Karl panicked instantly and sprang to his feet.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku! Pirates are running rampant across the seas, committing evil everywhere! As a Marine Rear Admiral, how could I possibly enjoy a vacation with a clear conscience?"
"So I hereby voluntarily give up my leave and devote my limited life to the limitless cause of fighting crime!"
Sengoku looked at Karl, so righteous and impassioned, a trace of genuine shock flashing through his eyes.
What kind of spirit was this?
Karl truly was a Marine who carried the world in his heart and justice in his soul!
If every Marine were like Karl, how could the seas ever remain chaotic?
He had once worried that Kizaru might lead Karl astray, but now it seemed Karl had remained unstained by mud and untainted by ink.
Sengoku's appreciation—and expectations—rose yet another level. He even began thinking that if Karl could grow to the level of an admiral, he would be the perfect candidate to succeed as Fleet Admiral.
"Well said! Very well said!" Sengoku praised loudly.
"Karl, hearing you speak like this truly comforts me! If only Kizaru and Aokiji could learn even half as much from you, I'd have far fewer headaches!"
"But—there is a reason I suggested you rest…"
Sengoku pulled out a stack of bounty posters, each marked with a bold X, and laid them on the desk.
"Look. These are the results from the past few months. Nearly every pirate crew bold enough to surface has already been captured or eliminated."
"Outside the New World, there are basically no 'big fish' left that require your involvement. Those small fry can easily be handled by other commanders."
"Your abilities should be used on more difficult missions. I can't very well have a Headquarters Rear Admiral chasing pirates worth a few million berries every day, can I?"
Karl frowned slightly. Sengoku had a point.
A Rear Admiral should do what a Rear Admiral ought to do. He couldn't exactly volunteer to hunt nameless nobodies forever.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku, in that case, send me to the New World," Karl said firmly.
"Even pirates with bounties over five hundred million won't scare me."
Sengoku shook his head, a hint of helplessness in his expression.
"It's not that I don't want to send you—it's that the Whitebeard Pirates are practically waiting for you in the New World."
Karl's brows tightened.
Whitebeard Pirates?
Was this because of the Ice Witch, Whitey Bay?
"Is this about Whitey Bay?"
Sengoku nodded. "Exactly. Whitebeard's protectiveness is no joke. The New World is full of his territory."
"If you appear there now, there's a real chance they'll trap you like catching a turtle in a jar."
"For your safety, you still need time to grow. Only then can I let you carry out missions in the New World."
The unspoken message was clear:
Karl is important to the Marines.
Going head-on with a max-level Whitebeard was terrible cost-performance. Better to level up first.
Karl fell silent for a moment, then spoke again.
"In that case, Fleet Admiral… I still don't want to take a vacation. How about this instead?"
"I happen to be very interested in Fish-Man Island. That investigation into Queen Otohime's assassination—hasn't it been handled yet?"
Sengoku paused, then shook his head.
"Then I'll take it," Karl said decisively.
"Once the Seven Warlords meeting concludes, I'll head to Fish-Man Island to investigate."
"If I find results, great. If not, I'll treat it as a vacation. What do you think?"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sengoku drummed his fingers on the desk, silent for a long while. In the end, he let out a sigh.
"Fine. I'll tentatively approve it. But for now, everything takes second place to the Seven Warlords meeting. We'll talk about this later."
Karl immediately felt a massive weight lift from his shoulders.
Perfect—no true vacation after all!
Kizaru, watch and learn!
This is how you slack off properly—Sengoku even praises you for it!
By the time Karl left Marine Headquarters, an unexpected familiar figure was already waiting outside.
"Hey! Karl! It's only been a few months and you're already a Rear Admiral?"
Karl smiled and walked over. As he got close, he casually plucked a cigar from the man's chest, popped it into his mouth, lit it, and exhaled a smoke ring.
With an arrogant look, Karl said to Smoker,
"Is 'Karl' something you can just call me? Show some respect—call me sir."
Smoker froze. His cigar nearly fell to the ground.
"The hell, Karl! You're seriously pulling rank on me now?!"
"Hahaha! Just kidding," Karl laughed.
"So? On vacation?"
Smoker's expression darkened. He shook his head.
"No. Suspended."
"Suspended? Are you serious? Why?"
"Some filthy, rotten nonsense. Just thinking about it pisses me off."
"Forget it. We finally meet—how about you grab a drink with me?"
It was noon, and Karl hadn't eaten either, so he didn't refuse.
"Karl," Smoker asked after a few drinks,
"Do you think the Marines today still deserve the word justice?"
Karl rubbed his chin and thought carefully.
"The Marines are justice," he finally said.
"But where the light of justice can't reach… darkness will naturally grow."
Glug, glug, glug.
Smoker drained his drink in one go, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and sighed.
"Yeah… but that darkness is spreading way too much."
Karl didn't know what kind of darkness Smoker had run into, but one thing was clear—
Smoker was disappointed, far from the vision of justice he once believed in.
"So," Smoker asked quietly,
"what can a mere Marine captain actually change?"
"I can't—whew—change anything," Karl replied honestly, smiling.
"So pull yourself together. On the seas, only the strong get to speak. That goes for Marines and pirates."
"If you hate that darkness… if you want to change it—then you need the capital to change it."
As a ten-year veteran—and a transmigrator—Karl understood Marine politics all too well.
But understanding wasn't enough.
Back when he was just a branch captain, he lacked the power.
Now he was a Rear Admiral, but even so, his voice still carried limited weight.
For now, all he could do was grow stronger, build reputation, and rise higher.
Only then would he gain real authority—and the ability to change the system.
As for whether he wanted to change it?
That was another matter entirely.
After all, he was still slacking off.
Smoker frowned, seemingly understanding something, but said nothing. He kept drinking in silence, then eventually collapsed face-first onto the table.
Karl sighed and snapped his fingers.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
Karl stood up, pointed at Smoker, and said calmly,
"This is Captain Smoker. He's paying for everything today."
"Oh—and bring me another bottle of red wine."
"Certainly. Please wait a moment."
Karl wiped his mouth with a napkin, accepted the wine from the server, and walked out of the restaurant—
his merit and name hidden deep beneath the surface.
He didn't notice that Smoker, supposedly passed out on the table, slowly clenched his fist, his heart filled with words that would definitely get censored if spoken aloud.
Trying to cheat someone and ending up losing big… damn it.
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