Just when everyone believed that by tearing off the medal Gern Reginald Sigmar was about to completely rip apart all pretense—issue an open declaration of war—and when more than a few in the crowd had already bent their knees slightly, ready to flee at the first sign of catastrophe—
Gern's expression changed.
In an instant, the cold disdain vanished, replaced by overwhelming excitement—almost a look of flattered astonishment.
The abrupt shift left the entire audience stunned.
Including Shepherd Ju Peter, who stood only steps away.
Holding up the medal he had just torn free, Gern faced the camera. His voice brimmed with sincerity, thick with emotion.
"My deepest thanks to the World Government! And to the esteemed Five Elders for their recognition!"
Before anyone could process the reversal, his tone suddenly surged, charged with fiery conviction.
"But this supreme honor does not belong to me alone!"
"Because—"
His gaze swept across the Marine officers below the stage. Across the transponder-snail lenses. Across the countless Marine soldiers watching from every corner of the seas.
"It belongs to every Marine who fought bravely at Marineford! To every comrade who bled and fell!"
"It belongs to the 'Justice' we defended together!"
Then—
Before the world's stunned eyes—
Gern's hand clenched tight around the medal.
Crunch.
A dull, compressed sound echoed as the specially forged metal—along with its embedded jewels—collapsed beneath the horrifying vibration force in his palm. In a single squeeze, it was crushed into fine metallic and crystalline powder.
He opened his hand.
And let the dust—once the emblem of the so-called "Supreme Guardian of the World Government"—drift away in the cool winds of Mary Geoise.
"Therefore, this glory…"
"I, Gern, will never claim it for myself alone!"
"It belongs—to the entire Navy!"
As the final word fell, his right hand—still dusted with the remains of the medal—
Smack!
He brought it down hard onto Ju Peter's shoulder.
The force was not light. It was less a pat than a proclamation.
Fine powder smeared across Ju Peter's immaculate suit.
At such close range, Gern's "emotional" smile was unmistakable in Ju Peter's eyes.
And within that smile—
There was no gratitude.
No loyalty.
Only mockery.
Absolute confidence.
And the unmistakable amusement of a man who held every piece on the board in his grasp.
Ju Peter's pupils contracted.
In that instant, he understood.
This man was not merely provoking open war.
He was overturning heaven itself.
The World Government had tried to bind him with honor. To isolate him with public opinion. To turn glory into a leash.
Very well.
He would not refuse it.
He would shatter it.
Then redistribute it to the entire Navy before the world.
To attack him now would be to attack the sacrifice of every Marine. To question him would be to question Justice itself.
He had taken the shackles meant for him—and turned them into a stone hurled back at their own faces.
Those whispers within the Navy—those rumors claiming he was "unfit to command"—were crushed like that medal in his hand.
He wasn't rejecting honor.
He was seizing the authority to define it.
He wasn't wearing glory.
He was turning it into a weapon.
Using "honor" as arms.
Transforming hollow virtue into tangible power.
He was converting the World Government's performative praise into real momentum—into morale for the Marines, into leverage in his struggle for leadership over the seas.
Compared to flipping the table outright, this move was infinitely more refined.
And infinitely more ruthless.
In this moment, Gern stood upon the moral high ground.
Using the very stage the World Government had built to execute a flawless counterstrike.
Ju Peter felt a chill crawl from his feet to his skull.
They had still underestimated him.
"Not good… if this continues—"
Ju Peter turned sharply.
As expected.
Behind him, the Warrior God of Justice, Topman Warcury, had already risen to salvage the situation.
"Admiral Gern speaks with admirable conviction!"
Warcury began by aligning himself with Gern's rhetoric, addressing the cameras and audience with a tone of solemn understanding.
"The victory at Marineford belongs to all Marines!"
"The World Government fully recognizes and deeply appreciates their sacrifice!"
Then his tone shifted—gentler, persuasive.
"However, precisely because of that, the Navy requires stability."
"Whitebeard has fallen, but the balance of the New World has shifted dramatically. The remaining Four Emperors watch closely. Retaliation is not merely possible—it is likely."
"In such turbulent times, the Navy requires an absolute pillar of strength in the New World to deter threats and uphold Justice!"
His gaze turned toward Gern, feigning sincerity.
"And that man can be none other than you—'Skyquake' Gern Reginald Sigmar!"
"Only you possess the strength to command the New World."
"And so—"
Here, Warcury dropped the pretense.
"After deliberation, the World Government has resolved that Admiral Gern shall continue as Strategic Commander of the New World, bearing responsibility for guarding its gates and countering the Four Emperors."
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku, whose service and experience are invaluable, shall remain in his current post."
"The Navy has only just emerged from great war. Its forces are not yet fully restored. To change command in such times would be reckless and destabilizing."
And finally—
The dagger was revealed.
"In addition, to better coordinate New World defense and grant Commander Gern authority befitting his responsibilities…"
"The World Government hereby establishes a new position beneath the Fleet Admiral—'Grand Commodore of the Navy'—also referred to as 'Governor-General of the New World.'"
"This position shall be held by Gern Reginald Sigmar."
He continued smoothly.
"This office shall nominally oversee all Navy bases within the New World."
"It shall possess the authority to launch 'special military operations' against the Four Emperors—without limitation of scale—and may act decisively without prior approval in urgent circumstances."
The words glittered.
But beneath the gilded phrasing lay chains.
Though Warcury did not say it aloud, those who understood power could hear the unspoken constraints clearly.
Any large-scale military operation beyond the New World would require joint budgetary approval from Marine Headquarters and the World Government.
Personnel transfers of Vice Admirals and above at Marineford would remain under Fleet Admiral Sengoku's control.
In other words—
This "Grand Commodore" title meant nothing.
From the moment Kong stepped down years ago and Gern ventured into the New World to build G-10, he had already carved out true autonomy through blood and reality.
He fought with the G-10 system he created.
He waged war with his own "Calamity" direct subordinates.
When had he ever truly relied on Headquarters?
This new office was merely decorative—a prettier name meant to confine and dilute the authority he already possessed.
The World Government's intent was unmistakable.
If honor could not bind him—
Then a golden cage would.
Dress it in prestige.
Restrict him to the New World.
Control him through budget approvals.
Control him through personnel authority.
Attempt to shove the beast back into a cage—
And lock the door behind him.