The Marine Headquarters—Marineford.
A place solemn and imposing, hailed as the final bastion of justice, a fortress that struck terror into the hearts of countless pirates.
And yet, at this very moment, atop the highest point of Marineford, a young man lay sprawled on a beach chair, soaking up the sun. He wore floral shorts, a loud Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of sunglasses—about as far from "military discipline" as one could get.
The man had short black hair, slightly tousled, with thin bangs hanging over his forehead. His face looked far too youthful for someone stationed at Marine Headquarters, making him seem oddly out of place against the backdrop of this fortress of justice.
Staring up at the cloudless blue sky, the young man gradually drifted into his memories.
It had been decades since he transmigrated into this world, reborn as a young Borsalino.
He hadn't received any special cheats or systems—but decades of relentless training and real combat had been more than enough. Whether it was Devil Fruit mastery, physical conditioning, or Haki, he was firmly at Admiral level, unquestionably so. Compared to the original Kizaru, he was only stronger, never weaker.
On top of that, after painstakingly training Life Return for decades, he had managed—barely—to lock his appearance at the age he'd been shortly after transmigrating. With this face, he could probably pass himself off as Garp's grandson without anyone finding it too strange.
Thanks to this carefully preserved youth, he'd somehow picked up the nickname "The Ageless Admiral." At the very least, he'd avoided becoming the stereotypical greasy, middle-aged Marine officer.
Back when he was still a genuine young man, Borsalino had once been ambitious too.
Unfortunately, reality proved that he simply wasn't cut out for lofty ideals.
In a world where individuals might determine everything, even the grandest dreams and noblest convictions were easily shattered by brutal storms of violence. And thanks to Devil Fruits—or rather, because the upper limit of personal power was absurdly high—class mobility in this world wasn't all that rigid.
Talent, effort, and just a bit of luck were enough to climb to great heights.
Power bred ambition, and truly capable people were rarely willing to remain obedient tools.
After several failures—each one nearly costing him his life—Borsalino completely lost his ideals and devolved into what he proudly considered himself now:
A salaried slacker.
Of course, even a slacker twitched once in a while.
Ten years ago, for instance, he'd taken a trip to the East Blue.
There, he saved a former female Marine—and a few years later somehow ended up with a greedy little thief-cat under his wing. Nowadays, that very thief-cat served as both his aide-de-camp and financial officer.
Plenty of "anonymous individuals" had opinions about Admiral Kizaru appointing a girl in her prime as his adjutant.
But really—was a youthful beauty not several dimensions more pleasing to the eye than some dead-fat old man wearing a bellyband?
Anyone with objections was welcome to "discuss" the matter with his Ama no Murakumo Sword. At worst, they'd lose an arm or a leg.
Borsalino was convinced these people were just jealous.
He'd mellowed out in recent years. If this had been a decade or two earlier—around the time of the World Summit—things would've gone very differently.
Back then, a particularly brainless Celestial Dragon had gotten into a conflict with him.
The result?
Borsalino had calmly confiscated three of the man's slaves on the spot.
Not long after a Celestial Dragon clashed with a Marine Admiral, a fish-man named Fisher Tiger climbed the Red Line and rampaged through Mary Geoise, freeing countless slaves—and killing a "noble" Celestial Dragon in the process.
The one who died just so happened to be the same Celestial Dragon who clashed with Borsalino.
He was also the only Celestial Dragon to die during that incident, which naturally aroused suspicion within the World Government.
After all, he'd picked a fight with an Admiral not long before.
Unfortunately for them, witness testimony and physical evidence were airtight—Fisher Tiger himself admitted responsibility. The matter could only be quietly shelved.
At the end of the day, a certain Admiral had an airtight alibi. Unless the Five Elders were willing to risk reducing the Three Admirals to two—and pushing the Marines toward open disloyalty—there was nothing they could do but swallow it.
That said, an invisible ceiling had since appeared above Admiral Kizaru's career.
Fleet Admiral.
Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.
Those positions would never have anything to do with him.
But as far as Borsalino was concerned?
This so-called "punishment" was utterly meaningless.
"Mr. Borsalino!"
Just as he lazily reached for the iced drink beside him, a slightly sweet yet fierce voice rang out, yanking the "young man" back to reality.
Striding toward him was a lovely girl with long orange hair and a well-proportioned figure. She wore a fitted Marine uniform—meant to symbolize authority—but somehow managed to make it look oddly… provocative.
This was his current aide-de-camp and financial officer, Major Nami. Privately, many referred to her as the "Marine Fairy." After all, if someone could enchant a Marine Admiral, what else could she be?
Her small leather boots clacked rapidly as she climbed onto the rooftop. The moment she saw Borsalino still lounging in his chair, drink in hand, her temper flared instantly.
She'd searched half the Headquarters—only to find that a Marine Admiral was sunbathing up here!
"Yo, little Nami, don't be angry now…"
Borsalino drawled lazily.
If you can slack, slack.
If you can't slack, half-ass it.
That was the life philosophy he'd perfected after decades as an Admiral.
"You've got some nerve saying that! You're late to every meeting! Keep this up and you'll be called the Late Admiral!"
Nami grabbed him, trying to haul him out of the beach chair.
She'd joined the Marines out of admiration for Borsalino. Sadly, her image of him had shattered not long after.
Late to meetings. Slacking at work. Pushing every task he could onto others—and when he couldn't, dumping it all on his poor adjutant.
Infuriating didn't even begin to describe it.
Inside the Headquarters conference room, the Fleet Admiral, the other two Admirals, and numerous Vice Admirals were already seated—waiting for the final Admiral to arrive.
Tap, tap, tap…
Footsteps sounded outside the room as Borsalino, still in his beach shorts, was shoved inside by Nami.
The high-ranking Marines barely reacted.
Even Akainu, who disliked Borsalino the most, had to admit that Major Nami's presence was a blessing. At the very least, she could restrain that bastard Kizaru a little.
"Now that everyone is present, we'll begin," Fleet Admiral Sengoku said, clearly uninterested in wasting words on a certain slacker.
"Headquarters has received a report from the 37th Branch. The pirate Blackbeard, who defected from the Whitebeard Pirates, wishes to exchange Fire Fist Ace, commander of the Whitebeard Pirates' Second Division, for a position among the Seven Warlords of the Sea."
Borsalino raised an eyebrow slightly.
So Blackbeard was finally stepping onto the stage, huh?
Well then… the war at Marineford was coming.
But what did any of that have to do with a salaried thief like him?
The Five Elders weren't seriously expecting him to risk his life against Whitebeard for that paycheck, were they?
Just as he prepared to slack off as usual, a pleasant voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
[Ding. Would you like to accept the invitation to join the Dimensional Chat Group?]
[Accept / Decline]
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