Late at night, inside the warship.
Dim oil lamps cast flickering shadows across the metal bulkheads.
Zephyr sat at a desk piled high with thick battle reports and casualty lists. An inkwell rested beside a fountain pen stained dark with ink.
Despite being known as "Black Arm," Zephyr was never a man of brute force alone. There was a trace of the strategist about him—something reminiscent of Sengoku's style.
"Haa…"
He rubbed his temples. Even an iron-fisted Vice Admiral couldn't hide his fatigue after hours of relentless work.
The losses at God Valley had far exceeded expectations.
Few survived.
Fewer still managed to bring back the bodies of their comrades.
The pen scratched softly across the paper. One name after another was crossed out. Merits were assigned. Ranks adjusted.
Until—
Gern Reginald Sigma.
Zephyr's pen stopped.
"…Gern."
He stared at the name, brows knitting slightly.
By all logic, a second-class private from a West Blue branch surviving God Valley was already a miracle—let alone returning with his superior's body.
Under normal circumstances, such performance warranted promotion to corporal, the lowest rung of the NCO ranks.
And yet…
Something felt off.
Too perfect.
At the very last moment before evacuation, Gern appeared—blood-soaked, carrying Derrick's corpse, his words heavy with tragedy.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Perfect enough to feel… rehearsed.
Zephyr set down the pen and tapped the desk lightly with his fingers.
Gern's face surfaced again in his mind—especially that expression of grief.
"…Adjutant," Zephyr said at length.
"Yes, Vice Admiral!" The officer standing by the door stepped forward immediately.
"How much do you know about the West Blue branches?"
The adjutant hesitated, then lowered his voice.
"Rampant corruption. Officers buying positions, soldiers bribing superiors to avoid missions—it's common.
For someone like Gern, with no background, to take four years just to reach second-class private… he's either too honest, or far too clever."
Zephyr's gaze darkened.
Someone too honest wouldn't survive God Valley.
Someone too clever, on the other hand… might know exactly how to leverage tragedy for gain.
"And I suspect that Derrick's death may also have been—"
"Enough."
Zephyr's voice hardened.
"The boy's grief wasn't fake."
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
"I've met all kinds of people in my life—schemers, liars, opportunists.
I'm not a fool. What that boy showed back there… was genuine sorrow. It came from the heart."
"From the heart…"
The adjutant froze, then pressed his lips together and said nothing more.
Zephyr turned back to the name on the page.
After a moment of silence, a low chuckle escaped him.
"Interesting."
The pen came down heavily in the merit column.
Original promotion: Corporal
Revised to: Sergeant (highest NCO rank)
The adjutant's eyes widened.
"Vice Admiral Zephyr, this—"
Zephyr closed the ledger.
"The West Blue needs cleansing," he said calmly.
"And cleansing requires a blade."
"A blade sharp enough… and smart enough."
He rose and walked to the porthole.
Under the moonlight, the sea gleamed coldly—like a silent omen.
"As for who that blade ultimately cuts…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"That depends on his own choice."
"That child has a sense of justice," Zephyr said softly.
"He just hasn't figured out what his justice truly is."
…
Several days later — soldiers' quarters.
Gern lay back in a hammock in the corner, idly turning a Marine insignia between his fingers.
The cabin was filled with snores. No one noticed the faint vibration ripples winding around his fingertips.
"Looks like we'll be reaching the West Blue soon," Gern muttered, glancing at the small round porthole.
"This time… I should at least make NCO."
Suddenly, the cabin door swung open.
A messenger barked loudly,
"Upon arrival at West Blue Branch 133, all personnel assigned there—prepare to disembark!"
After finishing, the messenger cast a meaningful glance toward the hammock in the corner.
"And also—Gern Reginald Sigma!"
"Yes!"
Gern leapt down instantly.
"Promotion order issued. Effective immediately—Gern Reginald Sigma is promoted to Branch Sergeant!"
The cabin exploded into uproar.
"What?!"
"From second-class private straight to sergeant?!"
"That's insane—this breaks all the rules!"
Gern calmly put on his new uniform and accepted the promotion order amid countless stunned gazes.
The ink on the document was barely dry.
At the signature line—
Zephyr.
The strokes were bold and forceful.
Gern looked up at the messenger.
"Please convey my thanks to Vice Admiral Zephyr… for his 'recognition.'"
…
West Blue — Marine Branch 133 Harbor.
After completing the handover and watching the warship depart, the branch commander, Ensign Asahi, turned toward the thirty wounded Marines—including Gern—standing on the dock.
"Damn it!" Asahi cursed loudly.
"When the support order went out, they asked me for two thousand men… and this is all that comes back?!"
Still scowling, his eyes suddenly locked onto Gern.
There was no helping it.
Though only fourteen, Gern already stood nearly 1.87 meters tall. Combined with the long, bandage-wrapped blade on his back, he stood out like a crane among chickens.
"…That guy—huh?!"
Asahi's pupils shrank when he saw Gern's rank.
"You! You jumped from second-class private to branch sergeant?! Gern!!"
Gern hadn't expected the branch commander to even know his name. He scratched his cheek awkwardly.
"Just got lucky, Branch Commander Asahi. I didn't expect you to remember me either…"
"Get lost, all of you."
Asahi waved the other Marines away, then strode up to Gern.
"That Ensign Derrick…" he lowered his voice.
"He died at God Valley. The list should've already reached the branch."
"I know he's dead," Asahi grinned, rubbing his fingers together.
"I mean—you claimed his compensation money, right?"
"I don't know why he put your name down, but…"
Gern had no interest in arguing with corrupt officials.
Still, now that he was a senior NCO capable of independently leading missions, he would need solid "credentials" if he wanted to return to Marine Headquarters.
Good relations would make mobilizing ships much easier.
And frankly—now that he had a Devil Fruit, he didn't care much about this money.
If he needed cash, he could always collect it from the loan sharks who'd lent him money before.
With that in mind, Gern nodded.
"Before Ensign Derrick died, he said the Branch Commander of 133 had always looked after him.
So he insisted that I give his compensation money to you…"
"Oh my, what kind words!"
Asahi laughed, then leaned in and whispered,
"Leave the money in my office. From now on, whenever you go on missions, I'll make sure everything goes smoothly."
"Branch Commander…"
Even Gern was momentarily stunned by how shamelessly cooperative he was.
"What's that look for?!" Asahi barked.
"Aren't we Marines supposed to protect the people?!"
"…Really?"
"Of course not."
Asahi snorted.
"You're a freshly promoted NCO—don't tell me you're still naïve."
"I've seen it all. Ships break down, I file for funds.
And if you die someday, I won't be shy about taking your compensation either. Hahaha!"
Gern smiled faintly.
The game had officially begun.
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