By evening, back in the Velvet Suite, Gion finally hung up after a long call with Vice Admiral Tsuru. She rubbed her throbbing temples and looked at Rain, who'd been spacing out.
"Vice Admiral Tsuru accepted our story," Gion said as she walked to the coffee table and poured herself a glass of water. There was clear relief in her tone. "She definitely heard the holes in it, but in order to bury the Celestial Dragon scandal and keep the Warlord plan from taking a reputational hit, she chose to accept the version where the pirate Victor attacked G-17."
"As for the several hundred soldiers who surrendered…" Gion looked at Rain. "Tsuru's order is to classify them as detained witnesses—load them all onto the warship and bring them back to Headquarters for her to personally handle."
Hearing that, Rain backed out of his system screen.
"Not bad," Rain muttered with a faint smile. "That's the Great Strategist for you—airtight."
Rain still remembered Tsuru's fruit: the Paramecia Wash-Wash Fruit.
Once those people ended up in Tsuru's hands, no one would ever question the "pirate attack" lie again.
"But now the problem is," Gion said, looking out the window at the suddenly leaderless base, "Nelson is dead, and the key officers under him are also gone—most of them 'lost' in yesterday's attack. This base is basically an empty shell. Someone has to keep order."
"If we don't stabilize things immediately, once we leave, the remaining soldiers could riot—or start looting."
"Relax. I've already picked someone," Rain said, calm and assured.
…
The next morning
In G-17's central plaza, a sea of Marines stood packed together.
Every face was filled with fear and confusion. Yesterday's earthshaking explosions and thunder over D-Sector had shattered half the base's windows. And with Rear Admiral Nelson and his entire core officer group vanishing overnight, morale had collapsed.
They didn't know what had happened. They only knew they'd been dragged out at dawn and ordered to assemble.
Now their fate was in the hands of the woman on the platform—wearing a Justice coat.
Gion stood atop the stage, with Rain expressionless behind her and Smoker beside him, openly puffing smoke.
Gion swept her gaze over the crowd. Her cool voice carried through an amplified Den Den Mushi.
"Soldiers of G-17."
"Yesterday, the great pirate 'Crystal-Diamond Duke' Victor Hugo launched a brazen assault on a military base directly under Marine Headquarters. This was a provocation against Justice—an act of war against the Marines!"
She paused, her tone turning heavy and solemn.
"In the fierce battle, we must announce with deep regret: Base Commander Rear Admiral Nelson, leading from the front, fought the pirates to the death and—tragically—fell in heroic duty!"
Dead silence below.
A lie.
Even the dumbest grunt knew what Nelson was like. "Heroic death" sounded ridiculous next to that name.
But for ordinary soldiers, the truth wasn't the point.
Whether they believed her or not, Gion continued exactly as planned.
"Though the price was heavy, the invaders have been annihilated!"
Her voice turned sharp.
"Justice will prevail!"
"…Justice will prevail…" a scattered, weak chorus answered.
"Now, the second order."
Gion produced an appointment document, her hawk-like gaze scanning the ranks.
It stopped on an unremarkable corner, where a thin man in his forties—a colonel—stood with his head down, wishing he could sink into the ground.
"Colonel Moore! Step forward!"
"Y-yes!!"
Moore jolted and stumbled up to the platform, saluting with a wildly improper form.
At last night's banquet he'd been shoved to the margins—no corruption, no faction, a classic punching bag. And precisely because of that, his record was cleaner than anyone's.
"Given the current vacancy in G-17's command structure," Gion announced, looking down at the trembling man, "and after Headquarters' review: Colonel Moore has served diligently for years, steadfast and loyal. He is hereby appointed Acting Base Commander of G-17, effective immediately!"
"W-what?!" Moore's eyes nearly popped out.
Acting… base commander?
The troops below erupted into stunned uproar. No one expected the most invisible unlucky bastard on base to leap straight into the top seat.
"What?" Gion narrowed her eyes, pressure rolling off her. "You think you can't handle it?"
"No! I can! I-I will!" Moore nodded violently, shaking all over. It was a cursed chalice, but also the biggest opportunity of his life.
"Good."
Gion stepped closer and straightened his crooked insignia herself. Then she leaned in and said, in a voice only the two of them could hear, cold as steel:
"Now that you're base commander… you understand what you should tell the men about the truth of yesterday, don't you?"
Moore swallowed. He was timid, but not stupid. Nelson was dead—this was clearly a purge.
But the appointment wasn't fake, and Gion wasn't ordering him to defect. There was plenty he could "compromise" on.
"I-I understand!" Moore's eyes hardened, lit by pure survival instinct. "Victor that madman attacked the base! Rear Admiral Nelson died heroically! The officers from Headquarters fought back with everything and saved us!"
"Smart man," Gion said, satisfied. "Do your job. This sea lane's order is yours to maintain."
From behind them, Rain watched Moore's grateful, terrified posture and nodded slightly, pleased.
As for the several hundred Marines who'd participated in the ambush and surrendered, they were already secretly loaded onto the warship as "key witnesses," to be isolated and transported back to Headquarters for review. If nothing went wrong, they'd soon "forget" what they'd seen.
…
With the cleanup done, they prepared to board ship.
On the dock's gangway, Rain paused and glanced back at the gleaming white fortress.
Behind it, from a hidden vent on the far side, thick black smoke was pouring out, glaring against the blue sky.
"All burned?" Gion asked softly, looking at that smoke.
"Burned," Rain replied flatly. "If they can't be turned back into living people, leaving them is just desecration. Better than letting the World Government recover them as 'art' to please Celestial Dragons. Let them rest—dust to dust."
Gion fell silent. Something complicated flickered through her eyes. Then, toward the smoke, she raised her hand and gave a crisp Marine salute.
"Let's go."
She turned and strode toward the warship, Justice cloak snapping in the wind.
That same day, Gion's ship weighed anchor.
On Tsuru's urgent request, she canceled the remaining inspection schedule and headed straight back to Marine Headquarters at full speed—with a shipful of "witnesses."
…
The sea stretched endless. Salty air brushed across the deck.
Rain and Gion leaned on the rail, watching Golden Crown Island shrink into the distance.
"G-17 guards the throat of the Golden Route," Gion said, frowning. "It's too important. Leaving someone as… ordinary as Colonel Moore as acting commander—doesn't that feel reckless? I'm still uneasy."
"Don't worry, Rear Admiral," Rain said lightly, eyes on the water. "You said it yourself—acting. Because this place matters, Headquarters and the World Government won't leave it unattended. Once the dust settles, they'll install someone new."
He turned and leaned back against the railing, looking at her.
"This is the Golden Route on the Grand Line. The higher-ups are more afraid of instability here than you or I ever could be."
"Moore might be mediocre, but he's timid and obedient. Until a new appointment comes, it's safer to have a gatekeeper who just wants to survive than a clever, ambitious person who might start playing games."
"…True." Gion nodded, her brow smoothing. "You always think things through."
Just then, wings flapped overhead.
"Coo—coo."
A News Coo wearing a delivery cap circled down and perched on the rail, sticking out its little coin pouch.
Gion casually dropped a coin into the pouch and took the fresh newspaper, still smelling of ink.
But the instant her eyes hit the front page, she froze—as if struck by lightning.
Her brow snapped tight. Her usually composed face showed rare, naked shock. Even her fingers holding the paper turned pale.
"What is it?" Rain stepped closer, sensing her sudden agitation. "Something big?"
Gion didn't answer. She just handed the paper over stiffly, voice dry and strained:
"…Read it yourself."
Rain took it and looked down.
The front-page headline, printed in bold blood-red letters, screamed:
[UNPRECEDENTED! IMPEL DOWN MASS BREAKOUT! "THE FLYING PIRATE" GOLDEN LION SHIKI ESCAPES—SEVERING HIS OWN LEGS!]
Beneath the headline was a chilling black-and-white photo.
Inside Impel Down's cold, damp cell: a pair of blood-soaked severed legs—still locked in Seastone shackles.
~~~
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