The next morning.
Golden Crown Island's sunlight was still dazzlingly bright. Sea wind swept over the fortress that was hailed as the "Pearl of the Golden Route," snapping the gold-trimmed Marine flags so they cracked in the air.
But for Rear Admiral Nelson, what should have been a beautiful morning felt like a drawn-out punishment.
"R-Rear Admiral Gion, the scenery here is… so-so. Too much sea wind is bad for the skin. The seaside air is damp—why don't we go back inside the fortress and rest? I've had fine tea and pastries prepared—"
On G-17's military pier, Nelson followed behind Gion, wiping sweat that wouldn't stop with a handkerchief already soaked through, forcing a stiff smile.
Despite wearing a rear admiral's insignia—and technically outranking Gion by a step—Nelson didn't have a shred of "base commander" presence now.
He hunched his back, wrung his hands, and trailed her like an old butler serving a picky noble guest—humble to the point of dust.
His heart pounded wildly. His eyes flicked toward the horizon again and again like a thief's, full of anxiety and fear.
Today was the day the "raw stones" arrived.
By his agreement with the Crystal-Diamond Duke, to meet the Celestial Dragon Saint Charlmaco's demand for sculptures with the "despair" trait, the final batch of "raw stones"—fifty unlucky souls captured from nearby waters—would be delivered to the port and stored this morning.
Normally it was a top-secret operation. They used an "exclusive" Marine route, so the shipments could always be moved in without anyone noticing.
But today, this Rear Admiral from Headquarters had suddenly—like she'd lost her mind—shown up at the docks first thing in the morning with her two "followers," claiming it was a "routine defense inspection," and planted herself on the pier like a nail.
"Rear Admiral Nelson seems hot?"
Gion stopped and turned.
Wind tugged at the wide Justice cloak behind her. Her tailored pink suit outlined a tall, stunning silhouette. Her exquisitely beautiful face carried a small tear mole at the corner of her eye, adding a trace of allure—but her eyes now were sharp enough to make people flinch.
One hand rested on Konpira's hilt as her gaze raked over Nelson's greasy face like a blade.
"The sea breeze is quite cool here."
"Y-yes—it's… nervous sweating. Old problem, old problem." Nelson laughed dryly, his back already soaked through. "I'm only worried about your health, Rear Admiral Gion. The banquet last night ran late, and today you're inspecting again—"
"Rear Admiral Nelson."
Gion cut him off, her tone carrying mild amusement and suspicion.
"If I recall correctly, last night you swore up and down the base supplies were abundant and everything was already arranged. If so, why aren't you in your office drinking tea this morning, and instead you're personally standing guard on this sun-and-wind pier?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Are you worried about something? Or… were you brushing me off yesterday?"
"T-that—how could I?!" Nelson's face stiffened. He waved his hands frantically; sweat beaded even thicker. "I—I'm showing how seriously we take Headquarters! Yes! I'm personally confirming the harbor's security, so you can rest easier. It's—this is my duty!"
While Nelson desperately tried to invent lies—
Rain stood at Gion's side and pulled out a monocular telescope, scanning the sea as if casually.
At his current level of Observation Haki, the optics were pointless—the ship's movements had been locked in his perception from dozens of miles away. But as a "dutiful escort," he still played the part.
In Rain's perception, the cargo hold of that approaching ship contained dozens of living, terrified presences.
It was here.
Rain deliberately frowned, adjusted the telescope focus, and acted as if he'd just noticed something alarming.
"Rear Admiral Gion, Rear Admiral Nelson."
He lowered the telescope and pointed toward a blurry black speck on the horizon, his tone holding the perfect amount of confusion.
"That direction… looks like there's a ship approaching? It's shabby—doesn't look like a warship or a legitimate merchant ship."
He offered the telescope to Gion.
"And its course… seems to be heading straight for the restricted C-sector military berth. An unidentified ship in a military harbor—doesn't that feel… a little out of line?"
Nelson's whole body went rigid. Following Rain's finger, he could only see a tiny dark dot, but his fat face went instantly pale.
"Ah? W-where?"
He played dumb, then immediately stepped sideways, trying to block their view with his broad body. His voice sharpened with panic.
"Oh! That one! That's— that's a garbage transport ship! Yes! A cleanup ship that carries the base's slop and waste out for disposal! That area is filthy and stinks—flies and rats everywhere! To keep it from offending your eyes, Rear Admiral, we should go over there—"
"A cleanup ship?"
Rain didn't back down just because Nelson was a rear admiral. He raised the telescope again and replied calmly.
"Sir, with respect: that ship is sitting very low in the water. It's clearly entering port heavily loaded. If it were carrying garbage out, it should be empty when arriving. Unless G-17's garbage… is shipped in from outside?"
"T-this—" Nelson choked, unable to answer.
"And," Rain turned to Gion and reported formally, "Rear Admiral Gion, per Marine regulations, an unidentified vessel entering a military harbor must undergo routine inspection. For your safety, I believe we should verify it."
"H-hey! No! Sergeant Rain!" Nelson panicked.
He didn't even bother maintaining dignity. He half-ran, half-stumbled forward, trying to stop Rain—looking ridiculous and pathetic.
"You can't go! That area— it was just disinfected! Toxic gas! Chemical gas! Extremely dangerous!"
"Rear Admiral Nelson."
Gion's cold voice sounded from behind him, carrying unquestionable authority.
"If there's toxic gas, then we need to see it even more. If hazardous materials leak in a harbor, that's a major incident. As a Headquarters inspector, I cannot ignore it."
She strode past Nelson, her boots clicking sharply on the pier.
"Lead the way."
Nelson stared at their backs. A flash of venom crossed his eyes—then he swallowed it, gritted his teeth, and forced himself to follow. The fat hand covered in rings clenched his coat hem until it wrinkled.
…
C-Sector pier.
The shabby merchant ship, flying no flag, had already docked. Its rusted hull looked grotesque beside the gleaming warships.
A group of men wearing Marine uniforms—but carrying the air of thugs rather than soldiers—were hurriedly hauling huge, tightly nailed wooden crates from the hold.
"Careful!!"
A foreman barked in a low voice, tense.
"This is cargo Rear Admiral Nelson personally ordered protected! If you ding it, he'll skin you alive!"
At that moment, Rain, Gion, and Smoker appeared at the pier entrance.
"What are you doing? Stop!"
Rain barked and marched up to the stack of newly unloaded crates.
The dockworkers flinched, hands stalling—one almost dropped his crate.
"O-officer…" the foreman saluted shakily, eyes flicking wildly toward Nelson behind them.
"What's in these?" Rain patted one crate. It was heavy—and through a ventilation hole came a muffled, human-like breathing.
"I-it's… it's…" The foreman stammered, unable to speak.
Nelson rushed up, wheezing, shoved the foreman aside, and blurted first.
"Pigs! Live pigs! Rear Admiral, it's so you can eat well these next few days—I had a batch of black-haired pigs purchased from another island to improve the mess!"
"Oh?" Rain's smile didn't reach his eyes.
Gion frowned and looked at Nelson. "Rear Admiral, didn't you say that was a garbage ship? How does garbage turn into live pigs in the blink of an eye?"
"T-that—" Nelson was drenched in sweat, scrambling for words. "I-it's… together! Transporting garbage and pigs together! Yes! That's it!"
In the middle of this awkward standoff—
A dock soldier, too nervous and sweaty, slipped.
Clang!
A heavy crate slammed into the stone steps.
The impact popped open a gap in the lid—two fingers wide.
Time seemed to freeze.
Through that crack, a pair of bloodshot human eyes—full of terror and despair—stared out at the world… staring straight at Gion.
Tears mixed with grime were clearly visible.
Nelson's brain exploded into static.
It was over.
All over.
Seen—she saw it.
In that instant, Nelson went corpse-pale. He could almost feel a noose tightening around his neck.
He stood there stiffly, waiting for Gion to erupt.
But—
Gion didn't draw her blade.
The Headquarters rear admiral merely flicked her eyes once at the crack—then, smoothly, looked away.
She produced a clean white handkerchief from her coat and covered her mouth and nose with practiced elegance, brows knit in extreme disgust, as if she'd truly just seen something nauseating.
"This is your 'live pigs'?"
Her voice was cold and aristocratic, laced with a germaphobe's revulsion.
"Eyes that dull, already half-dead before they even reach the pot—clearly sick. And you dared to bring such inferior ingredients into the base?"
Nelson froze, his mind blank.
She… didn't see?
Or was she… pretending?
"Rear Admiral's right," Rain stepped in at exactly the right moment.
Thud!
He lifted his boot and casually kicked the cracked lid back into place—perfectly sealing it shut.
"Rear Admiral Nelson," Rain said in an official tone, dusting off his pant leg, "if they're sick pigs, get them to quarantine and dispose of them immediately. Don't pile this bad-luck garbage here. If something spreads in the base, it'll be trouble."
Those words were the final straw—and also the rope that hauled Nelson back from the edge of hell.
"Y-yes! Yes!!" Nelson nodded like a drowning man grabbing air. His legs nearly buckled. "I'll handle it at once! Immediately! I won't let this batch of sick pigs offend the Rear Admiral's eyes!"
"Let's go," Gion said, turning away without another glance at the crates—her back cold and decisive.
…
After leaving the pier, they reached an empty corridor.
Boom!
Smoker finally snapped. He drove a fist into the wall, and cracks spiderwebbed across the stone.
"You—!" Smoker growled, eyes red, like a furious beast. "You both saw it, didn't you?! That was a person! A living human in that crate begging for help!"
"Why did you act?! Why did you play along with that fat bastard?! We're Marines—and just now we watched civilians get shipped off like cargo!!"
"Calm down, Smoker," Rain said evenly.
"Last night I told you—our target isn't those fifty people. It's the entire chain."
"Saving fifty is easy. But that would immediately alert Victor."
Rain pointed back toward the pier.
"Those people are Victor's 'perfect materials.' Until he arrives and starts 'carving,' they must be kept alive and intact. So right now, that 'cell' is actually the safest vault they could be in."
"Let the cargo go in. Let Nelson think he slipped past us. That's how he'll bring Victor to us."
"To hook a big fish, you have to tolerate the stink of the bait. We agreed on that last night—didn't we?"
Smoker panted, staring hard at Rain. He remembered the plan, but seeing it with his own eyes hit differently.
After a long silence, he spat viciously and looked away.
…
Meanwhile, in the base commander's office—
Nelson collapsed into his chair like a sack of sludge, sweat soaking his uniform through.
That moment had nearly scared his soul out of his body.
"They saw it… that woman definitely saw it…"
After regaining his senses, Nelson didn't understand what Gion was doing, but at that distance—there was no way she hadn't seen.
He gnawed his finger like a madman, eyes bloodshot.
Gion's refusal to explode on the spot—her "I see everything but I won't strike yet" attitude—was even more terrifying.
What did it mean?
It meant Headquarters was setting a trap. A long line, a big hook.
They didn't want to startle the prey—they wanted to catch both him and the "Crystal-Diamond Duke" in one sweep.
"I'm dead… if they leave alive, I'm dead…"
Fear turned into frantic, desperate madness.
If he'd been discovered, there was no retreat.
"They can't leave… they absolutely can't leave alive…"
Nelson snatched up a Den Den Mushi, hands shaking, and dialed that number—
A direct line to the Diamond Queen.
"Bururururu—"
The call connected. A refined voice came through, elegant yet languid.
"This is Victor."
"D-Duke! It's me—Nelson!" Nelson's voice was raw with panic and hysteria. "Something happened! A Headquarters rear admiral arrived—she… she might've discovered our business!"
"Oh?" The voice on the other end stayed calm. "And?"
"She didn't act—she's waiting for you! She wants to catch us all in one net!" Nelson howled. "My lord—tomorrow we have to strike first! Blow those Headquarters bastards—ship and all—into scrap!!"
There was a brief silence, then a soft chuckle.
"So this is the first time the Marines have tried to hunt me."
"How interesting. Very well, Nelson."
"Tomorrow at noon, I'll give them…"
"…a splendid funeral."
~~~
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