Marineford — hours before the arrival of prisoner Portgas D. Ace.
In the Fleet Admiral's office.
Sengoku, Garp, and Tsuru were gathered in a closed-door meeting, discussing the man who was already considered the greatest cause of chaos since the era of Xebec and Gol D. Roger.
Jason D. Winchester.
An existential threat to the World Government — and perhaps even to the Navy itself.
"So..." said Garp, sitting relaxed on Sengoku's sofa while picking his nose and examining the result between his fingers. "What exactly is this meeting for?"
Sengoku watched the scene in silence for two seconds.
Then he frowned.
Normally, he would have yelled.
But he was too mentally exhausted to deal with Garp's antics.
"You know very well why, Garp," he replied, his voice thick with restrained irritation. "It's those damn posters. Those strange powers. They've caused an absurd internal division."
He slammed his hand on the table.
"We're about to go to war against one of the greatest forces on the seas... and our troops are divided into factions."
Garp stopped joking around.
He sat up straight on the sofa, his expression serious.
He knew when it was time to laugh — and when it was time to pay attention.
Everyone in the Navy's high command knew exactly what that poster did.
And Garp was no exception.
It improved sleep. It reduced stress. It alleviated symptoms of PTSD. It increased mental clarity, rational capacity, and concentration.
All of this... for free.
Women received the benefits directly.
Men who remained neutral toward Jason received a similar version—but first had to go through a kind of "spiritual struggle" that drained mental energy, only to return it refined, accompanied by deep rest.
And the hostile ones?
Panic attacks. Uncontrollable anger. Irrational fear. Paranoia. Nightmares.
Mental curses directed exclusively at those who harbored genuine resentment toward Jason.
Garp could hear the whispers echoing through Marineford.
Groups forming.
The "anti-Jason" faction.
And the "blessed" faction.
Ironically, this last group suffered the most. They were a minority. Soldiers who were just doing their job, without emotional involvement, without idolatry, without hatred.
To them, criminals were criminals.
And justice was applied equally.
Tsuru sighed, folding her hands as she reflected on the real impact of that poster.
She wasn't naive.
She knew exactly what it did to the psyche of the masses.
It made people question.
It removed irrational fear.
It increased critical perception.
It made them more aware of the type of government that hung over their heads.
And that... that was dangerous.
Fear had always been one of the World Government's greatest tools.
It was infinitely easier to control an ignorant, frightened, and dependent people than thinking individuals.
Tsuru thought, with a slight bitter smile, how simple it was to demoralize the World Government.
Not with weapons.
Not with wars.
But with education.
Something that should be basic... was a luxury in much of the world.
Only a tiny fraction of the world's population was literate. Usually privileged families, or those whose profession required reading and writing.
Jason hadn't created this inequality.
He just exposed it.
And in doing so, he showed the world how broken it already was.
"What can we do?" Garp asked, crossing his arms. "We can't collect all the posters scattered around the world. And that damn bird Morgans would just print more and spread them all over again."
He saw no simple alternative to curtailing Jason's influence without making the Navy look incompetent or useless. Morgans would never cooperate with the World Government of his own accord—and, ironically, that situation only increased his sales.
The more people were affected by the posters, the smarter they became. More curious. More inclined to learn to read, rather than just "interpret pictures." That meant more readers. More newspapers sold. A cycle that only strengthened Morgans.
The only slightly good news was that the posters had not yet been fully assimilated by the world. Since there was a waiting period before men could use them, many chose not to activate them with a war looming. Still, it was only a matter of time before they became commonplace.
"... The prisoner Portgas D. Ace has arrived."
Sengoku's voice was low, almost a whisper, as if that information could not be leaked even to the walls of the room.
"... He was escorted by a Knight of God."
Garp's eyes widened.
He knew very well what those creatures were capable of. The mere idea of Ace being in the same place as a Knight of God caused him rare discomfort. He had already visited the boy in Impel Down. He knew that the next time he would see him would be only... on the gallows.
"... Shepherd Sommers was chosen," Sengoku continued. "He will remain hidden in Marineford, waiting for the best opportunity to kill Jason."
That confirmed the gravity of the situation.
When the World Government itself mobilized a Holy Knight, it meant there was no room for error.
Garp and Tsuru's faces darkened.
They both knew that a Gorosei was already involved behind the scenes in this war, and no one there knew better than Garp the destruction that just one of those monsters was capable of causing.
And yet... they were sending a Holy Knight to finish it all off.
"Jason must die in this war," Sengoku said coldly. "And... Ace cannot be allowed to live either."
Sengoku's gaze fixed on Garp.
The Marine hero clenched his jaw and looked away.
"... Ace chose his own path," Garp said.
Tsuru and Sengoku bowed their heads slightly.
All three knew the truth.
Even if Ace had joined the Navy, his execution would only have been postponed. The moment he ceased to be useful... he would be eliminated.
Knock. Knock.
The knock on the door sealed the moment.
Ace had officially arrived at Marineford and was already on the execution platform.
The war was about to begin.
The islands surrounding Marineford had already been evacuated.
On the main territory, six Navy giants stood lined up like living walls. In front of them, a veritable swarm of soldiers, hundreds of thousands, spread out across the base, small as ants in the face of the scale of the conflict.
In the background stood the execution platform.
That was where Ace would wait to seal his fate.
The atmosphere was heavy.
The sailors were nervous, apprehensive.
They would not only face Whitebeard, the strongest man in the world, but also a lunatic who had destroyed bridges with a snap of his fingers and put an admiral on a stretcher.
"Don't be nervous!" shouted one of the giants, trying to boost the troops' morale.
"Whatever happens, we cannot lose! We are the justice of the world!"
Some soldiers cheered up. They still believed they were the last line of defense between civilians and chaos.
"One hour to go."
Renowned marines had been summoned from all seas.
More than 100,000 elites awaited the start of the battle.
Seventy warships surrounded the bay and the crescent-shaped island.
And on the front line, visible from the port, were the five most unstable and decisive pieces on the board.
The Shichibukai.
From right to left:
Boa Hancock.
Dracule Mihawk.
Donquixote Doflamingo.
Gecko Moria.
And finally...
Bartholomew Kuma.
And at the back of the square, atop the imposing execution platform—the true epicenter of that incident—stood the commander of the Second Division of the Whitebeard Pirates.
Portgas D. Ace.
On his knees, handcuffed, he silently awaited his fate.
In front of him, forming the platform's last line of defense, was the Marine Corps' greatest military force.
The Three Admirals.
Seated in luxurious chairs, with dignified postures and unshakeable expressions, they were the embodiment of the Navy's absolute authority.
On the right, the admiral in blue, Aokiji—Kuzan—maintained a calm, almost bored expression, as if the scene were nothing more than a formality.
In the center, with one leg crossed over the other and a fierce look on his face, stood the admiral in red.
Akainu. Sakazuki.
His gaze burned like restrained magma, conveying a silent pressure that made even the most experienced soldiers swallow hard.
On the left, also with her legs crossed and impeccable posture, was the admiral in pink.
Moumosagi Gion.
The first woman to hold the rank of admiral—albeit on an interim basis—known as the Pink Rabbit. Her gaze was sharp, attentive, showing no emotion whatsoever.
All the forces of the Navy had been assembled that day.
To prevent Ace's rescue.
And to put a definitive end to the man who threatened the very balance of the world.
*
After ending the meeting, Garp left Sengoku's office and headed toward the execution platform where Ace was.
As he walked through the silent corridors of Marineford, the conversation he had had with Jason at Gran Tesoro hammered in his mind.
Jason's proposal to join forces with the Revolutionary Army to end the World Government once and for all seemed almost impossible. He didn't know if a meeting had already taken place or if it was still to come, but he knew that allying with them...
"I can't," thought Garp, the voice of his guilty conscience echoing in his own thoughts. "Even if it's for a good cause, I can't betray the Navy. I can't turn my back on everything I've achieved so far. I can't abandon my principles. I represent my unbreakable justice."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of decades of choices and responsibilities, as if he had aged years in seconds.
Garp didn't even notice when he reached the stairs leading to the execution platform. Looking up, he felt Ace's vital energy, weaker than the last time he had been in Marineford. His face closed, his brow furrowed as he sensed an aura of malice surrounding the prisoner, and his fists clenched with restrained anger.
'Sommers...'
He hissed the name of the Devil Fruit user, and the conclusion came immediately: Ace had been tortured during his transport to Marineford. Not satisfied, Sommers had used his ability to spread pain, causing anyone who harbored affection or love for the target, such as Whitebeard or his sons, to feel intense pain when touching him.
Garp thought of Luffy, and a chill ran down his spine. If the boy tried to approach Ace, he would feel one of the greatest pains of his life.
The old hero realized, helplessly, that his hands were tied. There was nothing he could do to ease Ace's suffering. Those thorns were perfect insurance, a cruel mechanism that would prevent any reckless rescue: no one could touch Ace without facing Sommers' overwhelming pain.
Garp closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the inevitable on his shoulders. He couldn't fail, but he knew that this time, the world was about to unleash a tragedy that even he couldn't contain.
Garp began to slowly climb each step of the platform, as if they were multiplying beneath his feet. Each step was heavy, not only because of his physical exhaustion, but also because of the weight of the decisions he carried.
When he reached the last step, the glare of the sun almost blinded him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get used to the light, and then looked in Ace's direction. The prisoner, alert to the footsteps, looked up.
For a moment, Garp saw something that made him freeze: a ten-year-old version of Ace, smiling at him with pure innocence. But in the blink of an eye, the illusion was gone. Before him stood the real Ace, covered in wounds and scratches that pierced his skin, his body partially protected by the illusory boy who had disappeared. Ace's eyes were cold, emotionless, staring at Garp as if he were a complete stranger.
Seeing Ace in that state made the old man's heart ache. Memories of conversations, laughter, and moments together came flooding back.
"Grandpa... should I have been born?"
The question echoed in Garp's mind, bringing back memories of a conversation they had years ago. He remembered the answer he had given the ten-year-old boy:
"Keep living and... you'll find out."
The weight of those words now seemed more real than ever.
"Garp."
Sengoku's voice broke the silence. The admiral was already on the platform, giving a speech to boost the morale of the marines. The world now knew the truth: Jason had revealed that Ace was the son of Gol D. Roger, taking the Navy's greatest secret out of Sengoku's hands.
Garp closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his heart tighten. The battle that was coming would not only be physical; it would be a test of everything he believed in, everything he had protected, and everything he was about to lose.