-Real World-
Fleet Admiral Sengoku had maintained a relatively positive reputation among the people of the seas throughout his career. For decades, he'd navigated the treacherous political waters between conflicting factions—pirates, Celestial Dragons, Revolutionary Army, and his own Marines—keeping civilization's ships sailing through turbulent times. His merits outweighed his failures by any honest accounting. He'd dedicated his entire life to the Marine cause.
Now, through fragments of Admiral Gin's memories shown on the Sky Screen, the global audience witnessed the tragic twilight of that legendary career.
-Broadcast-
The secret ward in Marine Headquarters maintained perfect climate control year-round. Sterile white walls. Medical equipment humming quietly in the corner. Antiseptic smell barely masked by fresh flowers someone—probably Tsuru—replaced daily.
In the center of the room, a figure lay motionless beneath crisp sheets.
Bandages wrapped around torso, arms, and legs—covering wounds that had never properly healed after Marineford. Only the face remained exposed, and time had been cruel to those features. Deep wrinkles carved canyons through weathered skin. Surgical scars crisscrossed temple and jaw. Age spots dotted cheeks that had once been strong and commanding.
This was Former Fleet Admiral Sengoku—reduced to a vegetative state after his Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Daibutsu (Human-Human Fruit, Model: Great Buddha) had been stolen during the war's chaotic finale.
"It's Gin," an elderly voice said from beside the window. "I didn't expect you to visit today."
The speaker was an old woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a neat bun. She wore simple civilian clothes rather than a Marine uniform, but her posture remained military-straight despite her advanced years. She set down the scissors she'd been using to trim the flowers—fresh chrysanthemums in a blue vase—and turned to regard the newly-appointed Admiral.
Former Vice Admiral Tsuru. Legendary tactician. Wielder of the Woshu Woshu no Mi (Wash-Wash Fruit). The woman who'd hunted Doflamingo across the seas for years before politics made him untouchable.
"Chief of Staff Tsu—" Gin began, but stopped immediately when the old woman raised one hand.
"Don't call me that." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I'm retired now. Just an old lady taking care of an older friend. 'Ms. Tsuru' is sufficient." She studied him with eyes that had lost none of their tactical sharpness despite her wrinkled face. "I heard you accepted the mission to eliminate Doflamingo. That's... quite a burden for one person to carry."
Her hair might be gray. Her face might show every one of her seventy-plus years through deep wrinkles and age spots. But her mental state seemed almost younger than during her active service—the kind of peace that came from releasing decades of accumulated responsibility.
Since Artoria Pendragon had assumed the position of Acting Fleet Admiral, she'd gained overwhelming support from the Marines' younger, more radical elements. Her reforms had been swift and merciless—a large-scale reorganization designed to "maintain the purity of the organization," as official statements phrased it.
Bureaucrats from the old era who'd grown fat on corruption? Dismissed or imprisoned. Officers who'd accepted bribes from pirates? Courts-martialed and executed. Marines who'd collaborated with Celestial Dragon abuses? Purged without ceremony.
Through these methods—some would say ruthless methods—the Acting Fleet Admiral had seized complete control of the entire organization. Her power and authority now exceeded even what Sengoku had commanded in his prime.
By contrast, Sengoku himself had been... forgotten.
After losing his Devil Fruit and falling into a coma, he'd become a relic of the previous era. His old subordinates had visited frequently at first—Garp, Tsuru, various Vice Admirals who'd served under his command. But as the years passed and Artoria's twelve Admirals consolidated power, those visits had grown increasingly rare.
The Marines now looked to the Acting Fleet Admiral for leadership and inspiration. The old man lying in this sterile room had gradually faded from the organization's collective consciousness—dispensable, irrelevant, barely mentioned except in historical contexts.
Fortunately, Artoria wasn't the type to discard former allies completely. Sengoku's treatment and accommodations remained exactly as they'd been during his tenure as Fleet Admiral. Since he had no children, no lover, no family beyond the Marines themselves, his only expenses were this private ward and its associated medical care.
Initially, Headquarters had assigned a female nurse to handle the unpleasant necessities—changing bedpans, cleaning waste, managing the basic hygiene of a patient who couldn't move. But after a careful inspection, Tsuru had discovered the woman performing her duties with barely-disguised disgust, taking shortcuts, leaving Sengoku in soiled sheets longer than medically acceptable.
Ms. Tsuru rarely displayed anger. She was famous for her even temper, her tactical patience, her ability to remain calm under pressure.
But she'd raged that day.
After dismissing the negligent nurse—quite possibly ending the woman's career in the process—Tsuru had taken over the caretaking duties personally. She'd retired from active service with Artoria's blessing anyway. Had nothing but time these days. And caring for an old friend wasn't a burden—it was a privilege.
Her Woshu Woshu no Mi made certain tasks considerably easier. Cleaning soiled sheets became trivial when you could literally wash away dirt and impurities with Devil Fruit power. The ability that had once purified the hearts of pirates now served a humbler purpose.
She didn't consider it beneath her. Quite the opposite.
"I suspect Artoria told you about the history between Sengoku and Doflamingo," Tsuru said, her voice taking on a harder edge. "His adopted son Rosinante—we called him Corazon—was a good boy. Truly good, in a world that punishes such people." She paused, staring at the comatose figure on the bed. "Good people never live long on these seas. When you fight the Heavenly Yaksha, show no mercy. If you can eliminate him..." Her hand clenched slightly. "It would fulfill one of my deepest wishes."
She'd hunted Doflamingo for years. Chased him across half the Grand Line, always one step behind, always missing him by hours or days. She'd compiled enough evidence to execute him ten times over.
And then he'd intercepted a Heavenly Tribute shipment—gold meant for the Celestial Dragons—and used it as blackmail. Combined with his birth status as a former World Noble, that leverage had been sufficient to secure a position among the Shichibukai.
The Marines had lost all legal authority to pursue him after that. He'd become their "ally" overnight.
The Shichibukai system. Seven pirates given government sanction to commit legal piracy. Theoretically, they served as a counterbalance to the Four Emperors—maintaining equilibrium on the seas through mutually-assured destruction.
In practice? The system was a joke. A farce designed by the World Government to keep both pirates and Marines under control. Give dangerous pirates official status so they'd be grateful. Keep the Marines from becoming too powerful by forcing them to cooperate with their sworn enemies.
The Celestial Dragons' attempts at "balance" had always been transparent and insulting. The system had bred resentment within the Marines for decades.
Now, finally, Acting Fleet Admiral Artoria had decided to burn it all down.
Her plan to abolish the Shichibukai system entirely had earned overwhelming support throughout the organization. The system violated everything the Marines stood for—it was a calculated insult to their justice, forcing them to shake hands with monsters while those monsters continued victimizing civilians.
Legal licenses for robbery? As if a government certificate would reform pirates who'd spent lifetimes committing atrocities. The reality was predictable: Shichibukai intensified their oppression once they gained immunity. Crocodile had tried stealing an entire kingdom. Gecko Moria built armies from desecrated corpses. Doflamingo trafficked slaves and manufactured wars.
Ordinary civilians had suffered under the Shichibukai system for far too long.
It aligned with true Marine justice to sweep this deformed arrangement into history's dustbin. Each Shichibukai had been assigned a corresponding Admiral for elimination. Artoria treated this massive combat operation as almost... casual. Just another item on her administrative checklist.
Gin shifted his gaze to the motionless figure on the hospital bed. He'd never met Sengoku personally—had only heard stories about the legendary tactician, the man called "The Buddha" for his wisdom and restraint.
To see him reduced to this...
The world truly was unpredictable.
"Marshall D. Teach has been extremely active recently," Gin said quietly, changing the subject to more immediate threats. "Blackbeard's been hunting Devil Fruit users throughout the New World, killing them and stealing their abilities. His forces are expanding at an alarming rate. At this pace..." He trailed off, the implications obvious. "It may be a long time before we can properly avenge Former Fleet Admiral Sengoku."
The name alone carried weight. Blackbeard—the man who'd orchestrated the greatest upset in modern naval history. After seizing Whitebeard's territory and Devil Fruit, he'd ascended to become the newest Yonko almost overnight. Now his power continued growing exponentially, threatening to surpass even the established emperors.
Ms. Tsuru's expression darkened. "I suspect Blackbeard may have established contact with Doflamingo already. Those two share similar philosophies—opportunistic, ruthless, willing to exploit any advantage regardless of consequences." She fixed Gin with a meaningful look. "You'll need to be extremely careful. Facing a trinity like Marshall D. Teach... that's not something one person can overcome alone."
"Trinity." Gin tested the word, finding it appropriate. "Currently, he possesses the Logia-type Yami Yami no Mi (Dark-Dark Fruit), the Paramecia-type Gura Gura no Mi (Tremor-Tremor Fruit), and the Zoan Mythical-type Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Daibutsu (Human-Human Fruit, Model: Great Buddha)." He gestured toward Sengoku's comatose form, the source of that third power. "Three Devil Fruits in a single body. I genuinely don't understand the biological mechanism that allows such a thing. It's a nightmare living in the same era as someone like that."
The threat was existential. Blackbeard could steal Devil Fruit powers from other users—rip them away and claim them for himself or his crew. Gin's own Ame Ame no Mi (Rain-Rain Fruit) made him a potential target. Every Logia user in the Marines faced the same danger.
And Blackbeard's crew? Almost entirely Devil Fruit users now. He'd been systematically hunting and recruiting ability-wielders, building a force of unprecedented concentrated power.
The threat level his organization represented far exceeded the other Yonko crews. Against such concentrated Devil Fruit abilities, conventional Marine tactics became nearly useless.
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