The corridors of Marine Headquarters buzzed with an energy Despite the future showing the devastating losses suffered during Marineford—including the death of Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself—the organization had found new purpose in the revelations shown on the Sky Screen. The promise of twelve Admirals, of a Marine force capable of truly maintaining justice across the seas, had reinvigorated even the most war-weary veterans.
In the lower levels of the fortress, where the rank-and-file Marines maintained their constant vigil, conversations inevitably turned to the future they had witnessed.
"When do you think Lady Artoria will actually take command?" asked Petty Officer Hendricks, adjusting his rifle as he peered out at the calm waters surrounding the island. "My wife's been asking when we might see those pay increases the Sky Screen showed. She's been working double shifts at the diner just to make ends meet."
His patrol partner, Chief Petty Officer Rodriguez, let out a weary sigh. "Don't get your hopes up too high, brother. I went on a date last week, and when she asked about Marine salaries, I nearly choked on my drink. Had to tell her I was 'between opportunities' rather than admit what they actually pay us."
Both men chuckled grimly at the shared experience. The contrast between their current financial struggles and the prosperous Marine force shown in the Sky Screen's visions was almost painful to contemplate. 5 years from now, according to those images, Marines would be well-compensated professionals respected throughout the world. Today, they were barely scraping by on wages that hadn't kept pace with inflation.
"What are you two grumbling about now?" The stern voice cut through their conversation like a blade. Commander Brennan, their direct superior, had appeared with the silent efficiency that made him both respected and feared among his subordinates.
Both Marines snapped to attention, though Hendricks couldn't quite suppress a guilty expression. "Nothing that concerns our duties, sir! Just discussing... weather conditions."
Commander Brennan's weathered face showed no signs of buying the obvious lie, but he also didn't press the issue. These were good men, reliable soldiers who had served faithfully through some of the darkest days in Marine history. A little grumbling about pay was hardly a court-martial offense.
"Stay focused on your watch," he ordered, though his tone lacked real heat. "The seas have been too quiet lately. That usually means trouble is brewing somewhere."
As the Commander continued his rounds, his own thoughts drifted to concerns that mirrored those of his subordinates. The truth was, the Marine's financial situation had become increasingly desperate. Supply shipments were often delayed due to budget constraints, equipment maintenance was being deferred, and even basic allowances were now arriving weeks behind schedule.
"Artoria needs to be Fleet Admiral," he muttered to himself, unconsciously echoing the hopes of Marines throughout the headquarters. "Before this whole organization collapses from within."
Several levels up in the headquarters, the conversation among the officer ranks carried a different tone but similar concerns. In one of the training courtyards, Captain Hina observed her colleague with barely concealed amusement.
Smoker stood in the center of the practice area, two cigars clenched between his teeth as he attempted to manifest his Armament Haki around his jitte. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air, and his frustration was evident in every tense line of his body.
"Hina is very curious," the dark-haired woman said, her distinctive speech pattern carrying a note of friendly mockery. "How exactly does Smoker-kun plan to become worthy of an Admiral's coat when he can barely maintain basic Armament Haki?"
Smoker's jaw tightened around his cigars, a small puff of smoke escaping from the corners of his mouth. The question struck at his deepest insecurities—ever since the Sky Screen had revealed his future promotion to Admiral, he had been plagued by doubts about his worthiness for such a position.
"The Moku Moku no Mi isn't exactly known for its offensive capabilities," he admitted grudgingly. "And Conqueror's Haki awakening in Loguetown was... unexpected. I'm still trying to understand what triggered it."
Hina's expression softened slightly. Despite her teasing, she genuinely respected Smoker's dedication to justice, even if she questioned his combat readiness for Admiral rank. "Hina suggests focusing on what makes Smoker-kun unique rather than comparing himself to monsters like Sakazuki or Kuzan."
Before Smoker could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps announced the arrival of someone who commanded immediate respect from both officers. Former Admiral Zephyr, now serving as an instructor for the Marine's most promising candidates, entered the courtyard with the bearing of a man who had spent decades shaping the world's finest soldiers.
"Good morning, Hina," Zephyr said with a slight nod to the female Colonel. "I trust you'll be joining us for today's training session?"
Hina's face went pale at the suggestion. She had experienced Zephyr's "special training" before, and the memory still caused phantom aches in muscles she hadn't known she possessed. "Hina regretfully must decline. Hina has... urgent paperwork to complete. Very urgent."
She practically fled the courtyard, leaving Smoker alone with the man who had trained most of the Marine's current leadership. Zephyr watched her retreat with a knowing smile before turning his attention to his remaining student.
"Still struggling with the basics, I see," Zephyr observed, his tone carrying decades of experience in identifying a student's weaknesses. "Your Devil Fruit abilities have made you complacent, Smoker. You've relied too heavily on your Logia intangibility without developing the fundamentals."
Smoker removed the cigars from his mouth, his expression serious. "With all due respect, sir, I never asked to become an Admiral. The Sky Screen showed a future I don't understand and can't seem to live up to. Half the Marines look at me like I'm already wearing the coat, while the other half whisper that I don't deserve it."
Zephyr studied his student for a long moment, seeing beneath the frustration to the genuine desire to serve justice that had always driven the younger man. "Tell me, Smoker—what do you think makes an Admiral?"
"Overwhelming power," Smoker replied without hesitation. "The ability to face any threat and emerge victorious. Sakazuki's magma, Kuzan's ice, Borsalino's light—they can all devastate entire islands if necessary."
"And yet," Zephyr said quietly, "some of the most effective Admirals in Marine history weren't the strongest fighters of their generation. They were the ones who understood that power without purpose is just destruction." He gestured toward the fortress around them. "Sengoku wasn't the most physically powerful Fleet Admiral we've ever had, but his strategic mind shaped the Marine for decades."
Smoker considered this, his brow furrowed in thought. "Are you saying I should focus on tactics rather than raw combat ability?"
"I'm saying you should stop trying to be Sakazuki or Kuzan and start figuring out what kind of Admiral Smoker would be." Zephyr picked up a practice weapon from the equipment rack. "Now, let's see if we can help you discover that answer. And this time, no Devil Fruit abilities—pure Haki training only."
In the officers' mess hall, a different kind of Marine gathering was taking place. Artoria sat at what had become her unofficial regular table, surrounded by a constantly rotating group of Marines eager to curry favor with the future Fleet Admiral. Plates of food from across the Four Blues adorned the table—gifts from subordinates hoping to make favorable impressions.
Despite the obvious political maneuvering behind the gestures, Artoria accepted each offering graciously. Her future approach to leadership emphasized accessibility and equality, traits that had quickly endeared her to Marines of all ranks. She made a point of sharing the more expensive delicacies with enlisted personnel, a gesture that had elevated her to near-legendary status in the lower ranks.
"The reaction to your future appointment has been overwhelmingly positive," observed Vice Admiral Gion, settling into the seat across from her friend.
"I appreciate the support," Artoria replied, carefully dividing a selection of rare fruits between several nearby tables where junior officers were dining. "Though I suspect much of it stems from their desperation for change rather than genuine confidence in my abilities."
Gion smiled at her friend's characteristic humility. "Don't underestimate yourself. The Marines need someone who represents their ideals rather than political necessity. Speaking of which—" Her expression grew more serious. "I have a message from Fleet Admiral Sengoku regarding the Shichibukai mobilization."
The topic immediately attracted Artoria's full attention. The World Government's decision to deploy the Seven Warlords against Kaido represented an escalation unlike anything seen in recent memory. Each of the Shichibukai possessed power equivalent to a Marine Admiral, making their coordination a matter of critical importance.
"What's the situation?" Artoria asked.
"Mixed responses, as expected," Gion reported. "Doflamingo has gone to ground—his people claim he's 'reassessing his position' regarding World Government cooperation. Gecko Moria seems enthusiastic about the prospect, probably hoping to add Kaido to his zombie collection. Jinbe is... diplomatically expressing concerns about the implications for Fish-Man Island."
"And Mihawk?"
Gion's smile returned, though it carried a hint of exasperation. "Dracule Mihawk has agreed to participate, but he's made an... unusual condition."
Artoria raised an eyebrow, sensing she wasn't going to like whatever came next.
"He wants to duel you afterward," Gion explained. "Apparently, the prospect of facing someone with your reputation is worth more to him than whatever the World Government might offer in compensation."
To Gion's surprise, Artoria's reaction was immediate acceptance rather than concern. "I see no reason to refuse. A test of skills against the World's Greatest Swordsman would be valuable regardless of the outcome."
"You're not worried about the political implications?" Gion asked. "If you lose—"
"Then I lose to someone whose skill has been acknowledged across the entire world," Artoria interrupted. "There's no shame in that. And if I win..." She paused, considering the ramifications. "Well, I suppose that would send its own message about the Marine's future capabilities."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure shuffling past their table with uncharacteristic dejection. Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp, the legendary Hero of the Marines, moved through the mess hall like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Gion leaned closer to Artoria, lowering her voice to a whisper. "The situation with his new protégé has become quite serious. Koby glimpse action in stopping Admiral Akainu in the sky screen and his past association made him the prime suspect of the future traitor, this has raised questions about Garp's judgment. And with his grandson prominently featured in the Sky Screen's visions..."
The implications hung heavy in the air between them. Garp's loyalty to the Marines had never been questioned despite his eccentric behavior and frequent clashes with authority. But the Sky Screen's revelations had created an atmosphere of suspicion that even his legendary status couldn't entirely deflect.
"The investigation?" Artoria inquired quietly.
"Ongoing," Gion confirmed. "Internal Affairs is being thorough, but so far they've found nothing to suggest any actual impropriety. Still, the political pressure is mounting. Some within the organization are calling for Garp to be assigned to less sensitive duties."
Artoria watched the legendary Marine's retreating figure with a mixture of sympathy and concern. The idea that Monkey D. Garp—the man who had cornered the Pirate King himself—could be sidelined due to political machinations was deeply troubling.
"When I become Fleet Admiral," she said quietly, her voice carrying absolute conviction, "that kind of persecution based on guilt by association will end immediately."
Gion nodded, recognizing the steel beneath her friend's gentle demeanor. "The Marines could use that kind of leadership. The question is whether the World Government will allow it."
As if summoned by their conversation, the sight of Garp disappearing around a corner served as a reminder that the Sky Screen's revelations had changed more than just their understanding of the future. They had fundamentally altered the relationships and trust that held the Marine organization together.