The New World.
Miracle Island.
The rain hadn't stopped. It poured on, cold and relentless, veiling the battlefield in a gray, endless dirge.
The world itself seemed to have turned into a vast tomb, and the rain—its mourning hymn.
At some uncertain moment, a Marine in a soaked raincoat hurried through the mud and saluted. "Report, Admiral Sengoku! The battleships have been refitted and rearmed. Ten entered the battle, but only five remain seaworthy. Awaiting your orders!"
Sengoku's empty gaze flickered faintly, finding focus again by slow degrees.
His afro hung limp and waterlogged, the proud admiral reduced to a drenched, hollow figure beneath the storm.
"…Notify everyone," he said at last, voice raw and rasping. "All personnel to board. Prepare to set sail."
The soldier hesitated, glancing at the pallid face before him. As Sengoku's close aide, he had never seen his commander so utterly drained.
The battle had been costly, yes—but not hopeless. They'd claimed plenty of pirate lives. So why did it feel like the Admiral was mourning?
"Admiral Sengoku… are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Should I fetch the doctor to take a look?"
Sengoku forced a stiff smile and waved a trembling hand. "I'm fine," he croaked. "Just tired."
His gaze wandered to the Marines working in the rain, young faces set with determined resolve. His hands clenched behind his back, knuckles whitening.
"Go," he murmured.
The messenger saluted and rushed off, boots splashing through the puddles.
Sengoku didn't move. The whispers of the Gorosei echoed in his skull like a curse, relentless and cold.
"You're a wise man, Sengoku. You know the choice to make at such a moment."
"This is our final test for Darren—just as we once tested you. You understand the depth of our purpose."
"His decision will shape his fate."
"And you, Sengoku… we've always had high hopes for you."
"Kong has made his decision. He'll soon take his post in the Holy Land."
"You understand what that means…"
"You are to become the next Fleet Admiral."
"The greatest virtue of a Fleet Admiral is sound judgment—loyalty to the Government above all else."
"Don't disappoint us, Sengoku."
"…Damn it!!"
Sengoku's roar broke through the storm. He bent forward, fists clenched, voice cracking into a beastlike growl.
His eyes burned red.
Those decrepit puppeteers were forcing him toward an impossible choice.
This wasn't just a test for Darren—
It was his test.
If he failed to act with perfect, ruthless "clarity," he could lose everything—his future as Fleet Admiral, his career, even his freedom.
He clenched his fists tighter, nails gouging deep into his palms until blood mingled with rainwater.
The Native Hunting Competition.
The Celestial Dragons' so-called "graduation trip."
That grotesque relic of history—buried, or so he'd believed—had been exhumed from its grave and polished like a treasured tradition.
After twelve years, they were bringing it back.
Didn't they think the seas were chaotic enough?
Roger was on the verge of discovering the Final Island, and yet the nobles in Marie Geoise still found time for their barbaric games.
And the cruelest thought of all—
Would Darren, that proud, defiant brat, actually obey such an order?
The Celestial Dragon Assassination Incident in the North Blue flashed in his memory. His heart sank.
Could that man—who had once slaughtered a Celestial Dragon—bend the knee to protect them now?
And worse still—
The "competition" would be held in the North Blue.
Darren's territory. His birthplace. His foundation.
Would he stand by while the Celestial Dragons turned one of his nations into their hunting ground?
Sengoku's breath caught.
He could almost see it—the fire, the screams, the slaughter.
"Admiral Sengoku."
The voice was cold, slicing through the rain.
He turned. Sakazuki stood there, hat dripping, eyes hard beneath the brim.
"We're ready to sail."
"Right…" Sengoku murmured. He drew a deep breath, gathering the scattered pieces of his resolve, and stepped toward the shore.
But after a few paces, he stopped.
"Sakazuki."
The younger man looked up.
"If one day, our comrades—our own Marines—were to defy a direct order from the Government… how would you deal with it?"
The question was soft, casual even. But the weight behind it was enormous.
Sakazuki met his gaze squarely. "A soldier's duty is absolute obedience," he said without hesitation.
Sengoku's eyes dimmed. He said nothing more and continued walking.
When he reached the dock, a Marine shouted in relief, "The rain's stopped! Thank God—our voyage back would've been miserable!"
Sengoku looked up.
The rain… had stopped?
He raised his head slowly. The sky was lighter, yes, but far from clear. The storm clouds churned like black oceans above, lightning flickering deep within.
He exhaled.
No. The rain hasn't stopped.
The real storm is just beginning.
"Set sail!" Sengoku commanded, his voice steady but his hand trembling.
Under the stunned gazes of his subordinates, he raised his arm sharply.
"Destination… North Blue!"
The order struck like thunder.
Kuzan, Gion, and Yamakaji froze mid-motion.
Borsalino's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, a sly smile curling his lips.
And Sakazuki—
He stood as if lightning had struck him where he stood.
To be continued...