Chapter 31 – Return to East Blue
Kyūjō placed a hand on Enel's shoulder, giving it a light pat before sitting cross-legged on the white stone floor, doing his best to rein in his impatience.
In a calm, measured tone, he began answering all the questions swirling in Enel's mind—one by one.
He spoke of the Blue Sea far below, the structure of the World Government, the Marines, and even the concept of Devil Fruits—things entirely foreign to the people of Skypiea.
— — —
Their conversation stretched on for over an hour.
When Kyūjō finally rose to his feet, his expression turned serious.
"Enel, I didn't come to this island to change the world or overthrow anyone. I came here looking for one thing. Once I find it, I'm heading back down to the Blue Sea."
He paused, his voice softening.
"If you want to come with me, wait here. I promise—starting today, you'll never go hungry again. I'll be back before sunset."
Enel blinked, stunned for a moment. Then he nodded firmly.
"I'll come! Kyūjō-nii, what are you looking for? I can help!"
Kyūjō chuckled and shook his head.
"No need. I can handle it alone. Just wait here—I won't be long."
The moment his words ended, Kyūjō's figure vanished from Enel's sight, dissolving into the air itself.
— — —
High above Skypiea, Kyūjō activated his Kenbunshoku Haki.
But this time, instead of casting it as far as it could reach, he tightened it—shrinking the range to just a thousand meters. The aim wasn't wide-area detection, but razor-sharp detail within a confined space.
It was like switching a radar from long-range sweep to microscopic inspection.
He knew one thing for certain: before it's eaten, a Devil Fruit can't be distinguished from an ordinary fruit by its size, color, or shape. Some look like melons, others like bananas or grapes. But there is one unmistakable trait—those strange vine-like spirals winding from the skin all the way into the flesh.
Unfortunately, there were no records, no illustrations, of what the Goro Goro no Mi—the Lightning Fruit Enel would one day eat—actually looked like.
That left only one method to find it.
Check. Every. Single. Fruit. On Skypiea.
— — —
Time slipped by.
Kyūjō moved through half the floating island, his Haki tracing the shape, texture, and faint aura of each fruit he passed.
Nothing unusual—until he reached the rear of an old shrine belonging to the Skypiean race.
The place was either heavily guarded or shunned as taboo territory.
There, upon a moss-covered altar, lay a pile of shriveled fruit. Most were dull, their skins wrinkled and lifeless, long abandoned.
But among them… was one that stood out.
A green melon—its skin vivid, fresh, almost pulsing with life.
And across its surface, unmistakable vine-like spirals.
Without hesitation, Kyūjō reached out and lifted the fruit. The weight felt right. The scent was sharp. And its aura… unique.
This had to be it—the Goro Goro no Mi.
The fruit that would grant Enel the power of lightning… lying untouched on a forgotten altar.
The reason was clear now—only Enel, driven by desperate hunger, would have dared to trespass here and ignore the taboo.
Kyūjō drew a small wooden box from his pack, placing the fruit inside with care.
But he didn't head back right away. Activating Infinity, he swept the entire island again—checking every untouched corner, making sure nothing else slipped past him.
Only after confirming the search was complete did he leap skyward with Geppō, heading back toward the spot where Enel waited.
— — —
Nine months later.
Year 1506 of the Sea Calendar.
G2 Marine Headquarters—Office of Vice Admiral Seiryu, Tachibana Kyūjō.
Kyūjō slouched in his chair that afternoon, eyelids drooping, head bobbing as if sleep could claim him at any moment.
It wasn't laziness—it was the absence of urgent matters.
Since returning from Skypiea, Kyūjō had launched a massive crackdown across G2 territory—an operation known as the Maritime Crime Eradication Campaign.
For nine straight months, with the entire G2 branch working at full strength under his direct command, the results were staggering: not a single pirate crew remained in G2 waters.
Word spread fast. Pirates from the other Blues kept their distance—save for the occasional "Super Rookie" foolish enough to test their luck.
Kyūjō had no mercy for them. He taught them firsthand the true weight of Marine justice.
In just half a year, he crushed nearly twenty high-class pirate crews—each with a bounty over one hundred million Berry.
With media push from Morgans, the "News King," and political pressure from Marine HQ, the name Seiryu Kyūjō began to carry weight across the early Grand Line and all four Blues.
At sea, few dared to cross into G2.
On land, he was just as relentless—eradicating swindlers, smugglers, and petty criminals from island to island.
No escape. No safe ground.
— — —
The shrill ring of a Den Den Mushi cut through the quiet.
Amos, his trusted adjutant, answered first.
"This is G2. Amos speaking."
The snail's features shifted into a stern, commanding face.
"This is Sengoku. Put Tachibana Kyūjō on."
— — —
Kyūjō yawned wide as he picked up the receiver.
"What's up, old man?"
A sharp huff came from the other end.
"Hmph! A few achievements and now you're slacking off? Look at yourself! Is this the dignity of a Vice Admiral?!"
Kyūjō rolled his eyes.
"All I know is that G2's the cleanest branch right now. If I look tired, it's because I've been working myself ragged cleaning up the pirates you all left wandering around."
— — —
For a moment, Sengoku—the ever-strict Fleet Admiral—was silent.
Because Kyūjō was right.
Of the six major Marine branches in the first half of the Grand Line, only G2, under Kyūjō's hand, had made such dramatic progress in such a short time. Even Admiral Akainu had praised him publicly on multiple occasions.
"Vice Admiral Seiryu is the shining example of the Marines' new generation!"
"He is our future!"
"If you want to know how to deal with pirates, watch me and Seiryu!"
Akainu's words weren't just empty flattery—they reflected Kyūjō's ruthless, results-driven style.
Though, at their core, the two men had different principles.
Kyūjō judged pirates by the blood they'd spilled and the lives they'd destroyed. For those with crimes too deep… no mercy.
So far, he had yet to meet a pirate worth sparing.
Akainu's stance was harsher still—if you wore the name "pirate," your death was absolute. No exceptions.
In a world where laws were often hollow promises, such measures were the most effective deterrent.
— — —
Kyūjō, noticing Sengoku's pause, remembered something.
He still had two Devil Fruits.
One of them—Uma Uma no Mi, Model: Unicorn, a Mythical Zoan of legend—was meant for Kuina, the daughter of his master, Shimotsuki Kōshirō.
In his heart, he held a quiet wish—to prevent her foolish death from a fall down a staircase.
With a Mythical Zoan, even the so-called Divine Stairway wouldn't be able to claim her.
Suppressing a smirk, Kyūjō spoke into the receiver.
"Old man, I'm applying for leave."
Sengoku frowned. He knew Kyūjō had earned it—but in this era of pirates, every top officer was critical. And Kyūjō, nearly Admiral-level already, was invaluable at G2.
"What for?" Sengoku asked, suspicion in his voice.
"I'm going to East Blue. Call it… a trip home."
Sengoku sighed heavily.
"You have no idea—Whitebeard's been stirring trouble thanks to that idiot son of his. Garp and Aokiji are handling it. Akainu's cleaning up the New World. Kizaru's stuck in Mariejois with the Celestial Dragons. I don't have—"
"If I'm not mistaken," Kyūjō cut in smoothly, "there's a certain Vice Admiral who takes trips to East Blue several times a year. Says he's visiting his grandson."
"I've been working nonstop for nearly a year. You mean I can't take one break? He's a Vice Admiral, I'm a Vice Admiral too, aren't I?"
His tone was soft, but the quiet resolve behind it left Sengoku no room to argue.
At last, the Fleet Admiral relented—on one condition.
Kyūjō would also conduct internal inspections of several Marine bases in East Blue as part of his trip.
— — —
Three days later.
The massive warship Blue Dragon, symbol of G2's might, cut through the Calm Belt.
Kyūjō stood aboard with Hina, Enel, and hundreds of G2 elite Marines.
Marine vessels had the privilege of moving without wind—thanks to internal propulsion systems—and could traverse even the Calm Belt, where normal ships would be helpless.
Their hulls, lined with Seastone powder, made them invisible to Sea Kings.
Thanks to the genius of Dr. Vegapunk, Marine warships could enter or exit the Grand Line from any direction—no need to climb Reverse Mountain like pirates.
— — —
That evening in Loguetown, East Blue.
Vice Admiral Dalmatian, the top officer in the region, stood at the harbor alongside Smoker and hundreds of Marines in full readiness.
The port was bustling.
"Move all ships to the side!"
"Clear the central lane!"
"Hurry! Don't block the main route!"
Shouts rang out as the crowd grew restless. Merchants and townsfolk whispered among themselves, trying to guess which important figure was arriving.
— — —
The sun dipped low, touching the horizon.
From the golden-orange mist, a colossal warship emerged—its prow carved into the head of a dragon.
The Blue Dragon had arrived.
Smoker's gaze fixed on the deck, unable to hide a flicker of awe.
When would he have a warship and crew like that?
When he was eighteen, he'd been just another foot soldier…
Exhaling slowly, he lit two cigars, the smoke curling lazily upward.
— — —
After a full day of resupplying in Loguetown, Kyūjō wasted no time.
He returned to the ship and began his East Blue inspection.
He didn't meet with Smoker personally, even though they'd once trained in the same batch.
They were on good terms—but not close.
The gap in strength between them was simply too great, making casual camaraderie awkward.
And Kyūjō was never the type to force nostalgia.
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