Sengoku's announcement set the upper ranks buzzing again.
Every item he'd dropped today shook the entire Navy. Ain—officially a Vice Admiral, but in truth an Admiral-candidate just beneath the top combat echelon—one of the handful (fewer than ten) who represented the Navy's future—had defected. And not just anyone: Ain, wielder of a top-tier Logia, the Goro Goro no Mi (Rumble-Rumble Fruit), master of thunder, widely acknowledged as only a few years of polish away from becoming a full Admiral.
Yet today, Ain had turned her back on the Marines. The World Government was celebrating her "return" to Creed.
Frustration and bitterness spilled out in low voices:
"It's that damned Creed! If not for him, Ain wouldn't have betrayed us!"
"I heard the rumors about her and Creed. Thought it was a joke—turns out it's real…"
"Losing Creed was bad enough. Now we've lost Ain. Too big a hit!"
"If they were still with us, taking the New World—even the Four Emperors—would be nothing!"
"Enough. Government orders aren't to be defied. From now on, Ain is the enemy."
"Hmph! To throw away an Admiral-candidate for a traitor like Creed—she's not worthy of the uniform."
"Right. What's done is done. A traitor is a target for elimination."
The Vice Admirals aligned with Sakazuki corrected the tone, snapping the mourners back to official posture. When the clamor eased, Sengoku fixed the relocation date for Marine Headquarters and laid out the operation.
To many people's surprise, the first target remained Charlotte Linlin—Big Mom—exactly as previously agreed.
Make no mistake: this would be a full Navy mobilization. Concentrate every advantage. Win in one stroke.
After two hours of heated debate, the meeting broke up. No one dared relax—this could be the largest operation in Marine history. Even iron-willed officers felt the fatigue creeping in, but there was no time to rest: rally subordinates, fall in with the main force, and push into the New World.
As the brass filed out, they found a purple-clad, blind Vice Admiral waiting beyond the doors.
Many recognized him: the former G-5 base commander—Fujitora.
His strength did not lag behind the Admiral-candidates; Aokiji had once said the man stood his equal. Some greeted him. Others slipped past with a sigh: if not for Creed recruiting him years ago, Fujitora would already be either an Admiral—or the leading Admiral-candidate.
In only a few years, Fujitora had felled more infamous pirates than most could count. In merit alone, he was first among the ranks. Yet because of Creed, he'd been barred from high-level meetings for two years—treated like a mere Rear Admiral, even like an outsider.
Rumor had it Aokiji himself had clashed with Sengoku over that.
Fujitora answered every greeting with a gentle smile and perfect manners.
"Old brother, what brings you here? Come have a drink with us," Garp called, walking alongside Zephyr.
"Yeah, join us," Zephyr added. "That meeting just shaved years off my life."
Both old foxes felt a prickle of foreboding. If Fujitora had come here, something unpleasant might be afoot. A drink first would make any talk easier.
Fujitora declined. His senses told him only Sengoku and his adjutant remained inside.
He'd come for Sengoku.
"What's there to talk about with that guy? Come on, brother," Garp grumbled—yet he and Zephyr followed Fujitora in. They, too, had a guess.
Fujitora "looked" toward Sengoku and presented a letter. "Fleet Admiral, I request to return home and farm. Please approve my resignation."
The room froze.
What a blunt reason.
"You're decided?" Sengoku asked. When Fujitora nodded, Sengoku accepted the letter. "Very well. Approved. My adjutant will handle the handover."
"Are you insane, old man?!" Garp almost grabbed Sengoku by the collar.
"This isn't wise," Zephyr said flatly.
Letting a tiger of Admiral caliber walk away on the eve of war? Madness.
"My thanks, Fleet Admiral. Then I'll take my leave," Fujitora said, turning without a trace of reluctance.
"I get it now," Garp sighed, collapsing into a chair. "Your real target isn't just Big Mom. It's Creed."
A vein bulged on Zephyr's brow. "So that's why you let Fujitora resign. No—this smells like 'orders from above,' doesn't it?"
Everyone knew Fujitora's bond with Creed. If the campaign aimed at Creed, the blind man would be trapped between duty and conscience. Yet Fujitora's loyalty to the Marines was plain to any who weren't blind. Sengoku wouldn't do this lightly—unless it came from higher up. Then the knot unraveled.
Sengoku shook his head. "Don't overthink Fujitora. As for the purge—our targets are Creed and Big Mom. But if opportunity arises, priority is Creed."
His gaze slid to Garp.
He'd hidden that last clause for one reason: he needed Garp to join the New World campaign. Losing Fujitora was acceptable. Losing the Marine Hero was not.
"Cruel, huh? All the more reason I'm coming," Garp snorted. "Watching that brat Creed pummel you Marines might be fun."
Zephyr chuckled. Sengoku's face, however, darkened.
(End of Chapter)
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