside him stood Tsuru, Zephyr, and Kizaru.
Seeing the rows of wounded, Sengoku's chest ached.
"Damn pirates…"
Then the camera cut to Garp casually picking his nose, looking like a man on vacation, and to Chaton trying to pose for the camera.
Sengoku's blood pressure spiked.
"That idiot Garp… Does he not understand this isn't the time to fool around?! When he gets back, I'm going to wash his brain with a Buddha Palm!"
Tsuru rubbed at her temples.
"With that many casualties at the forward base… I can't even imagine how much it'll cost to patch everything up. And that's not even counting the ones who'll never return to the frontlines."
At that, Sengoku's stomach hurt.
Yes, in theory, you couldn't measure a righteous sacrifice with money.
But if you didn't pay people, who would risk their lives?
White Ghost's cynical words floated up in his mind: It's not that people don't love money, it's just that their methods differ. Pirates rob for it. Marines draw a salary to fight under a flag called 'justice.'
"We're going to need fresh blood," Zephyr said quietly. His jaw was set, dark eyes grim—some of his students had been on that field.
The camera had shown Onigumo, wrapped in blood-seeping bandages, face sliced open.
"We'll have to reassign people to plug the gaps," Sengoku agreed with a nod.
—
"Next," Morgans said cheerfully, "let's take a look at how the three Emperors fared."
The camera swung again.
Whitebeard sat on his throne atop Moby Dick, gourd in hand, drinking.
Around him lounged an army of rough, scarred faces, every one of them radiating danger.
"Look, look—that's Whitebeard's First Division Commander, Marco the Phoenix! Bounty: over a billion!"
"And that's Diamond Jozu!"
The lens panned over one commander after another. Some glanced over and ignored it. Others struck poses for the audience.
"These pirates are terrifying… Look at that Whitebeard. He's over eight meters tall! And that weapon…"
Whitebeard hadn't left yet.
He was waiting—for the two fighting in the middle of the field to decide things.
If Kaido won, he planned to laugh in Garp's face, then sail away.
If Kaido lost, he'd spit in Kaido's general direction and leave. The marines weren't going to chase him; his quake-quakes weren't something they wanted to test.
And there was another reason: he wanted his "sons" to watch and learn what a true peak-level battle looked like.
He didn't want them getting complacent just because they'd won this round.
Marco's report had already laid it out: their weaknesses were obvious now. Too many of his sons relied on Devil Fruits and swaggered on pedigree. Haki, raw physique—those fundamentals were lacking.
On the field just now, it had shown. The higher-ranked commanders could handle themselves. But further down the divisions, it often took two or three of them to bring down a single marine officer.
That wasn't good enough.
Whitebeard knew he was old. He didn't want to die and leave his sons to be chewed to pieces by this world's "rules."
He took another deep gulp of sake.
Maybe I should track down a few more Devil Fruits… properly arm these brats…
His gaze drifted with a hint of envy to the two mythical dragons tearing up the sky.
—
The camera cut again—this time to the Big Mom Pirates.
Charlotte Linlin was stuffing cake into her mouth, crumbs and cream everywhere.
Katakuri sat nearby, scarf wrapped tight around his mouth to hide his jagged teeth. The other children milled about, doing their own thing.
Katakuri stared at the battlefield.
How old was that marine brat again? That strong already? My future-sight Observation can't keep up with that speed…
The marines were overflowing with talent.
On their side? His younger siblings were still kids. You couldn't shove them into fights at that level.
They couldn't lean on "Mama" forever.
Conqueror's coating…
Katakuri clenched his fist.
Big Mom had explained the basics of infusing Conqueror's into attacks, but no matter how he tried, he just couldn't grasp it. Not yet.
Linlin wasn't paying attention to her son's inner turmoil. She just kept eating, eyes on the fight.
"Ma-ma-ma-ma! Kaido, you brat, don't embarrass yourself out there! Smash that marine's head in for Mama!"
On the field, Kaido's focus slipped for a fraction of a second.
White Ghost's blade bit into his side.
"Hahahahaha! Kaido, losing focus in the middle of a fight is the biggest rookie mistake there is. You're old enough you shouldn't need me to tell you that."
"Shut up, you old hag!" Kaido roared back at the sky—and at the screen. Then he glared at White Ghost, rage boiling over.
"And you shut up too, brat!"
He hefted the kanabo and swung again.
On the other side, Garp was howling with laughter.
"White brat! Beat that idiot Kaido into the ground! Win this, and I'll catch a giant Sea King to celebrate!"
Gion and the others covered their faces, mortified, trying to edge out of frame.
"Gurararara… That fool Kaido," Whitebeard chuckled heartlessly. "Back on the Rocks' ship, I was a division captain. He was just a little trainee. He's only grown up a bit since then."
—
"Alright, I'm sure you're all wondering…" Morgans said, and the camera swung back to him. "If the main battle is over, what are the marines and the Emperors still waiting for?"
In homes and bars and plazas across the globe, people nodded. It was true—they could hear distant rumbling through the snails, but they couldn't see what was happening.
"Then," Morgans said, eyes shining, "let's turn the camera to the battlefield!"
He lifted a wing and pointed. The lens followed.
As it zoomed in, the world saw it:
A blue-green dragon-man with horns and scales, kanabo in hand.
And across from him, a golden, winged dragon-man with a greatsword.
The two clashed again and again, weapons crashing, black lightning snapping between them.
Twin dragons, locked in battle.
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