"He really is quite a combatant," Fleet Admiral Sengoku said in awe, watching from the stands.
Before him stood a man in a Marine coat, his short, curly black hair catching the sunlight. He grinned confidently, revealing rows of bright white teeth as he raised his arms toward the sky. His hands darkened with Armament Haki, muscles swelling and veins bulging like coiled serpents beneath his skin.
"What is that man trying to do?" Sengoku asked in surprise.
Vice Admiral Tsuru folded her arms, her eyes sharp. "That man is Aramaki. His physical strength is beyond impressive."
Before she could finish explaining, Aramaki let out a thunderous roar. Standing directly beneath the meteor that Fujitora had summoned moments earlier, he caught the blazing mass with his bare hands. The impact shook the ground, yet he steadied the meteor and placed it gently to the side as if it weighed nothing.
The entire parade ground fell silent. Then, Sengoku abruptly stood and applauded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Outstanding! Tsuru, you were right. These two are definitely Admiral-level!"
Overcome with satisfaction, Sengoku personally presented the two with Marine medals. "Work hard," he told them with pride. "Your futures are limitless!"
Issho bowed slightly. "This world is shrouded in darkness," he said calmly. "I will be the light that cuts through it."
Aramaki smirked and crossed his arms. "Hah! It's a pity I wasn't at the War of the Best. Don't worry, Fleet Admiral Sengoku. In the next great war, I'll make sure to crush Ashveil myself."
Sengoku's grin widened. "Excellent! That's the spirit of a true Marine!"
By the end of the day, the grand military review had concluded. The new recruits stood in perfect formation, the banners of justice fluttering across Marineford. Sengoku looked over the vast sea of soldiers with deep satisfaction.
"Just wait, Thorne Ashveil," he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. "This time, you'll witness the true strength of the Marines—the real overlords of the sea!"
---
Seven days later, calm had settled across the seas under Whitebeard's flag. The waves lapped peacefully against the ships anchored around the Moby Dick.
Ashveil's days had been comfortable and uneventful. Lately, the only pirates who dared challenge him were small fry—foolish men chasing the 20 billion Berry bounty on his head. None even made it close; Whitebeard's outer divisions dealt with them swiftly, their corpses swallowed by the ocean before they could cause a ripple.
Ashveil had expected someone like Douglas Bullet or Golden Lion Shiki to show up by now. But strangely enough, even those restless powerhouses—and former Admiral Zephyr—had remained quiet.
It was peaceful… perhaps too peaceful.
"Oi, Doflamingo," Ashveil said lazily, reclining in his chair aboard the ship. "Tell Caesar to make me a new game. I've already cleared all the ones he gave me before."
Hearing that command, Doflamingo's eyes lit up with a mixture of fear and excitement. He immediately straightened his coat and bowed. "At once, Mr. Ashveil!"
To be directly addressed by Thorne Ashveil was an honor most could only dream of. Normally, Ashveil found conversation troublesome, so even a single word from him carried immense weight.
As Doflamingo hurried off, he ran into Dracule Mihawk walking down the corridor. A sly grin curled across his lips.
"Fufufufufu... Mihawk," he said with a mocking laugh. "Ashveil just called for me personally. Asked me to tell Caesar to make him a new game. Seems I'm quite favored today, hm?"
Mihawk glanced at him coldly and kept walking, uninterested in the clown's boasting.
"Hey, hey, hey, Mihawk," Doflamingo teased, tilting his shades down. "Better not disturb Mr. Ashveil, or he might get irritated. Fufufu..."
Mihawk's golden eyes flicked toward him, sharp as blades. His hand brushed the hilt of Yoru—the Black Blade Night—just enough for Doflamingo to feel the killing intent.
Sweat rolled down Doflamingo's temple. He coughed awkwardly, his smirk faltering. "Fufufufu... never mind! I have to go. Important business with Caesar! Farewell, Mihawk!"
He vanished down the hall in a hurry, thinking bitterly, That damn swordsman almost sliced me in half for no reason...
When Doflamingo finally reached Caesar's lab in Whitebeard's territory, the scientist was fast asleep, snoring loudly amid piles of scrap metal and unfinished machinery.
Doflamingo's eye twitched. Without hesitation, he kicked Caesar straight off the bed.
"GYAAAH! Who dares—!?" Caesar yelped, clutching his rear end in pain. But when he saw who it was, his expression changed instantly. "Ah! Young Master Doflamingo! What an honor to see you!"
"Cut the crap," Doflamingo said sharply. "Ashveil-san is bored. He wants a new game. Where is it?"
"A new... game?" Caesar rubbed his dark-ringed eyes. "But... the last one was just yesterday! At this rate, I'll run out of ideas!"
"Did I ask for excuses?" Doflamingo growled. "You're not making weapons anymore, so you've got plenty of time. If one game a day isn't enough, make two—or three! If Ashveil's mood drops because of your laziness, you'll regret it!"
Caesar's face paled. He wanted to cry, but no tears would come. Making artificial Devil Fruits had been easier than keeping up with Ashveil's gaming demands. His hair was falling out from stress, his hands trembling from exhaustion, yet no one cared.
"Fine... fine!" he stammered. "I'll have it done by tomorrow!"
"That's more like it," Doflamingo said with a satisfied smirk, turning to leave.
As soon as the door closed, Caesar slumped to the floor, muttering to himself. "At this rate... I'll be bald within the week..."
---
Meanwhile, aboard the Moby Dick, Ashveil suddenly sneezed.
"Ah-choo!"
Empress Boa Hancock, who was tidying his bed, looked up with concern. "Ashveil, are you catching a cold? Would you like me to... warm your bed for you?" she asked softly, her cheeks faintly flushed.
Ashveil waved dismissively. "I don't get colds, Hancock. Just close the door when you leave—and make sure no one disturbs me while I play."
Her heart skipped a beat at his calm tone. "Y-Yes, Ashveil," she replied, bowing slightly before stepping outside.
The door closed gently behind her.
Standing guard, Hancock's expression returned to that of the proud Empress of Amazon Lily—cold, regal, and untouchable. But deep down, she swore silently to herself:
No one disturbs Thorne Ashveil... not while I draw breath.
---