"Ha… ha…"
After finishing her outburst, York bent forward, gasping for breath. Her heavy DOM boots scraped unconsciously against the metal floor as her burning gaze locked onto Gern.
Gern, however, simply looked back at her in silence. The faint smile on his face never changed.
He neither refuted her nor agreed with her. Like a detached observer, he merely watched the scene before him—a twisted fruit that had finally grown from seeds Vegapunk himself had once planted.
A long moment passed before Gern finally spoke again, his voice calm and even.
"Being a Celestial Dragon… isn't exactly a good thing."
After saying that, he rose to his feet. Lowering his gaze, he looked down at York, who was still slumped on the ground, her emotions not yet settled.
Then he did something entirely unexpected.
He reached out and gently rested his hand on top of York's head—right over the goggles she wore. The gesture was surprisingly soft.
"Because," Gern said flatly, his tone completely devoid of fluctuation, "they're worthless."
"W-what… what kind of nonsense is that?"
York was completely stunned by the sudden contact and the absurd statement. She tilted her head up toward him, the tear tracks on her face still fresh, her expression full of confusion.
"Just the surface-level explanation," Gern replied.
He withdrew his hand and slipped both hands back into his pockets. His tone was casual, but there was a chilling arrogance hidden within it.
"Because they really are worthless. In fact, if I decided right now to go to the Holy Land and casually cut off a few heads wearing those ridiculous bubble helmets…"
He paused slightly, looking down into York's eyes.
Then he said, word by word,
"They wouldn't even dare to make a sound."
"Do you believe that?"
York instinctively frowned.
Clearly, she didn't.
Celestial Dragons? The World Nobles? Descendants of the gods?
How could they possibly be as fragile and pathetic as he described?
Within the knowledge she had been given—limited and carefully curated—the Celestial Dragons were the absolute pinnacle of power in this world.
Seeing the look on her face, Gern understood immediately.
Vegapunk had clearly never bothered to fill these task-oriented satellites with much information about the outside world—especially not about the so-called "glorious achievements" of "Skyquake" Gern.
And York, who had spent almost all her time on Egghead Island, naturally had no opportunity to truly learn what kind of existence the Marine Supreme Commander actually was.
At that thought, Gern let out a small chuckle.
There was understanding in it—and a faint trace of mockery.
"Forget it."
He straightened his posture, seemingly losing interest in explaining any further.
"After I leave, if you're curious, you can always look it up yourself."
But York had no interest in that right now.
Her fate mattered far more.
Tilting her head upward, her voice trembling with the remnants of sobbing, she asked the question she feared most.
"So… are you going to kill me?"
Tears began to gather in her eyes again.
"Please don't kill me… I know I was wrong, I really—"
"I won't kill you."
Gern cut her off.
"Ah?"
York's tears stopped instantly.
Her entire body froze in place, the expression on her face shifting in an instant—from terror to complete bewilderment.
"Th-then… you…?"
"I've decided not to interfere with Vegapunk's research or his choices," Gern said calmly.
"Because if the future presents the opportunity… you might become a new 'Vegapunk.'"
He paused briefly.
"A Vegapunk who belongs to the Marines."
Gern looked directly into York's eyes.
Then, in a tone filled with meaning, he added one final remark.
"As for whether you'll betray the World Government again in the future…"
He chuckled softly, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
"Heh. I believe you will."
"Because someone like you… is the kind of person who will carry 'desire' to its absolute end."
"Isn't that right, York?"
With that, Gern did not linger any longer.
He turned around and began walking forward, stepping over the scattered wreckage across the floor before disappearing into the shadowed corridor.
Leaving York alone—collapsed on the cold metal floor.
...
On the warship departing Egghead Island, the sea breeze fluttered the pristine white coat of Justice.
Gern stood at the bow of the ship.
In his open palm rested a tiny Den Den Mushi, its face perfectly mimicking Tesoro's distinctive expression.
"In short," Gern said, his voice transmitted clearly through the snail,"have Bartholomew Kuma and Lilith depart immediately for Egghead Island to oversee the relocation of the Mother Flame. Barrett will be responsible for escorting them throughout the entire process."
"If any obstacles arise during the transfer—regardless of where they come from—you are authorized to eliminate them directly."
"The strategic priority of the Mother Flame is absolute. Under no circumstances can we allow the World Government to gain full control of it."
"At present, the only things they possess are partial data and samples provided by York. They still don't fully understand its true potential—especially the possibility of activating the Ancient Weapons."
"This is our final window of opportunity."
"The transfer must succeed."
After speaking, Gern paused briefly in thought before giving his final deployment order.
"The relocation destination will not be Marine Headquarters."
"There are too many eyes there. It's not secure enough."
"Transport it directly to G-10 Base. It will be sealed and researched within the core zone that we absolutely control."
"Yes! Marshal Gern!"
Tesoro's response from the other side of the Den Den Mushi was crisp and immediate.
"…Sigh."
Gern rubbed his brow helplessly.
"You should still call me Admiral Gern."
For some reason, he always seemed to instinctively resist the title of "Marshal."
"No!"
Tesoro's reply was unusually firm, almost stubborn.
"You are the Marshal! The true Marshal of the Marines!"
He refused to change his wording.
Gern knew that Tesoro could be incredibly stubborn about certain things. Too lazy to argue further, he simply let it go and changed the topic.
"So. Anything noteworthy happening out there lately?"
"Yes," Tesoro replied seriously.
"Two things."
"First—on Punk Hazard, a secret World Government laboratory experienced a massive explosion."
"Preliminary intelligence indicates it was caused by one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, Trafalgar Law, along with the Straw Hat Pirates."
"Oh?"
Gern's eyes shifted slightly.
Tesoro continued.
"Immediately afterward, the second development occurred. Another Warlord—Donquixote Doflamingo—made a global announcement through the World Economic News Paper."
"He declared that he will voluntarily relinquish his title and privileges as one of the Seven Warlords."
"Doflamingo…"
Gern quietly repeated the name.
A meaningful smile appeared on his face.
"Giving up the Warlord position? Heh… trying to play a counter-scheme, is he?"
"Dressrosa."
After thinking for a moment, Gern spoke again.
"Tesoro."
His tone became noticeably lighter—almost carrying the excitement of someone about to go out and have a bit of fun.
"Your Marshal Gern… is going out to play."
"Huh?" Tesoro froze for a moment.
"Notify Enel," Gern instructed, the smile on his face widening.
"That guy… isn't he conveniently on vacation right now?"
"Since Barrett isn't around anyway, there's no need for him to keep idling away on that artificial sky island."
Gern's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Tell him to come find me."