Naval Headquarters — New Marineford — Special Care Ward, Medical Division
Sunlight streamed through spotless glass windows, casting bright, geometric patches across the polished floor. The faint, sterile scent of disinfectant lingered in the air.
Fleet Admiral Gern Reginald Sigmar sat casually beside a hospital bed, his white coat draped off to the side. He wore only a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing firm, battle-hardened forearms. His expression carried a trace of helpless amusement.
In his hand, he held a document, glancing sideways at the man lying on the bed—an "elder" who was leisurely spearing a slice of apple with a fork.
"Senior Borsalino," Gern said, flicking the paper lightly, his tone caught between exasperation and disbelief, "this… application for six months of medical leave… what exactly is this supposed to mean?"
On the bed, Kizaru reclined lazily against the raised backrest. His body was wrapped in numerous bandages, his complexion slightly pale—but that signature, infuriatingly carefree expression hadn't diminished in the slightest.
Hearing Gern's question, he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he slowly lifted the apple to his mouth, chewed with exaggerated leisure, and only then spoke in his trademark drawn-out tone.
"Oohhh~ Fleet Admiral Gern-sama~~"
He deliberately stretched the "-sama" into something almost mocking.
"I'm getting old, you see~ Bones are fragile… recovery's slow~"
"This time, I really pushed myself against those energetic youngsters from the Red-Hair Pirates… My internal organs, my Haki circuits—they all need proper rest~"
He narrowed his eyes, putting on a pitiful "I'm so weak" act.
"My body just can't take punishment like you young people can anymore!"
"Six months… might not even be enough~"
He even patted his bandaged chest, sighing theatrically.
Gern's lips twitched. He couldn't even be bothered to expose the act.
Of course he knew—Kizaru had gone all out intercepting the Red-Hair Pirates. The injuries were real.
But with that man's Devil Fruit ability, his constitution, and top-tier medical care?
Six months was absurd.
This was clearly a shameless attempt to exploit "work-related injury" as an excuse to slack off—dodging the upcoming storm of Marine consolidation in the New World and the endless administrative chaos that would follow.
Just as Gern was about to bargain over the leave duration, a disturbance from the neighboring bed drew their attention.
Unlike Kizaru's relaxed corner, the adjacent bed was surrounded by solemn officers wearing the uniforms of the SWORD unit.
The man lying there was wrapped in even more bandages—almost like a mummy, with only his eyes and mouth visible.
It was Koby, freshly rescued from the brutal operation on Pirate Island. He had only just regained consciousness after emergency treatment.
Koby wasn't looking at his comrades.
He wasn't even paying attention to his own injuries.
His eyes were locked onto the Den Den Mushi broadcast screen mounted on the wall.
On it, the news replayed again and again—
Monkey D. Luffy's new bounty: 3 billion Berries.
And the proclamation of him as the "Fifth Emperor of the Sea."
The bright, carefree grin of the Straw Hat clashed sharply with the heavy crown of an Emperor.
When the broadcast ended, Koby's hand slowly clenched the white bedsheet. His knuckles turned pale.
Beside him, Helmeppo and the other SWORD members tensed.
They assumed—
After everything at Hachinosu…
After witnessing Vice Admiral Garp's disappearance…
Koby would surely be filled with grief and fury. That he would swear vengeance, or make some impassioned declaration.
Then Koby spoke.
His voice was hoarse from injury and emotion, yet every word rang clear—laden with a strange, self-stirring sense of duty and resolve.
"Luffy… sir…"
He paused, gathering strength.
Then, in a tone that sounded almost like a proclamation—
"I… must stop your dream!"
"PFF—COUGH—COUGH—COUGH!!!"
On the neighboring bed, Kizaru choked violently on his apple, coughing so hard bits of fruit sprayed onto his blanket.
Still coughing, he shot out a hand and yanked open the thin curtain separating the beds with a loud swish.
His usually half-lidded eyes were now wide open as he stared at Koby—
Like he was looking at an alien species.
The room fell silent.
Only Kizaru's suppressed coughing and the faint hum of the broadcast remained.
After a few seconds, he finally caught his breath, wiped his mouth, and spoke in a tone dripping with disbelief—and ridicule.
"Vice Admiral Garp… having a disciple like you…"
He paused, shook his head, then added:
"Must be quite the blessing, huh?"
The sarcasm practically overflowed.
Even the SWORD members, who had been emotionally stirred moments ago, now wore awkward, conflicted expressions.
At that moment, Gern stood up.
Still holding the leave application, he walked slowly to Koby's bedside.
"Fleet Admiral!" The SWORD members snapped to attention.
Gern waved them off casually. His gaze settled on Koby's bandage-wrapped face—on those stubborn, unwavering eyes.
He didn't ask about injuries.
Didn't offer comfort.
Didn't mention Garp.
"Colonel Koby."
His voice was calm.
"Why is it… you're thinking about stopping Teach's dream?"
"…?"
Koby froze.
He hadn't expected that question.
His mouth opened, but no answer came.
Why Luffy?
Why not Blackbeard?
Because… Luffy was a friend? A benefactor?
But Blackbeard was clearly the greater evil.
The logic spun in his mind—but refused to form into a coherent response.
Gern didn't wait.
"Could it be…"
He leaned slightly closer, meeting Koby's eyes.
"You know that Straw Hat Luffy—even if you stand against him… even if you try to stop his 'dream'…"
"He wouldn't actually kill you."
"He might even… hold back, out of friendship."
"…Right?"
Gern straightened, his expression flat.
"But if you go up against Marshall D. Teach…"
"You'll die."
He tilted his head slightly, voice laced with cutting sarcasm.
"You're quite clever, aren't you?"
"First you gamble Vice Admiral Garp in the New World…"
"Then you turn around and go after his grandson."
"Really squeezing every drop out of that family, huh?"
Koby's face flushed red beneath the bandages.
He glanced frantically at his SWORD comrades, seeking support—
But found only avoidance, discomfort… even embarrassment.
Helmeppo lowered his head, unable to speak.
With no one to lean on, Koby snapped his head back toward Gern.
"N-No! That's not it!"
He grasped desperately for justification.
"I… I was just following Vice Admiral Garp's teachings!"
"He always taught us—to have faith in the new era! To question outdated rules and authority!"
"To even… even 'abandon' them if necessary!"
"I'm stopping Luffy's dream because if it succeeds, it could bring greater chaos!"
"Isn't that… responsibility toward the future?!"
He forcibly tied his actions to Garp's rebellious philosophy, trying to legitimize them.
Gern listened.
The faint smirk on his lips grew colder—sharper—merciless.
"Are you really that obedient, Colonel Koby?"
His voice was quiet, but pierced like ice.
"Garp taught you to question rules. To value the new era."
"But he didn't teach you to abandon your post… to act on your own… and gamble your subordinates' lives and Marine interests on your ridiculous 'personal heroism.'"
His tone suddenly hardened.
He stepped forward, eyes like blades locking onto Koby.
"Don't forget."
"You… are the trigger of this entire tragedy."
"!!"
Koby's body trembled violently.
Gern didn't let him breathe.
Each word came faster—sharper—echoing in the suffocating silence.
"If I remember correctly, Colonel Koby…"
He emphasized the rank.
"Your original mission was to escort a warship to G-14 under Vice Admiral Doll's orders."
"But everything that followed—"
"Encountering Jesus Burgess, engaging in battle, your crushing defeat, your capture—"
"All of it was your own decision. A direct violation of orders."
He counted them off, one by one.
"First—facing a superior enemy, you failed to contact nearby G-bases for vice admiral-level support."
"Second—you made no attempt to disengage."
"Third—as a mere colonel, you exercised authority far beyond your rank…"
"And ordered your ship to directly engage a Yonko commander far stronger than your entire unit."
He paused, watching Koby's face turn pale.
"On the surface, it looks like you 'stood up,' 'sacrificed yourself,' and traded your life for a thousand Marines."
"How heroic. What a reputation."
"'Hero Koby,' right?"
His voice suddenly rose, fury breaking through.
"But what was the result?!"
"Three hundred and forty-four Marines—dead or injured!!"
"Three hundred and forty-four lives—lost forever because of your stupidity and recklessness!!"
"And to save you, this 'hero'—"
"Vice Admiral Garp is now gone. Missing. Possibly dead!"
Gern leaned in, almost against the bed rail.
"So what?"
"You took the fame. Wore the 'hero' title."
"And now that you've caused an irreversible disaster…"
"You want to say 'I'll stop Luffy's dream'—and expect us 'top forces' to clean up your mess?!"
"!!!"
Koby's vision spun.
Cold flooded his body.
Every excuse—every justification—collapsed under the weight of cold facts and casualty numbers.
Gern straightened.
His final glance held no anger.
Only absolute, chilling indifference.
"I should have…"
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
"…recalled Sakazuki from the first half of the Grand Line."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Let him teach you…"
"…what 'Absolute Justice' really means."
"And let you personally…"
"…pay the price for your 'heroism.'"
Silence.
Deathly silence.
Even Kizaru quietly pulled his curtain shut again, sealing himself away from the suffocating pressure.
Meanwhile—at the harbor of New Marineford, days later.
Ships from across the world filled the grand port.
From luxurious royal vessels to humble island sailboats—
Even unique crafts from Fish-Man Island and Sky Islands.
The docks buzzed with life. Representatives of every race, nation, and culture were guided ashore under Marine supervision.
Overhead, massive banners and Marine flags fluttered.
Den Den Mushi loudspeakers repeated clear, authoritative announcements:
"Welcome to the Marine World Conference!"
"During the conference, New Marineford and surrounding seas are designated absolute peace zones. All violence, warfare, and provocations are strictly prohibited…"
The invitation—personally issued by Fleet Admiral Gern Reginald Sigmar—
With its unprecedented inclusivity and implicit warning—
Had shaken the entire world.
Nearly every force had sent representatives.
Even before it began, the scale alone proclaimed the Marines' dominance.
On a high platform, Gern stood beside Sengoku, observing the crowd in silence.
Sengoku's expression softened slightly, seeing the hopeful yet anxious faces of long-oppressed nations.
Gern remained calm—his sharp gaze analyzing, calculating.
Everything was proceeding as planned.
Until—
At the registration point, a Marine officer froze.
He checked the document again.
Then again.
Finally, under countless eyes, he took a breath and announced:
"Hachinosu Kingdom…"
"King Marshall D. Teach… and entourage!"
Silence—
Then an explosion of whispers.
Shock. Fear. Disbelief.
Blackbeard?!
He dared to come?!
As a king?!
On the platform, Sengoku's face darkened with fury.
Gern's gaze sharpened instantly.
Below, Blackbeard, flanked by Laffitte and Samuel Cronos, strolled forward boldly.
He stopped, looked up at Gern—and grinned.
"What a grand conference, Fleet Admiral."
"Teech!!" Sengoku roared, stepping forward.
But before he could act—
"Apologies."
Laffitte stepped forward gracefully, tipping his hat.
"Allow me to remind you—Hachinosu is now an officially recognized member nation of the World Government."
He displayed the stamped document.
"In other words…"
"We are legitimate."
"And according to your invitation… we are qualified to attend."
The trap was perfect.
Reject them—and the conference's legitimacy collapses.
Accept them—and swallow the insult.
All eyes turned to Gern.
He said nothing.
No anger.
No command.
He simply turned—and walked toward the conference hall.
Sengoku hesitated—then followed.
Blackbeard's grin widened.
He thought he'd won.
Until—
Two overwhelming waves of Haki exploded beside him.
One—violent, domineering, destructive.
The other—cold, sharp, absolute.
Blackbeard froze.
To his left—Douglas Bullet, looming like a steel beast.
To his right—Dracule Mihawk, blade at his side, gaze like a drawn sword.
No words.
Just a silent message:
You may enter.
But behave.
Or you won't leave.
Blackbeard's expression darkened.
He glanced once more at Gern's retreating back—
Then moved forward.
This time…
With far more caution.