The training grounds of Marineford Headquarters were as clamorous as ever—sweat and shouts interwoven, brimming with youthful vigor and the raw sense of power that defined the Marines at their core.
Gern Reginald Sigmar, having left Zephyr's home behind him, set foot here once more after a year and a half. His gaze swept casually across the grounds—then halted at one corner.
There, Kuzan stood alone, lazily leaning against a corridor pillar. His arms were folded across his chest, his eye mask pushed up onto his forehead. He looked as though he were basking in the sun, yet at the same time seemed utterly lost in thought.
It was completely different from the sharpness and occasional fervor he had displayed during their fierce battle a year and a half ago.
The Kuzan of today radiated a detachment and weariness that seeped out from his very bones.
In the past, his laziness had been an act—beneath it, his actions were decisive and swift.Now, however, it had become a genuine indolence, as though he had lost interest in most things around him.
The artillery fire of Ohara, and the bitter cold that had frozen Saul solid, seemed to have completely extinguished something that had once burned fiercely within him.
At the same time, perhaps sensing Gern's gaze, Kuzan subconsciously shifted his eyes.
In that instant, their eyes met across the distance.
"Gern?" Kuzan paused for a moment, then tugged the corner of his mouth upward out of habit.It wasn't exactly a warm smile. He lifted a hand and gave a casual wave, treating it as a greeting.
"You're not hiding out here to avoid paperwork, are you?" Gern chuckled as well, stepping over.
Without any unnecessary pleasantries, the two of them naturally walked to the long bench by the edge of the field and sat down side by side.
Sunlight filtered through the sparse clouds, carrying with it a faint warmth.
After a brief silence, Kuzan spoke first. His voice carried that familiar drawn-out tone—only now it sounded even hollower than before.
"Looks like those old geezers in the World Government finally compromised and let you become an Admiral, huh."
"Compromised?" Gern let out a helpless laugh, his eyes drifting toward the new recruits training diligently in the distance."Heh… I paid for this with quite a few 'things,' you know."
"But under your command," Kuzan tilted his head and glanced at Gern, "didn't you also gain a pretty terrifying 'guy'?That 'Devil's Descendant'—the news has already spread."
"Douglas Bullet…" Gern repeated the name, his tone giving nothing away. "Let's just say there are pros and cons."
Silence fell between them again, broken only by the distant shouts echoing across the training grounds.
After a while, Gern turned his head and looked at Kuzan's side profile—so seemingly indifferent to everything—and suddenly spoke, his tone probing.
"Kuzan… the justice you uphold now—"
Before he could finish, Kuzan interrupted him.
He raised a hand and waved it dismissively, cutting Gern off without looking at him.His gaze remained lazily fixed on the distance, his voice calm yet deliberately light—almost numb.
"Arara… Admiral Gern, let's not dig too deeply into questions like that." He deliberately used Gern's new title."As a Marine, the justice I observe and carry out has always been—'Lazy Justice,' you know.And besides, it's easier that way. Isn't it?"
He enunciated the words "Lazy Justice" a bit more clearly, as if emphasizing something—or perhaps merely using a label to cover everything that lay deeper beneath the surface.
Gern looked at him, but didn't press further.
He could clearly feel it—the Kuzan sitting before him now was no longer the same man who, a year and a half ago, could clash with him in a battle fueled by blazing passion.
Beneath that "lazy" exterior lay something far deeper… something that had already cooled.
The two sat side by side on the bench, bathed in sunlight.One harbored ambitions and power like a looming natural disaster.The other seemed to have buried all his flames beneath cold, lifeless ashes.
The tide of the era had swept through, changing far too many people and things.
The silence on the bench lingered, and even the warmth of the sun seemed unable to dispel the invisible chill settling between them.
Kuzan's unfocused gaze remained fixed on the distant training field—on the new recruits whose eyes still burned with the purest belief in "justice."His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, unconsciously.
Then, suddenly, he spoke.
His voice dropped, no longer carrying that deliberate laziness, but instead tinged with an indescribable exhaustion and confusion—as if this question had circled his mind for countless days and nights, finally finding someone who might understand.
And that someone was his closest friend, comrade, senior brother-in-arms, colleague, and confidant.
"Gern…"
"About Ohara…""Was it… right, or was it wrong?"
As he spoke, Kuzan paused, as though every word weighed a thousand pounds and required immense effort to push out:
"Erasing an entire island from the map… along with those scholars who may have only been pursuing 'knowledge' itself…"His voice grew lower and lower, until it nearly dissolved into a sigh.
"And… those civilians who knew nothing at all…"
"The 'justice' we bear… does it really have to be so 'absolute'…so unquestionable, unthinkable… even leaving no room for the slightest mercy?"
As he said this, Kuzan leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees, his head lowered—as though he were asking the air itself, or interrogating his own heart.
The bombardment of Ohara.Saul's resolute questioning and his final freezing.The image of that little girl drifting toward the horizon on a small boat…
These scenes haunted him like nightmares, day and night, shattering everything he had once believed in.
Gern did not answer immediately.
After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice calm.
"There is no right or wrong in this matter."
Kuzan's tapping fingers stopped abruptly.
Gern continued, "There is only 'stance' and 'outcome.'"
"From the World Government's standpoint, any spark that might shake the foundations of its rule must be completely extinguished—no matter how weak that spark appears, no matter how cruel the cost of extinguishing it may be.To them, maintaining stability and absolute control is the greatest form of 'justice.'
"And from the standpoint of those scholars and civilians, who were merely seeking knowledge or a peaceful life,to suffer such calamity… that is, naturally, the ultimate 'evil' and 'injustice.'"
"As for the 'outcome'…" Gern paused."Ohara disappeared. The research was halted. What the World Government sought to conceal was, for the time being, buried back in the ground.That is the result they wanted.
"And from another outcome," he continued, "the Marine bombardment also completely extinguished—at least in some people within the Marines—the last shred of illusion they held about so-called 'Absolute Justice.'"
At this point, Gern suddenly turned his head to look directly at Kuzan, his gaze sharp.
"Kuzan, you asked whether justice must be absolute to that extent.The answer is simple: for those who make the rules—and who must uphold them at any cost—the answer is 'yes.'But for those forced to bear the price of that 'absoluteness,' the answer is 'no.'"
"The real answer has never been between right and wrong.It lies in whose stance you choose to stand on…and what kind of 'outcome' you are willing to take responsibility for."
Gern's words were like a cold surgical blade, slicing open the blood-soaked reality beneath the banner of "justice."He offered no clear answer—only threw an even crueler choice back into Kuzan's hands.
Kuzan fell silent. Slowly, he pulled the eye mask down over his eyes, shutting out the light—and perhaps the world itself.
He leaned back against the bench. After a long time, he let out a whisper so faint it seemed to drain him of all strength:
"I see… just stance and outcome…"
"Then… what about your stance?"
Perhaps… there is no benefit.That was Gern's answer—spoken only in his heart.
Because the reason Gern had not intervened in Ohara back then was precisely this:to him, it held no meaning—no "benefit."
That was why he had had Steel Bone Kong initiate a transaction early on, transferring him to the New World.And by the time he returned again, a full year and a half had passed…
Yet judging from what happened shortly after his departure—the attack on Steel Bone Kong—that decision of his had been… a winning bet.
Because in the game of political power, even the slightest hesitation meant one wrong step—and then every step after would be wrong as well.