At the same time, at the West Blue Branch 133 training grounds—
Gern stood at the center of the field, the black blade Eight Desolations resting across his back. More than thirty recruits sat in a loose semicircle around him.
Sweat streamed down their young faces, yet not a single one dared raise a hand to wipe it away. Every pair of eyes was locked firmly onto the figure at the center.
"Watch carefully."
Gern slowly raised his right hand, palm facing upward.
The air twisted.
Countless fine vibration particles emerged from nothingness, leaping and converging in his palm until they formed a pure-white sphere of light.
The recruits held their breath instinctively. A few even leaned back without realizing it.
"The essence of vibration is—"
The light sphere abruptly collapsed.
In the next instant, the ground around Gern rippled like ocean waves. The wooden training stakes shattered soundlessly into powder.
What terrified the recruits most was this—
The flying splinters halted midair just before touching their noses, as if held aloft by an invisible hand.
"Control."
As Gern clenched his fist, the suspended debris fell neatly to the ground.
Silence lingered for three heartbeats—
Then the field exploded with cheers.
"That's incredible!"
"So this is the power of a Logia?!"
"Ensign Gern—please take me as your disciple!"
A faint smile touched Gern's lips as he was about to speak, when he caught sight of frantic movement at the edge of the field.
In the shadows, Branch Commander Asahi was waving his short, pudgy arms with all his might—like a stranded seal flailing for attention.
"Continue training," Gern said, gesturing casually to the recruits. The smile faded as he turned away.
The moment he stepped into the shade, Asahi lunged forward in a single burst, his round body nearly crashing straight into Gern.
"Gern—It's done! It's really done!"
Asahi's voice was hushed, but the trembling excitement was impossible to hide.
"Fleet Admiral Steelbone Kong signed it himself!"
He pulled out a gold-stamped document, his fingers shaking.
"Look—look at this!"
Marine Headquarters Special Conscription Order
Conscriptee: Gern Reginald Sigma
Rank Confirmation: Headquarters Ensign
Direct Superior: Marine Headquarters Vice Admiral Zephyr
Gern's pupils tightened slightly.
The crimson Fleet Admiral seal in the corner looked like a drop of dried blood.
"So… it went through," Gern murmured, unable to hide a flicker of joy.
Asahi immediately snapped into a mock-serious salute.
"Reporting! Headquarters Ensign Gern of the West Blue, sir!
I am Asahi, Branch Commander of West Blue Branch 133!"
"Hah, you little…" Gern laughed, patting the chubby man on the shoulder before asking calmly,
"My rank didn't change?"
"Nope!" Asahi said, then snorted.
"Those Headquarters bigshots still look down on the West Blue. They even said anyone born here must have 'flawed justice' and wanted to send you to Marine Academy for a year of ideological theory."
"Academy theory?" Gern's eyes narrowed.
"That was the plan," Asahi said eagerly, lowering his voice and imitating Zephyr's deep tone, pounding an imaginary desk.
"'That kind of bureaucratic nonsense only strangles real warriors!'"
Gern raised an eyebrow. "Vice Admiral Zephyr really said that?"
"Absolutely! My old classmate from the South Blue heard it himself! You're even being placed directly under Vice Admiral Zephyr's command!"
Asahi scratched his head, baffled.
"But seriously, Gern—when did you get so close to Vice Admiral Zephyr? He's not even married yet. You're not his illegitimate son from the West Blue, are you?"
"Illegitimate son?" Gern sneered, fingers brushing the bandages on Eight Desolations.
"I wish."
Asahi laughed awkwardly and took half a step back, then straightened and saluted properly.
"In any case—congratulations on your promotion to Marine Headquarters Ensign!"
His voice suddenly shot up an octave, drawing the recruits' attention.
"The West Blue is finally producing a future Headquarters general!"
Gern didn't return the salute.
His gaze passed over Asahi's round shoulders, fixed firmly in the direction of Marineford.
Three days later, West Blue Branch 133 Harbor.
Sea wind carried the smell of salt and moisture as the dock filled with Marines seeing him off.
Asahi stood at the very front, tears streaming down his pudgy face, clutching a crumpled handkerchief and blowing his nose loudly.
"Gern! You've got to come back and visit the West Blue!" he shouted hoarsely.
"Branch 133 will always be your home! Show them what West Blue men are made of!!!"
Gern stood on the deck of the warship, back to the harbor, Eight Desolations steady on his back.
He didn't turn around—only raised one hand slightly in farewell.
The warship slowly departed. The cheers faded into the distance.
Gern stared at the horizon, feeling little sadness at the separation—only anticipation.
"Marine Headquarters…" he murmured, fingers brushing the hilt of his blade.
"This is where it really begins."
Two days later, in a stretch of the West Blue.
The warship sailed smoothly across the azure sea. Gern stood at the bow, eyes closed, letting the wind wash over him.
Suddenly, his brow furrowed.
"…Hm?"
He opened his eyes, gaze sharpening as he scanned the distant waters.
At the seam between sea and sky, a rough-looking ship slowly approached.
It wasn't large, but its lines were solid and austere. The bow was plain.
Most striking of all—
It flew no flag.
Neither pirate, merchant, nor Marine insignia.
The escorting officer—a Headquarters lieutenant—was following a Marine-exclusive route, so the anomaly was immediately noticed.
"Report!" a Marine scout rushed over.
"Unidentified vessel ahead. Do we intercept and inspect?"
The lieutenant didn't answer right away.
He and Gern stared through their binoculars at the approaching ship.
Two figures stood at its bow.
One was impossibly massive—well over five meters tall, muscles knotted like coiled iron. He wore an open white captain's coat, his chest marked by savage scars.
Long blond hair fell freely, and beneath his chin curved a crescent-shaped white mustache.
His eyes were calm. Almost lazy.
Beside him stood a tall, slender young man with spiky blond hair like a pineapple, gaze sharp and alert.
"That is—"
Gern's pupils shrank.
Even without a flag.
Even before a name was spoken.
He recognized that man instantly.
In his prime.
Invincible written across his face.
After the end of the Rocks era—
The supreme powerhouse who stood shoulder to shoulder with Roger—
Edward Newgate.
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