Over the following months, Gern Reginald Sigmar moved between New World G-10 and G-2—the designated construction site of the new Headquarters—like a high-speed spinning top.
He handled the reception and stabilization of newly acquired territories, oversaw the planning of the new Marine HQ, and restructured strategic deployments across the Grand Line. The workload was colossal and relentless.
He barely touched the ground.
Yet at the same time, within the Marines themselves, a war without smoke was escalating by the day.
Though Sakazuki and Kuzan had each, in their own way, firmly rejected the World Government's provocatively divisive "proposal," the Government had clearly not given up.
If the leaders wouldn't bite, then push the subordinates forward.
Thus, the World Government continued to secretly funnel resources and shape public sentiment in favor of Sakazuki's faction—attempting to preserve internal opposition and prevent Gern from becoming the uncontested center of Marine authority.
And now, with Sengoku—who had once balanced the two camps—effectively abandoning active mediation, even subtly encouraging the friction…
(He enjoyed the peace and quietly treated the situation as a test of Gern's ability to control the institution.)
…the tension between Sakazuki's hardline faction and Kuzan's conservative faction became like a wild horse breaking free of its reins—losing its final restraints and rapidly intensifying into near-open hostility.
Especially after Headquarters officially confirmed its relocation to the New World, the old power structures and territorial divisions were completely upended.
Who would control the "cake" of the New World?
Who would dominate strategic interests in the first half of the Grand Line?
Which faction would occupy the key branch positions in the new Headquarters?
Every single question tugged at raw nerves.
In just four short months, more than thirty "coordination meetings" had been held—each presided over by Vice Admirals and attended by the core members of both factions.
And the atmosphere deteriorated visibly with each session.
At first, both sides could still sit at the negotiation table, attempting strained "peace talks."
Soon, that devolved into furious table-slamming arguments—accusations of flawed ideology, operational incompetence, even "harboring evil."
By now, the meetings had become virtually unworkable.
The conference rooms felt like powder kegs. Both sides stood bristling, hands practically hovering over metaphorical sword hilts.
If fists could solve it, words were a waste of breath.
…
G-10 Base — Gern's Office.
Gern signed off on another stack of documents, set down his pen, and flexed his slightly sore wrist.
He lifted his eyes toward Tesoro, who sat at the side of his desk, equally buried under mountains of administrative work, his golden pen gliding swiftly across page after page.
"Tesoro," Gern asked casually, "are Sakazuki's and Kuzan's people still causing trouble lately?"
"Rest assured, Admiral Gern," Tesoro replied without looking up, his tone calm and even. "I've already had Fleet Admiral Sengoku sign an order temporarily suspending both factions' authorization to hold formal meetings."
"Oh?" Gern arched a brow, lifting his teacup and gently blowing at the steam. "So they've finally quieted down?"
He had assumed eliminating formal confrontation venues would at least cool things on the surface.
But before he could even swallow the tea, Tesoro answered immediately—
"No."
"—Cough."
Gern nearly choked.
He set the cup down and looked at Tesoro.
Only then did Tesoro pause, lifting his head and clicking his tongue with a knowing expression.
"I've simply… collected all the documents they submitted," he said with faint resignation, "every report accusing the other side, every resource dispute, every personnel appointment demand…"
He paused.
"And suppressed them. All of them."
"Suppressed?" Gern's brow furrowed. "How many?"
Tesoro didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he raised his golden pen and silently pointed toward an inconspicuous corner of the office.
Gern followed his gesture.
There, in the corner, stood two towering stacks of documents—twin pillars reaching nearly to the ceiling. Loose papers had already slipped and scattered around their bases.
The sheer scale of those "twin towers" spoke volumes about the ferocity and persistence of the paper war between the factions over the past months—internal memos, blackmail material, denunciations.
Gern stared at the two document mountains in silence.
After a moment, he lifted his now-lukewarm tea and drank it down completely.
Setting the cup aside, his expression remained unreadable.
"...Looks like it's time to give them something real to do."
The internal attrition had gone on long enough.
All that surplus energy should have been unleashed on pirates—not each other.
He was already considering that, once he found a slight gap in his schedule, he would sit down with Sakazuki for a "conversation." Paint him a grand, tempting strategic vision—
No.
To have a deep and serious discussion about stationing Sakazuki at the former Marineford site, entrusting him with deterring pirates across the first half of the Grand Line and maximizing the efficiency of his "Absolute Justice."
Just as that thought was forming—
"Emergency order from Fleet Admiral Sengoku! Admiral Gern! Admiral Gern—this is bad!!"
Bang!
The office doors were flung open.
A messenger burst inside, face pale, breathing raggedly, too panicked to observe proper decorum.
"R-Report!!"
Gern and Tesoro looked up simultaneously.
"Admiral Gern—" The soldier swallowed hard. "Admiral Sakazuki and Admiral Kuzan… they've clashed on Punk Hazard!"
"Punk Hazard?" Tesoro blinked. "That abandoned island ruined by Vegapunk's past experiments? Why would they go there?"
Tesoro was still processing.
But Gern had already stepped forward.
"Details."
"They… they're fighting! It's— it's a death match!!"
Death match.
The two words struck like a bucket of ice water dumped over the room.
This was no longer table-slamming hostility.
No longer paperwork warfare.
This was the Marines' two highest combat authorities discarding camaraderie and military discipline—fighting with the intent to kill.
"...It's changed."
The file in Gern's hand slipped soundlessly to the floor.
In the original timeline, their duel for Fleet Admiral had ended when one side could no longer fight.
Now—
It had escalated into a death battle.
He had calculated countless variables.
But he had not anticipated their ideological fracture intensifying to this extent.
"Admiral Gern," Tesoro said gravely, "Kizaru isn't in the New World. Enel and Kuma are on missions."
"It's fine," Gern replied calmly. "Inform Sengoku. Tell him I'm aware."
…
Marine Calendar Year 1521 — June.
Marine Admiral "Akainu" Sakazuki and Admiral "Aokiji" Kuzan—
Their ideological schism, rooted in irreconcilable visions of justice and inflamed by factional rivalry during the New World power reshuffle, finally exploded beyond repair.
The two highest combat powers of the Marines chose the abandoned island of Punk Hazard—far from Headquarters' watchful eyes—as the stage for their reckoning.
A brutal death match began.
Its intensity defied imagination.
The extreme heat of magma and the absolute zero of freezing ice collided violently across the island.
Their powers poured out without restraint.
The catastrophic force of their clash permanently altered Punk Hazard's geography and climate—transforming it into a land divided between eternal boiling lava and everlasting frozen tundra.
Though the acting Marine Admiral "White Qilin," Governor-General of the New World, Gern Reginald Sigmar, rushed to the scene at full speed the moment he received word—
Even with his overwhelming strength, he arrived only at the final critical moment.
He forcibly intervened.
And barely managed to stop Sakazuki from delivering the final, fatal blow to the fallen Kuzan.
The sudden death duel ended in devastation.
Kuzan—
At the cost of his left leg, and only because of Gern's intervention—
Barely survived.
And was, utterly and completely—
Defeated.