Morning sunlight filtered through thick bulletproof glass and spilled across the enormous black-iron conference table in G–17's meeting room.
The stale haze of tobacco, shirking, and decay that used to cling to this place was gone. In its place was a taut, efficient seriousness—like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
"—In summary, patrol efficiency is up three hundred percent this week. Pirate activity in the surrounding waters—especially along the Golden Route—has all but disappeared."
Colonel Moore stood at the long table with a thick report in hand, voice ringing out, back straight.
At this moment, there wasn't a trace left of the timid, cringing man he used to be.
His uniform was pressed so sharply it didn't have a single wrinkle. The slight hunch in his shoulders was gone—his spine was a spear. His eyes held a new kind of sharpness and competence… and even a hint of borrowed ferocity.
Below him, more than a dozen field-grade officers sat rigidly upright, hands flat on their knees, barely daring to breathe.
They all knew it.
G–17 had changed hands. The sky had changed.
After Moore finished his report and they'd discussed the next month's supply procurement plan, Rain lifted a hand. Moore immediately understood.
"Dismissed."
At Moore's order, the meeting ended.
The officers filed out. Only one—an unfamiliar logistics major—deliberately lingered behind. Once they were out in the corridor, he slipped up beside Moore.
He was new—arrived yesterday with the Navy ship that had come to pick up Gion and return her to headquarters.
With Rain—the "god" who'd slain Golden Lion—sitting on G–17 like a mountain, outsiders now viewed this place as the safest post in the world. Survive here, polish your résumé, and promotion would come easy.
There were plenty of officers like him, applying to transfer in with "gilding" on their minds. Rain's attitude was simple: he couldn't be bothered. As long as you could work and didn't cause trouble, he didn't care if you were ambitious. The sea would sift the sand—unqualified men would wash out sooner or later.
But this major clearly hadn't learned the new rhythm yet.
He glanced left and right to make sure no one was watching, then slid a small, exquisite gold case from his wide sleeve. Lowering his voice, he offered it with a fawning smile.
"Colonel Moore, this is a little specialty from my hometown—South Sea black pearls, nice quality. Not much, but… I hope you'll say a few good words for me in front of Base Commander Rain in the future…"
The movement was discreet. He was obviously an old hand at politics.
And then—
Smack!
Moore whipped his arm like he'd been burned by red-hot iron, slapping the gold case away.
It clattered across the steel floor. The lid popped open, and several glossy, perfectly round black pearls rolled out, clicking brightly as they scattered.
The entire hallway went dead silent.
"You idiot!!"
Moore's face went paper-white—he looked even more terrified than the man trying to bribe him. He jabbed a finger at the major and exploded, spraying spittle all over him.
"Are you trying to kill me?! Or kill yourself?!"
"This is G–17! This is Base Commander Rain's territory! You actually dare pull this crap here?!"
His voice went shrill with fear and rage.
"You think the flagpole outside is too empty and you want to hang on it for two days as a lightning rod, huh?!"
The major was stunned. Shaking, he crouched down to gather the pearls, stammering, "I—I thought… this was the usual…"
"The usual my ass!"
Moore sucked in a breath, forcing his heart to slow. He turned back, eyes cold and hard.
"Listen carefully. Forget every rotten rule you learned somewhere else."
He pointed out the window at the towering, cold steel fortress.
"Here, there's only one rule: the Base Commander's orders. Want promotion? Want money? Go to sea and bring back pirate heads. Anyone who tries crooked tricks behind the scenes—before the Base Commander even moves, I'll throw you into the ocean myself and feed you to the fish!"
Then, without sparing the major another look, he snapped, "Get lost. Write me a five-thousand-word self-criticism. On my desk tomorrow morning."
Watching the major scurry away in humiliation, Moore wiped the sweat from his brow, still rattled.
Now, his obedience to Rain bordered on worship.
That man had killed Golden Lion. Trying to play games under his nose was suicide.
As long as he stayed in step with Rain, even doing nothing, Moore would still be one of the most powerful colonels on this sea.
…
Evening — Gold Crown Island, West Coast
The west coast was the island's prettiest stretch—and the most packed with shops.
Rain wore a relaxed black casual shirt and looked unusually at ease. Beside him, Smoker had two cigars in his mouth and his leather jacket collar turned up high against the sea breeze.
Two men with overwhelming presence walking down the street immediately drew countless eyes.
"I'm just saying—" Smoker blew smoke in annoyance. "Why'd you drag me out here? We've got a pile of rookie brats back at base waiting to be whipped into shape."
"Work-life balance," Rain said, hands in his pockets, mood seemingly good. "Staying in that fortress all day, you don't get bored—but I do. Sometimes you've got to loosen up."
"Loosen up?" Smoker snorted. "Looks to me like you just want someone to drink with."
"Pretty much."
They wandered around until dusk.
Without realizing it, Rain stopped in front of an extremely high-end restaurant.
It was Gold Crown Island's best sea-view spot—the terrace looked out over the bustling harbor and the sunset-glazed ocean.
"Here," Rain pointed at the sign.
"This fancy?" Smoker frowned. "Two grown men coming to a place like this feels kind of—"
"Shut up. I'm paying."
Rain didn't let him finish. He grabbed Smoker and dragged him inside.
They took the best table on the terrace.
As the sun sank, golden light poured across the waves and gilded the city in warm edges. People strolled the streets below. Children's laughter drifted on the wind.
Rain leaned back in his chair and stared at the familiar scenery, looking vaguely dazed.
Same sunset. Same restaurant. Same seat.
Even that family of three resting on the bench in the distance looked exactly the same as months ago.
Back then, the person sitting opposite him had been Gion—deep red dress, elegant and composed, even her hair seeming perfumed.
Memories surged like a tide.
"Hey! Hey!!"
A rough voice cut straight through his thoughts.
Rain snapped back to reality.
Across from him wasn't Gion's bright, expressive face.
It was a rugged, stubborn man's face.
Smoker was tapping his plate with his knife and fork, irritated. "What're you spacing out for? The steak's getting cold!"
Rain stared at Smoker's crude eating.
"…Sigh."
He let out a long breath and suddenly found the top-grade tomahawk steak in front of him completely tasteless.
"What're you sighing for?" Smoker glared. "Meat bad?"
"The meat's great. The booze is great."
Rain cut off a piece, chewed twice like wax, and looked at Smoker with dead eyes.
"It's just the guy sitting across from me—he's too damn appetite-killing."
"Pfft—"
Smoker almost sprayed his drink.
"You asshole!" Smoker bristled. "You're the one who dragged me out here! And I don't eat dessert—don't order that strawberry mousse crap for me. It's disgusting!"
"That's for me."
Rain shook his head helplessly and turned to watch the sunset again.
The view was the same. People weren't.
"Yeah…" he thought. "Eating out like this only has any romance if you're with a beautiful woman. Sitting across from Smoker is torture."
"Hey, Rain."
Maybe Smoker felt the mood getting weird, because he tried to change the topic.
"So what now? You gonna keep being a little emperor in Paradise?"
"Little emperor?"
Rain swirled his wine, watching the dark red liquid roll.
"I don't like that phrase. I prefer… keeper of order."
He pointed toward the happy crowd outside.
"Look. Gold Crown Island is more prosperous and safer now than it ever was under Nelson. Because everyone knows there's a sword hanging over their heads. Don't cross the line and you'll live just fine."
"Tch. Sounds pretty," Smoker said, though something like agreement flickered through his eyes. "But… yeah. G–17 really is better than it used to be."
…
Late Night — Base Commander's Office
Smoker had gone back to sleep. Rain returned alone to the top-floor office.
He didn't turn on the lights. Moonlight spilled across the black floor.
Rain sat down and took out the two newly maintained blades from his storage ring—Sakura Ten and Kogarashi.
Shing—
Both swords slid free.
Cold light spilled like water. Their edge presence pressed against the air.
Even in deep night, the two Great Grade blades still radiated chilling sharpness.
Rain lightly traced the steel, feeling the remnants of Golden Lion's sword path lingering within.
"Great swordsman…"
He closed his eyes and casually drew a flourish. The air split cleanly—no hesitation.
Now, with everything he had stacked together—
In the Paradise half of the Grand Line, it was hard to find anyone who could force him to truly draw.
Pirates with bounties in the tens or even hundreds of millions didn't even qualify.
"…Too weak."
Rain sheathed the blades and hung them on the rack at his waist.
He walked to the window, gaze crossing the calm sea toward the distant Red Line—and beyond it, toward the New World.
For the first time, a kind of lonely invincibility crept into his chest.
"Maybe… it's time I found an excuse to go over there."
…
Next Morning — Base Commander's Office
Rain had just gotten up and was still washing his face when the Den Den Mushi on the corner of his desk started ringing like crazy.
"Buru-buru-buru—!"
He dried his face and picked it up.
The Den Den Mushi's sleepy expression shifted into something calm and shrewd—the face of someone who planned wars on paper.
"This is Rain."
"Tsuru."
Vice Admiral Tsuru's familiar voice came through—but this time, her tone carried a trace of gravity… and satisfaction.
"So early? Vice Admiral Tsuru, are you assigning me a mission?" Rain joked.
"Stop talking nonsense," Tsuru said, amusement in her voice. "It's good news."
"Your merits in killing Golden Lion have been fully verified. The old men up top are furious about you privately handling the Float-Float Fruit, but merit and fault balance out—no. Your merit outweighs your fault."
She paused, then announced firmly:
"By proposal of Fleet Admiral Kong, approved by the World Government—
Effective immediately, Colonel Corvo Rain is promoted to Navy HQ Major General."
"Eighteen years old, Navy HQ Major General," Tsuru sighed. "You've broken the Navy's promotion record. Faster even than Sakazuki and Kuzan were."
"Major General, huh?"
Rain wasn't surprised—if anything, it felt low. But considering seniority, this was already rocket speed.
"And it's not over."
Tsuru continued. "Now that you're a Major General, you need an official codename—like Sakazuki's 'Akainu' and Borsalino's 'Kizaru.'"
"Codename?" Rain raised a brow. "You guys picking it for me? Don't give me something stupid like 'Thunder Dog' or 'Electric Pig.'"
"Relax. Sengoku knows your temperament."
Tsuru chuckled lightly.
"Considering you're a Rumble-Rumble user, and considering how you operate…"
"After discussion, your codename is—
Silver Dragon."
"Silver lightning—proud, domineering, and impossible to defeat."
Her voice held expectation. "Well? Suits you, doesn't it?"
Rain paused.
He glanced at the pale silver morning light outside, then at his palm—where a faint arc still danced.
"Silver Dragon…"
His mouth curved into a satisfied smile.
"…Not bad. I'll take it."
"Good." Tsuru sounded pleased. "Your appointment papers and your new Major General coat are already on the way. From today on—let the name 'Silver Dragon' ring across the sea."
The call ended.
Rain stood before the mirror and looked at the reflection of a young, handsome man—now carrying unmistakable authority.
He adjusted his collar. Even before the new insignia arrived, the pressure around him felt entirely different.
"Navy HQ Major General… Codename—Silver Dragon."
He repeated it softly, and the light in his eyes burned brighter and brighter.
~~~
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