In the days that followed, the "praise-to-kill" strategy did not falter in the slightest because of Gern's silence.
If anything, it intensified.
Like an invisible net, meticulously woven thread by thread, it began tightening layer by layer around him.
Through its control over the World Economic Journal, the World Government continued publishing lengthy, glowing tributes to Gern's "divine valor" and "towering achievements" at the Paramount War.
He was painted as an almost invincible war god — a living legend who had brought an era to its end.
Yet woven into every passionate hymn of admiration was a carefully repeated premise:
"Under the wise leadership and overall command of Fleet Admiral Sengoku…"
"Thanks to the Marine Headquarters' flawless combat system and Fleet Admiral Sengoku's masterful strategic planning…"
"Admiral Gern's victory was inevitable — a crystallization of collective wisdom, and powerful proof of Fleet Admiral Sengoku's exceptional leadership!"
The phrasing seemed subtle.
Almost incidental.
But the intent was razor-sharp.
It was meant to bind Gern's personal glory to Sengoku and to the existing Marine command structure — to dilute the independent prestige of his wartime actions.
To frame him as an outstanding executor within the system, rather than a leader capable of overturning it.
At the same time, the machinery of public opinion roared fully to life.
A darker current — more concealed, more insidious — began to stir quietly within the Marines, especially among mid- and lower-ranking officers.
Carefully packaged "voices of concern" started circulating within certain circles:
"Admiral Gern's power is indeed the pillar of the Marines… but such overwhelming strength can be a double-edged sword…"
"Marineford is still in ruins. During such a critical reconstruction period, we need someone like Fleet Admiral Sengoku — a respected elder with experience and prestige — to steady the helm and balance all sides."
"Admiral Gern is undoubtedly a hero. But commanding the entire Marine force requires more than just strength. Politics, logistics, equilibrium… Perhaps he still lacks the seasoning necessary to immediately assume total command."
On the surface, these arguments appeared rational, cautious, even responsible.
In truth, they planted a seed.
A seed of doubt within the rank and file:
Gern is powerful — but perhaps not yet suited to be supreme commander.
And the discourse did not slow.
It couldn't.
Because both the Aokiji faction and the Akainu faction found ways to exploit it.
For a time, both camps tacitly supported this narrative.
Yet among the surging undercurrent of "concern," the most vocal and energetic supporter was the very man Gern had publicly condemned as "a disgrace to the Marines" —
Koby.
Whether he sought to salvage his reputation…
Whether he had been genuinely swayed by rhetoric about "the value of life" and "the greater good"…
Or whether he simply wished to stand in opposition to Gern to prove his own "rightness"—
Koby became one of the most active grassroots advocates of the "concern theory" and "Sengoku stability" narrative.
His scarred, aggrieved face — paired with his posture of "daring to speak truth" — resonated with a portion of new recruits who were equally weary and frightened by war.
For a time, the World Government's combination of overt praise and covert suppression, strategic binding and factional division, grassroots infiltration—
It was nothing short of vicious.
…
East Blue — Foosha Village — Sea Cliff.
Placed on "administrative leave," Monkey D. Garp was not at Makino's tavern.
Instead, he sat alone at the familiar sea cliff's edge, gazing at the waves crashing violently against the rocks below.
In his hand was the latest edition of the World Economic Journal.
Its pages overflowed with praise for Gern and coverage of the upcoming investiture ceremony.
Reading the carefully polished language and recognizing the familiar pattern of manipulation, Garp's face showed no trace of pride.
Only a calm born of seeing through the world.
And a faint hint of mockery.
His grip loosened.
The sea breeze snatched the newspaper from his fingers like a withered leaf, sending it tumbling into the roaring waves below.
In an instant, it was swallowed whole.
Garp stared out at the ocean and let out a long sigh, his voice blending with the wind.
"Heh… same old trick."
His thoughts drifted back decades — to the battle that had altered the course of his life: the God Valley incident.
Back then, too, he had been struck by sudden, overwhelming honor. The halo of "Hero of the Marines" had been placed upon him overnight, hoisting him onto a pedestal by the World Government.
"After God Valley…" he murmured quietly, as if speaking to his younger self — or warning someone far away in the New World.
"That's exactly how they lifted this old man up."
"At first, I didn't even realize what it meant. I just thought… with that title, maybe I could better protect the Marines. Better deter pirates."
A flicker of complexity crossed his eyes — self-mockery at his youthful naivety, and helpless resignation at what followed.
Only later did he understand…
He had been bound by that very title.
No matter how much he despised those bastards in the World Government, he could not openly oppose them.
Because the "hero" acknowledged by the World Government — known across the entire world — was a symbol of Justice.
Every form of resistance ultimately shrank into something pitifully small.
Refusing promotions.
Minor acts of self-comfort disguised as rebellion.
Garp turned his gaze toward the New World, as if he could see Gern standing there, caught in the same web.
"Gern…"
His voice was low, but heavy.
"You brat… don't let them fool you."
It was a warning from a man who had been shackled by glory for a lifetime.
He knew better than anyone what delicate chains lay hidden beneath a crown of honor.
…
New World — G-10 Base.
As the date of the investiture ceremony announced by the World Government drew nearer, the entire sea turned its attention toward it.
Yet at the center of the storm — G-10 Base — the atmosphere was not as tense or feverish as the outside world imagined.
Gern himself had entered a state of quiet anticipation.
Like an actor about to step onto a grand stage, he waited calmly for the world-watching ceremony to arrive.
Inside his office, Tesoro's face was clouded with worry. He stepped forward, unable to hold back.
"Admiral Gern, this praise-to-kill maneuver from the World Government is coming in hard. Their intentions are clearly rotten!"
He hesitated.
"You… truly aren't worried at all? Mary Geoise is their territory. What if…?"
He feared a banquet turned ambush.
Feared the possibility that the World Government would strike during the ceremony — or use it to lay a heavenly net.
Gern withdrew his gaze from the window and turned to Tesoro.
There was no heaviness in his expression.
Instead, a faint, meaningful smile curved his lips.
"Worry is useless, Tesoro."
"They're not foolish enough to think they can simply rise up and kill me on the spot."
"And I won't be the only one present."
"In other words…" His eyes sharpened. "The arrow is already on the string."
He rose and walked to the towering floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the bustling yet orderly G-10 harbor below.
"And besides…" His lips tilted upward.
"This is rather good."
"Good?" Tesoro blinked, confused.
How could something so obviously a trap — such blatant narrative coercion — be good?
Gern turned slowly, his gaze blazing.
"They want to raise me onto a pedestal. To bind me with honor. To place me under the scrutiny of the entire world — where every move I make must pass beneath the banner of 'righteousness.'"
"They want this globally broadcast ceremony to declare to the world that 'Heaven-Shaker' Gern remains a compliant admiral beneath the World Government. That my achievements exist only because of their recognition and bestowal."
He let out a low, derisive laugh.
"But they've forgotten something."
"When the spotlight shines on me…"
"It doesn't necessarily mean they control the microphone."
"They intend to use this ceremony to shackle me."
"And I…"
His voice dropped — steady, deliberate.
"I will use the very stage they built with their own hands — the one the entire world will be watching…"
"To say what I want to say."
Tesoro stared at him.
"Admiral Gern…"
Gern's smile sharpened.
"Anyone can wield a soft blade."
"What matters—"
"—is whose blade cuts deeper."