Gern Reginald Sigmar arrived alongside Admiral Borsalino, the World's Greatest Swordsman Dracule Mihawk, and the former legendary criminal Douglas Bullet.
That lineup alone was the embodiment of power, authority, and overwhelming deterrence.
Faced with such a formation, Issho—unable to see—could not witness the visual impact of the scene.
But his Observation Haki perceived the "texture" of those four presences with startling clarity. His grip on his cane sword tightened, his expression growing grave.
Aramaki, however, who could see everything clearly, reacted very differently.
After the initial shock faded from his face, panic did not follow.
Instead, the corner of his lips slowly curled upward into a faint, excited smile.
"Fu…" He exhaled a ring of smoke, eyes blazing as they locked onto Gern, who stood guarded at the center by three top-tier powerhouses.
"Heh… that pressure. Not bad at all."
"Power… really is the finest nourishment."
Meanwhile, Gern's gaze did not linger on Aramaki.
He did not even spare a second look at Issho, who stood braced and ready.
His eyes passed over both men entirely and fell instead upon the purple-haired elder wearing sunglasses not far away.
A warm smile touched his face.
"Teacher Zephyr."
His voice was calm.
"You came? Looks like Sengoku still knows how to get things done. Hah."
Zephyr's lips curved into a smile as he nodded.
"Seems that way."
"Don't mention it, Teacher. First time I've ever been threatened with a strike," Gern muttered, pressing his lips together.
"If one truly believed in unity of word and deed, shouldn't he just handle his own work personally?"
"That won't do."
Zephyr: "…"
After teasing Zephyr, Gern shifted his gaze to the short-haired blue-haired woman standing beside him.
He winked at Ain, his tone turning easy and familiar.
"Ain, Lipo's been talking about you nonstop lately."
"Says it's been ages since you two went on a mission together. She's practically suffocating from boredom."
He smiled, faintly coaxing.
"You know how much she loves to run around. If you've got time, take her out to stretch her legs. She'd be thrilled."
For a moment, it seemed less like Gern had come to assess new recruits—
And more like he'd stopped by to visit his teacher and friends.
Yet that casual ease only highlighted his supreme confidence and control.
He didn't need to posture.
His presence alone was the highest form of intimidation.
At the mention of Lipo, Ain's expression brightened. She nodded firmly.
"Yes! Admiral Gern, I'll contact her soon!"
After the brief pleasantries, Gern finally remembered the purpose of his visit and turned his attention to the two men at the center of the training ground.
His gaze first brushed over Issho, who stood solemnly gripping his cane sword. It paused for a brief instant.
Then it settled, at last, on Aramaki—the arrogant smile still lingering at his lips, his eyes filled with predatory aggression.
Gern's face revealed little emotion as he spoke, his calm voice echoing across the silent field.
"So…"
"You two want to become Marine Admirals?"
Issho responded first.
He inclined his body slightly, neither servile nor defiant, his tone respectful.
"I do indeed hold such an intention. I humbly ask for your guidance, Lord Gern."
"Oh?"
Gern narrowed his eyes slightly. Issho's steadiness and directness piqued his interest.
After all, Fujitora's justice was something Gern intended to retain within Marine Headquarters.
As for Aramaki—there was an eighty percent chance he was favored by the World Government.
Otherwise, in the current timeline, with only a single Admiral vacancy, how could two candidates possibly be selected?
It was obvious.
The higher-ups were stuffing pieces onto the board.
Meanwhile, Aramaki, who had been about to speak, swallowed his words when Issho beat him to it.
He crossed his arms, standing leisurely to the side, that spectator's grin still on his face.
Simple reason—
He, too, wanted to see with his own eyes how much weight this so-called "Heaven-Shaker" truly carried.
After all, hearing was empty.
Seeing was believing.
"Lord Gern. Please." Issho spoke again.
He raised his cane sword horizontally before him with both hands. Those unfocused white eyes opened once more, "gazing" at the blade.
As his low voice resonated, the cane sword slid free by an inch.
The cold steel reflected the sunlight in a blinding flare.
A condensed, heavy sword intent began to spread outward from him.
Issho was not merely drawing his blade—
He was extending a silent invitation.
Please assess my capacity. My strength.
Yet, to both Issho's and Aramaki's surprise—
Gern did not step forward.
Instead, the man standing beside him, who had maintained a cold, reserved expression all along, took a deliberate step forward.
Mihawk's golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, instantly locked onto the inch of steel bared from Issho's cane sword.
"One of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades," Mihawk's deep, magnetic voice lowered slightly.
"Gambler's Fireline."
He paused, his gaze shifting from the blade to Issho's composed face.
"You truly are a great swordsman."
At the sound of this unfamiliar yet proud voice, a faint crease appeared between Issho's brows.
Though he could sense three powerful Haki presences beside Gern—
His blindness prevented him from matching those auras to specific figures.
Nor could he recognize who spoke.
Maintaining his drawn stance, Issho asked cautiously and politely:
"And you are…?"
Mihawk did not answer immediately.
He slowly lowered his crossed arms.
His right hand reached behind him and gripped the hilt of the black blade upon his back.
"Clang!"
A clear, resonant note rang out—the cry of a dragon from the abyss.
He did not fully draw the world's strongest black blade.
Only a foot of steel emerged, angled at his side.
The pitch-black blade absorbed all surrounding light.
Only the irregular, crimson-hued hamon shimmered faintly, exuding a chilling brilliance.
Then Mihawk raised his golden eyes and fixed them upon Issho, who stood blind yet imposing.
"Dracule Mihawk."
"!!!"
At that name, Issho's mountain-steady figure visibly trembled.
The World's Greatest Swordsman.
For any swordsman who had ascended the peaks of the blade, that title bore immeasurable weight.
It was the ultimate summit every swordsman longed to challenge—
The final benchmark by which to prove their path.
The gravity on Issho's face intensified instantly.
And beneath it—
A trace of something indescribable.
Honor.
He slowly sheathed Gambler's Fireline completely.
Then, facing Mihawk's direction, he performed a solemn swordsman's salute.
"I never imagined… that my first meeting here would be with the World's Greatest Swordsman."
"This… is my honor."